"He"s never late," Sybil went on. "He says if you"re late for a good reason you"ll be late for a bad one. And it"s only half past five, anyway.!
"Plenty of time," Bunty agreed.
"Fred and Nobby did take the horses up to the valley, didn"t they?" said Sybil.
"Yes, Sybil. You watched them go," said Bunty. She looked over Sybil"s head to the gaunt figure of her husband, who was standing in the hall doorway. He shrugged hopelessly.
"Only the other day he was running up the stairs as the clocks were striking six," said Sybil, calmly soaping Young Sam with a sponge shaped like a teddy bear. "The very last second. You wait and see."
He wanted to sleep. He"d never felt this tired before. Vimes slumped to his knees, and then fell sideways on to the sand.
When he forced open his eyes he saw pale stars above him, and had once again the sensation that there was someone else present.
He turned his head, wincing at the stab of pain, and saw a small but brightly lit folding chair on the sand. A robed figure was reclining in it, reading a book. A scythe was stuck in the sand beside it.
A white skeletal hand turned a page.
"You"ll be Death, then?" said Vimes, after a while.
AH, MISTER VIMES, ASTUTE AS EVER. GOT IT IN ONE, said Death, shutting the book on his finger to keep the place. "I"ve seen you before."
I HAVE WALKED WITH YOU MANY TIMES, MISTER VIMES.
"And this is it, is it?"
HAS IT NEVER STRUCK YOU THAT THE CONCEPT OF A WRITTEN NARRATIVE IS SOMEWHAT STRANGE? said Death.
Vimes could tell when people were trying to avoid something they really didn"t want to say, and it was happening here. "Is it?" he insisted. "Is this it? This time I die?"
COULD BE.
"Could be? What sort of answer is that?" said Vimes.
A VERY ACCURATE ONE. YOU SEE, YOU ARE HAVING A NEAR DEATH EXPERIENCE, WHICH INESCAPABLY MEANS THAT I MUST UNDERGO A NEAR VIMES EXPERIENCE. DON"T MIND ME. CARRY ON WITH WHATEVER YOU WERE DOING. I HAVE A BOOK.
Vimes rolled over on to his stomach, gritted his teeth and pushed himself on to his hands and knees again. He managed a few yards before slumping back down.
He heard the sound of a chair being moved. "Shouldn"t you be somewhere else?" he said.
I AM, said Death, sitting down again.
"But you"re here!"
As WELL. Death turned a page and, for a person without breath, managed a pretty good sigh. IT APPEARS THAT THE BUTLER DID IT.
"Did what?"
IT IS A MADE-UP STORY. VERY STRANGE. ALL ONE NEEDS DO IS TURN TO THE LAST PAGE AND THE ANSWER IS THERE. WHAT, THEREFORE, IS THE POINT OF DELIBERATEDLY NOT KNOWING?
It sounded like gibberish to Vimes, so he ignored it. Some of the aches had gone, although his head still hammered. There was an empty feeling, everywhere. He just wanted to sleep.
"Is that clock right?"
"I"m afraid it is, Sybil."
"I"ll just go outside and wait for him, then. I"ll have the book ready," said Lady Sybil. "He won"t let anything stop him, you know." "I"m sure he won"t," said Bunty.
"Although things can be very treacherous in the lower valley at this time of-" her husband began, and was fried into silence by his wife"s stare.