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THAT
’
S
UP
TO
FATE
,
said
Death
,
turning
to
the
bookcase
behind
him
and
pulling
out
a
heavy
gazetteer
.
THERE
’
S
NOTHING
I
CAN
DO
ABOUT
IT
.
WHAT
Is
THAT
SMELL
?
’
Me
,
’
said
Mort
,
simply
.
AH
.
THE
STABLES
.
Death
paused
,
his
hand
on
the
spine
of
the
book
.
AND
WHY
DO
YOU
THINK
I
DIRECTED
YOU
TO
THE
STABLES
?
THINK
CAREFULLY
,
NOW
.
Mort
hesitated
.
He
had
been
thinking
carefully
,
in
between
counting
wheelbarrows
.
He
’
d
wondered
if
it
had
been
to
coordinate
his
hand
and
eye
,
or
teach
him
the
habit
of
obedience
,
or
bring
home
to
him
the
importance
,
on
the
human
scale
,
of
small
tasks
,
or
make
him
realise
that
even
great
men
must
start
at
the
bottom
.
None
of
these
explanations
seemed
exactly
right
.
’
I
think
.
.
.
’
he
began
.
YES
?
’
Well
,
I
think
it
was
because
you
were
up
to
your
knees
in
horseshit
,
to
tell
you
the
truth
.
’
Death
looked
at
him
for
a
long
time
.
Mort
shifted
uneasily
from
one
foot
to
the
other
.
ABSOLUTELY
CORRECT
,
snapped
Death
.
CLARITY
OF
THOUGHT
.
REALISTIC
APPROACH
.
VERY
IMPORTANT
IN
A
JOB
LIKE
OURS
.
’
Yes
,
sir
.
Sir
?
’
