It swung.
It almost lost its balance.
You’re not supposed to duck!
Bill Door dived through the wall again and pounded across the square, skull down, spectral feet making no noise on the cobbles. He reached the little group by the clock.
ON THE HORSE! GO!
?
??What’s happening? What’s happening!”
IT HASN’T WORKED!
Miss Flitworth gave him a panicky look but put the unconscious child on Binky’s back and climbed up after her. Then Bill Door brought his hand down hard on the horse’s flank. There at least there was contact—Binky existed in all worlds.
GO!
He didn’t look around but darted on up the road toward the farm.
A weapon!
Something he could hold!
The only weapon in the undead world was in the hands of the new Death.
As Bill Door ran he was aware of a faint, higher-pitched clicking noise. He looked down. The Death of Rats was keeping pace with him.
It gave him an encouraging squeak.
He skidded through the farm gate and flung himself against the wall.
There was the distant rumble of the storm. Apart from that, silence.
He relaxed slightly, and crept cautiously along the wall toward the back of the farmhouse.
He caught a glimpse of something metallic. Leaning against the wall there, where the men from the village had left it when they brought him back, was his scythe; not the one he’d carefully prepared, but the one he’d used for the harvest. What edge it had had been achieved only by the whetstone and the caress of the stalks, but it was a familiar shape and he made a tentative grab at it. His hand passed right through.
The further you run, the closer you get.
The new Death stepped unhurriedly out of the shadows.
You should know that, it added.
Bill Door straightened up.
We will enjoy this.
ENJOY?
The new Death advanced. Bill Door backed away.
Yes. The taking of one Death is the same as achieving the end of a billion lesser lives.
LESSER LIVES? THIS IS NOT A GAME!
The new Death hesitated. What is a game?