'I'll think of something,' said Mort. 'I'll rewrite the autobiographies or something.' He smiled weakly. 'Don't worry. I'll think of something.'
The door slammed behind him. Mort turned to look into Albert's grinning face.
The big leather armchair behind the desk revolved slowly. Death looked at Mort over steepled fingers. When he was quite certain he had their full, horrified attention, he said:
YOU HAD BETTER START NOW.
He stood up, appearing to grow larger as the room darkened.
DON'T BOTHER TO APOLOGISE, he added. Keli buried her head in Cutwell's ample chest.
I AM BACK. AND I AM ANGRY.
'Master, I —' Mort began.
SHUT UP, said Death. He beckoned Keli with a calcareous forefinger. She turned to look at him, her body not daring to disobey.
Death reached out and touched her chin. Mort's hand went to his sword.
IS THIS THE FACE THAT LAUNCHED A THOUSAND SHIPS, AND BURNED THE TOPLESS TOWERS OF PSEUDO—
POLIS? wondered Death. Keli stared hypnotised at the red pinpoints miles deep in those dark sockets.
'Er, excuse me,' said Cutwell, holding his hat respectfully, Mexican fashion.
WELL? said Death, distracted.
'It isn't, sir. You must be thinking about another face.'
WHAT is YOUR NAME?
'Cutwell, sir. I'm a wizard, sir.'
I'M A WIZARD, SIR, Death sneered. BE SILENT, WIZARD.
'Sir.' Cutwell stepped back.
Death turned to Ysabell.
DAUGHTER, EXPLAIN YOURSELF. WHY DID YOU AID THIS FOOL?
Ysabell curtsied nervously.
'I – love him, father. I think.'
'You do?' said Mort, astonished. 'You never said!'
There didn't seem to be time,' said Ysabell. 'Father, he didn't mean —'
BE SILENT.
Ysabell dropped her gaze. 'Yes, father.'
Death stalked around the desk until he was standing directly in front of Mort. He stared at him for a long time.
Then in one blurred movement his hand struck Mort across the face, knocking him off his feet.
I INVITE YOU INTO MY HOME, he said, I TRAIN YOU, I FEED YOU, I CLOTHE YOU, I GIVE YOU OPPORTUNITIES YOU COULD NOT DREAM OF, AND THUS YOU REPAY ME. YOU SEDUCE MY DAUGHTER FROM ME, YOU NEGLECT THE DUTY, YOU MAKE RIPPLES IN REALITY THAT WILL TAKE A CENTURY TO HEAL. YOUR ILL-TIMED ACTIONS HAVE DOOMED YOUR COMRADES TO OBLIVION. THE GODS WILL DEMAND NOTHING LESS.