'It's about that cook's job up at the University,' she said. 'You told me it was a good position and it's a disgrace up there, the tricks them students play, and I demand — I want you to — I'm not.
Her voice trailed off.
' 'Ere,' she said, but you could tell her heart wasn't in it, 'you're not Keeble, are you?'
Death stared at her. He'd never before experienced an unsatisfied customer. He was at a loss. Finally he gave up.
BEGONE, YOU BLACK AND MIDNIGHT HAG, he said.
The cook's small eyes narrowed.
' 'Oo are you calling a midnight bag?' she said accusingly, and hit the counter with the fish again. 'Look at this,' she said. 'Last night it was my bedwarmer, in the morning it's a fish. I ask you.'
MAY ALL THE DEMONS OF HELL REND YOUR LIVING SPIRIT IF YOU DON'T GET OUT OF THE SHOP THIS MINUTE, Death tried.
'I don't know about that, but what about my bedwarmer? It's no place for a respectable woman up there, they tried to —'
IF YOU WOULD CARE TO GO AWAY, said Death desperately, I WILL GIVE YOU SOME MONEY.
'How much?' said the cook, with a speed that would have outdistanced a striking rattlesnake and given lightning a nasty shock.
Death pulled out his coin bag and tipped a heap of verdigrised and darkened coins on the counter. She regarded them with deep suspicion.
NOW LEAVE UPON THE INSTANT, said Death, and added, BEFORE THE SEARING WINDS OF INFINITY SCORCH THY WORTHLESS CARCASS.
'My husband will be told about this,' said the cook darkly, as she left the shop. It seemed to Death that no threat of his could possibly be as dire.
He stalked back through the curtains. Keeble, still slumped in his chair, gave a kind of strangled gurgle.
'It was true!' he said. 'I thought you were a nightmare!'
I COULD TAKE OFFENCE AT THAT, said Death.
'You really are Death?' said Keeble.
YES.
'Why didn't you say?'
PEOPLE USUALLY PREFER ME NOT TO.
Keeble scrabbled among his papers, giggling hysterically.
'You want to do something else?' he said. Tooth fairy? Water sprite? Sandman?'
DO NOT BE FOOLISH. I SIMPLY — FEEL I WANT A CHANGE.
Keeble's frantic rustling at last turned up the paper he'd been searching for. He gave a maniacal laugh and thrust it into Death's hands.
Death read it.
THIS IS A JOB? PEOPLE ARE PAID TO DO THIS?
'Yes, yes, go and see him, you're just the right type. Only don't tell him I sent you.'
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