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’
Pardon
?
’
said
Mort
.
THAT
’
S
MORTALS
FOR
YOU
,
Death
continued
.
THEY
’
VE
ONLY
GOT
A
FEW
YEARS
IN
THIS
WORLD
AND
THEY
SPEND
THEM
ALL
IN
MAKING
THINGS
COMPLICATED
FOR
THEMSELVES
.
FASCINATING
.
HAVE
A
GHERKIN
.
’
Where
’
s
the
king
?
’
said
Mort
,
craning
to
look
over
the
heads
of
the
court
.
CHAP
WITH
THE
GOLDEN
BEARD
,
said
Death
.
He
tapped
a
flunky
on
the
shoulder
,
and
as
the
man
turned
and
looked
around
in
puzzlement
deftly
piloted
another
drink
from
his
tray
.
Mort
cast
around
until
he
saw
the
figure
standing
in
a
little
group
in
the
centre
of
the
crowd
,
leaning
over
slightly
the
better
to
hear
what
a
rather
short
courtier
was
saying
to
him
.
He
was
a
tall
,
heavily
-
built
man
with
the
kind
of
stolid
,
patient
face
that
one
would
confidently
buy
a
used
horse
from
.
’
He
doesn
’
t
look
a
bad
king
,
’
said
Mort
.
’
Why
would
anyone
want
to
kill
him
?
’
SEE
THE
MAN
NEXT
TO
HIM
?
WITH
THE
LITTLE
MOUSTACHE
AND
THE
GRIN
LIKE
A
LIZARD
?
Death
ointed
with
his
scythe
.
’
Yes
?
’
HIS
COUSIN
,
THE
DUKE
OF
STO
HELIT
.
NOT
THE
NICEST
OF
PEOPLE
,
said
Death
.
A
HANDY
MAN
WITH
A
BOTTLE
OF
POISON
.
FIFTH
IN
LINE
TO
THE
THRONE
LAST
YEAR
,
NOW
SECOND
IN
LINE
.
BIT
OF
A
SOCIAL
CLIMBER
,
YOU
MIGHT
SAY
.
He
fumbled
inside
his
robe
and
produced
an
hourglass
in
which
black
sand
coursed
between
a
spiked
iron
latticework
.
He
gave
it
an
experimental
shake
.
AND
DUE
TO
LIVE
ANOTHER
THIRTY
,
THIRTY
-
FIVE
YEARS
,
he
said
,
with
a
sigh
.
’
And
he
goes
around
killing
people
?
’
said
Mort
.
He
shook
his
head
.
There
’
s
no
justice
.
’
Death
sighed
.
No
,
he
said
,
handing
his
drink
to
a
page
who
was
surprised
to
find
he
was
suddenly
holding
an
empty
glass
,
THERE
’
S
JUST
ME
.
