Death said nothing.
Albert flapped the polishing cloth and pulled back Death’s cowl.
ALBERT.
“Sir?”
Death pulled out the tiny golden timer.
DO YOU SEE THIS?
“Yes, sir. Very nice. Never seen one like that before. Whose is it?”
MINE.
Albert’s eyes swiveled sideways. On one corner of Death’s desk was a large timer in a black frame. It contained no sand.
“I thought that one was yours, sir?” he said.
IT WAS. NOW THIS IS. A RETIREMENT PRESENT. FROM AZRAEL HIMSELF.
Albert peered at the thing in Death’s hand.
“But…the sand, sir. It’s pouring.”
QUITE SO.
“But that means…I mean…?”
IT MEANS THAT ONE DAY THE SAND WILL ALL BE POURED, ALBERT.
“I know that, sir, but…you…I thought Time was something that happened to other people, sir. Doesn’t it? Not to you, sir.” By the end of the sentence Albert’s voice was beseeching.
Death pulled off the towel and stood up.
COME WITH ME.
“But you’re Death, master,” said Albert, running crab-legged after the tall figure as it led the way out into the hall and down the passage to the stable. “This isn’t some sort of joke, is it?” he added hopefully.
I AM NOT KNOWN FOR MY SENSE OF FUN.
“Well, of course not, no offense meant. But listen, you can’t die, because you’re Death, you’d have to happen to yourself, it’d be like that snake that eats its own tail—”
NEVERTHELESS, I AM GOING TO DIE. THERE IS NO APPEAL.
“But what will happen to me?” Albert said. Terror glittered on his words like flakes of metal on the edge of a knife.
THERE WILL BE A NEW DEATH.
Albert drew himself up.
“I really don’t think I could serve a new master,” he said.
THEN GO BACK INTO THE WORLD. I WILL GIVE YOU MONEY. YOU HAVE BEEN A GOOD SERVANT, ALBERT.
“But if I go back—”
YES, said Death. YOU WILL DIE.