Mort (Discworld 4)

'They really come alive?'

'All I'll say is that when the Tsorteans put a curse on a place, they don't mess about.'

Mort turned a corner and Ysabell lost sight of him for a heart-stopping moment. She scurried through the darkness and cannoned into him. He was examining a dog-headed bird.

'Urgh,' she said. 'Doesn't it send shivers up your spine?'

'No,' said Mort flatly.

'Why not?'

BECAUSE I AM MORT. He turned, and she saw his eyes glow like blue pinpoints.

'Stop it!'

I – CAN'T.

She tried to laugh. It didn't work. 'You're not Death,' she said. 'You're only doing his job.' DEATH is WHOEVER DOES DEATH'S JOB. The shocked pause that followed this was broken by a groan from further along the dark passage. Mort turned on his heel and hurried towards it.

He's right, thought Ysabell. Even the way he moves. . . .

But the fear of the darkness that the light was dragging towards her overcame any other doubts and she crept after him, around another corner and into what appeared, in the fitful glow from the sword, to be a cross between a treasury and a very cluttered attic.

'What's this place?' she whispered. 'I've never seen so much stuff!'

THE KING TAKES IT WITH HIM INTO THE NEXT WORLD, said Mort.

'He certainly doesn't believe in travelling light. Look, there's a whole boat. And a gold bathtub!'

DOUBTLESS HE WILL WISH TO KEEP CLEAN WHEN HE GETS THERE.

'And all those statues!'

THOSE STATUES, I'M SORRY TO SAY, WERE PEOPLE. SERVANTS FOR THE KING, YOU UNDERSTAND.

Ysabell's face set grimly.

THE PRIESTS GIVE THEM POISON.

There was another groan, from the other side of the cluttered room. Mort followed it to its source, stepping awkwardly over rolls of carpet, bunches of dates, crates of crockery and piles of gems. The long obviously hadn't been able to decide what he was going to leave behind on his journey, so had decided to play safe and take everything.

ONLY IT DOESNT ALWAYS WORK QUICKLY, Mort added sombrely.

Ysabell clambered gamely after him, and peered over a canoe at a young girl sprawled across a pile of rugs. She was wearing gauze trousers, a waistcoat cut from not enough material, and enough bangles to moor a decent-sized ship. There was a green stain around her mouth.

'Does it hurt?' said Ysabell quietly.

No. THEY THINK IT TAKES THEM TO PARADISE.

'Does it?'

MAYBE. WHO KNOWS? Mort took the hourglass out of an inner pocket and inspected it by the gleam of the sword. He seemed to be counting to himself, and then with a sudden movement tossed the glass over his shoulder and brought the sword down with his other hand.

The girl's shade sat up and stretched, with a clink of ghostly jewellery. She caught sight of Mort, and bowed her head.

'My lord!'

NO-ONE'S LORD, said Mort. NOW RUN ALONG TO WHEREVER YOU BELIEVE YOU'RE GOING.