Mort

'No, wait,' said Mort, 'I need your help!'

'Well, of course,' said Albert over his shoulder. 'It stands to reason, doesn't it? You thought, I'll just go and pry into someone's private life and then I'll drop it on him and then I'll ask him to help me.'

'I only wanted to find out if you were really you,' said Mort, running after him.

'I am. Everyone is.'

'But if you don't help me something terrible will happen! There's this princess, and she —'

Terrible things happen all the time, boy —'

'— Mort —'

'— and no one expects me to do anything about it.'

'But you were the greatest!'

Albert stopped for a moment, but did not look around.

'Was the greatest, was the greatest. And don't you try to butter me up. I ain't butterable.'

'They've got statues to you and everything,' said Mort, trying not to yawn.

'More fool them, then.' Albert reached the foot of the steps into the library proper, stamped up them and stood outlined against the candlelight from the library.

'You mean you won't help?' said Mort. 'Not even if you can?'

'Give the boy a prize,' growled Albert. 'And it's no good thinking you can appeal to my better nature under this here crusty exterior,' he added, 'cos my interior's pretty damn crusty too.'

They heard him cross the library floor as though he had a grudge against it, and slam the door behind him.

'Well,' said Mort, uncertainly.

'What did you expect?' snapped Ysabell. 'He doesn't care for anyone much except father.'

'It's just that I thought someone like him would help if I explained it properly,' said Mort. He sagged. The rush of energy that had propelled him through the long night had evaporated, filling his mind with lead. 'You know he was a famous wizard?'

'That doesn't mean anything, wizards aren't necessarily nice. Do not meddle in the affairs of wizards because a refusal often offends, I read somewhere.' Ysabell stepped closer to Mort and peered at him with some concern. 'You look like something left on a plate,' she said.

' 'M okay,' said Mort, walking heavily up the steps and into the scratching shadows of the library.

'You're not. You could do with a good night's sleep, my lad.'

'M't,' murmured Mort.

He felt Ysabell slip his arm over her shoulder. The walls were moving gently, even the sound of his own voice was coming from a long way off, and he dimly felt how nice it would be to stretch out on a nice stone slab and sleep forever.

Death'd be back soon, he told himself, feeling his unprotesting body being helped along the corridors. There was nothing for it, he'd have to tell Death. He wasn't such a bad old stick. Death would help; all he needed to do was explain things. And then he could stop all this worrying and go to slee....

'And what was your previous position?'

I BEG YOUR PARDON?