I AM AFRAID SO, SIRE.
'Clean job. Crossbow, was it?'
YES. AND NOW, SIRE, IF YOU WOULD —
'Who did it?' said the king. Death hesitated.
A HIRED ASSASSIN FROM ANKH-MORPORK, he said.
'Hmm. Clever. I congratulate Sto Helit. And here's me filling myself with antidotes. No antidote to cold steel, eh? Eh?'
INDEED NOT, SIRE.
'The old rope ladder and fast horse by the drawbridge trick, eh?'
SO IT WOULD APPEAR, SIRE, said Death, taking the king's shade gently by the arm. IF IT'S ANY CONSOLATION, THOUGH, THE HORSE NEEDS TO BE FAST.
'Eh?'
Death allowed his fixed grin to widen a little.
I HAVE AN APPOINTMENT WITH ITS RIDER TOMORROW IN ANKH, said Death. YOU SEE, HE ALLOWED THE DUKE TO PROVIDE HIM WITH A PACKED LUNCH.
The king, whose eminent suitability for his job meant that he was not automatically quick on the uptake, considered this for a moment and then gave a short laugh. He noticed Mort for the first time.
'Who's this?' he said, 'He dead too?'
MY APPRENTICE, said Death. WHO WILL BE GETTING A GOOD TALKING-TO BEFORE HE'S MUCH OLDER, THE SCALLYWAG.
'Mort,' said Mort automatically. The sound of their talking washed around him, but he couldn't take his eyes off the scene around them. He felt real. Death looked solid. The king looked surprisingly fit and well for someone who was dead. But the rest of the world was a mass of sliding shadows. Figures were bent over the slumped body, moving through Mort as if they were no more substantial than a mist.
The girl was kneeling down, weeping.
'That's my daughter,' said the king. 'I ought to feel sad. Why don't I?'
EMOTIONS GET LEFT BEHIND. IT'S ALL A MATTER OF GLANDS.
'Ah. That would be it, I suppose. She can't see us, can she?'
NO.
'I suppose there's no chance that I could —?'
NONE, said Death.
'Only she's going to be queen, and if I could only let her—'
SORRY.
The girl looked up and through Mort. He watched the duke walk up behind her and lay a comforting hand on her shoulder. A fault smile hovered around the man's lips. It was the sort of smile that lies on sandbanks waiting for incautious swimmers.
I can't make you hear me, Mort said. Don't trust him!
She peered at Mort, screwing up her eyes. He reached out, and watched his hand pass straight through hers.
COME ALONG, BOY. NO LALLYGAGGING.
Mort felt Death's hand tighten on his shoulder, not in an unfriendly fashion. He turned away reluctantly, following Death and the king.