Death walked slowly across tiles in the lifetimer room, inspecting the serried rows of busy hourglasses. Albert followed dutifully behind with the great ledger open in his arms.

The sound roared around them, a vast gray waterfall of noise.

It came from the shelves where, stretching away into the infinite distance, row upon row of hourglasses poured away the sands of mortal time. It was a heavy sound, a dull sound, a sound that poured like sullen custard over the bright roly-poly pudding of the soul.

VERY WELL, said Death at last. I MAKE IT THREE. A QUIET NIGHT.

“That’d be Goodie Hamstring, the Abbot Lobsang again, and this Princess Keli,” said Albert.

Death looked at the three hourglasses in his hand.

I WAS THINKING OF SENDING THE LAD OUT, he Said.

Albert consulted his ledger.

“Well, Goodie wouldn’t be any trouble and the Abbot is what you might call experienced,” he said. “Shame about the princess. Only fifteen. Could be tricky.”

YES. IT IS A PITY.

“Master?”

Death stood with the third glass in his hand, staring thoughtfully at the play of light across its surface. He sighed.

ONE SO YOUNG…

“Are you feeling all right, master?” said Albert, his voice full of concern.

TIME LIKE AN EVER-ROLLING STREAM BEARS ALL ITS…

“Master!”

WHAT? said Death, snapping out of it.

“You’ve been overdoing it, master, that’s what it is—”

WHAT ARE YOU BLATHERING ABOUT, MAN?

“You had a bit of a funny turn there, master.”

NONSENSE. I HAVE NEVER FELT BETTER. NOW, WHAT WERE WE TALKING ABOUT?

Albert shrugged, and peered down at the entries in the book.

“Goodie’s a witch,” he said. “She might get a bit annoyed if you send Mort.”

All practitioners of magic earned the right, once their own personal sands had run out, of being claimed by Death himself rather than his minor functionaries.

Death didn’t appear to hear Albert. He was staring at Princess Keli’s hourglass again.

WHAT IS THAT SENSE INSIDE YOUR HEAD OF WISTFUL REGRET THAT THINGS ARE THE WAY THEY APPARENTLY ARE?

“Sadness, master. I think. Now—”

I AM SADNESS.

Albert stood with his mouth open. Finally he got a grip on himself long enough to blurt out, “Master, we were talking about Mort!”

MORT WHO?

“Your apprentice, master,” said Albert patiently. “Tall young lad.”

OF COURSE. WELL, WE’LL SEND HIM.

“Is he ready to go solo, master?” said Albert doubtfully.

Death thought about it. HE CAN DO IT, he said at last. HE’S KEEN, HE’S QUICK TO LEARN AND, REALLY, he added, PEOPLE CAN’T EXPECT TO HAVE ME RUNNING AROUND AFTER THEM ALL THE TIME.