Mirrorworld (35 page)

“I was just.. You looked like you needed some company. Like a man with things on his mind.”

“And it is your pierogi-tin to disturb such a man?” Mud asked.

“Well, I know I appreciate distraction from my thoughts, sometimes,” Marcus said wistfully.

“Ha!” the man snorted, then burst into full peals of laughter, wobbling dangerously on his stool. “A man of wise indeed! Yes, I have bad things on my mind. And they say it helps to share.” He glanced at Marcus significantly.

“Go ahead,” Marcus said, sipping his drink.

“Ah well. Yes then. I was once the master of an inn that I co-ran with my brother. Far to the north. Lovely place, very homely. Log cabin for prospectors, or crazy people who come ski. Well defended, never bothered by locals. Wasn’t the most profitable of places, but we did well. Then all this war business starts up on our doorstep, and whoosh, no more custom for us. Winter be come soon – no food, no supplies, an army round the corner. I tell my brother, I say, we must leave. He says no – our inn in our family for generations, could not abandon for their honour. Terrible guilt – was always loyal, but loyalty gives way to silliness. I tried to convince him, he tell me to leave. Disown, he said. He would stay and hold the inn no matter what come. Always stubborn. Probably dead now, and I am of shame. So do I drink, drink to forget.”

There was a quiet moment, in which Marcus imagined the room grew darker. “Where was your inn?”

“Foot of Aglaecas Pass,” the man murmured, his eyelids beginning to slide shut. “Beautiful. Scenic, dangerous, all sorts came to see it. Now the plateaus are full of monsters and the old castle run by demons, and no-one want it. Thought to go back at winter’s end, but spring has not come, and now it seems this season will outlast me. Grew up on mountain air. Die on stale bar air. Heh.”

The man slumped forwards, eyes staring ahead but no longer hardly seeing. “Come on,” Marcus said, reaching out to him, “you don’t have to die here..”

He paused. Now that Mud had slipped forwards, Marcus became aware that there was someone sitting on his opposite side, quietly stirring their drink and staring ahead into space. The figure was tall and black-robed, and, as it became aware that it was being observed, turned to look at Marcus, who found himself staring once again into the endless eye sockets of a grinning skull.

“Fancy seeing you here,” Death said. “I mean, seriously, how funny is this?”

Marcus said nothing, but reached behind him for where he’d propped his scythe.

“You really should stop hanging out around things that are about to die,” Death said wisely. “It makes you rather easy to find. Not that you will have a chance to follow that advice. No tricks today, Marcus. No slipping away just in time. Ready to give up the scythe?”

“No.”

Death growled, a terrifying sound that twisted Marcus’s insides. “How about now?”

“Still no.” Marcus slipped off his stool, bringing the scythe round to hide behind.

“Well, well,” Death said thoughtfully, rapping his fingers on the bar. Next to him, Mud had begun to sink slowly in place. “How curious. Every time I meet this Marcus chap, who just seemed so ready to die the first time I encountered him, he seems to have become more and more stubbornly attached to his life. How odd! Could it be that in this unlicensed afterlife he’s decided to be something other than nihilistically bleak? Will he object to my constant pursuit with sound and valid reasoning?”

“Would it make a difference if I did?” Marcus asked, surprised.

“Not to me,” Death snapped, dropping from his own stool and drawing his sword from somewhere within his robes. “Last chance to come peacefully.”

Marcus readied his hand on the knot of the staff, ready to pop out the blade but not daring to make the first move. Death stood impassive, impossible to read, although the way the sword wobbled in his grasp betrayed the fact that it wasn’t his weapon of choice. Skeletal fingers tightened around the jewelled hilt. It seemed to have gotten even darker. Any minute now, the Reaper would lunge..

“Hey Marcus, what’s happening?”

Marcus froze in place as he became aware of Kendra standing next to him.

“Why are you so tense? Who are you looking at? Who’s the unconscious guy? Ooh,” she held a hand up to her mouth, “so many questions!”

Marcus quickly glanced at her faintly confused expression before flicking straight back to Death, who had also frozen in the act of drawing back his sword. “Can’t you see.. him?” He could have sworn that he saw Death roll his eyes as Kendra turned to stare at him, apparently unseeing.

“Who? The unconscious, possibly dead guy who it looks like you’re about to stab? That doesn’t really seem very sporting, by the way. Unless he is dead, in which case I guess it doesn’t really matter. Oh! I think I know where Keithus is, by the way. Those mercenaries mentioned..”

“Yes yes the Aglaecas,” Marcus said quickly. “Sorry, I have some more pressing issues at this time. Could you.. stand back, Kendra?”

“Oh, you heard the same!” she said happily, apparently discarding the latter half of his comment in her excitement. “That means it’s ...hmm.. at least twice as likely to be true!”

“Enough of this,” Death said, and clicked the fingers of his free hand. In Marcus’s eyes, nothing changed, but a particular difference in the patrons of the bar – namely the way in which anyone who happened to be looking in Death’s direction choked in alarm, stood and ran for the door – suggested that the Reaper had made himself generally visible. Anyone else foolish enough to look for whatever was causing everyone else to run away was soon running away themselves, with the notable exception of Kendra, who, upon seeing Death for the first time, let out a squeal of delight.

“Ohmygosh ohmygosh ohmygosh..” she took a deep breath. “Death! The Grim Reaper! Look, Marcus! Oh man this is so exciting! Wait, am I going to die?”

“Quite possibly, if you don’t stay out of the way,” Marcus said, moving slowly away from the bar and into the newly vacated space, stepping around tables that had been upturned in the brief but significant panic that had emptied the inn. Death followed him, step for step, passing with a glance the inert form of Mud, who was the only other person left in the room.

“You do me an injustice, Marcus,” the Reaper hissed. “
I’m
not the one who has been using a tool of death to wantonly murder people. Your name is not yet in my book, madam, so you have nothing to fear from
me.
Please, stand aside.”

“You’re painting me as the bad guy?” Marcus asked incredulously, as they began to circle each other. “You’re a seven foot walking skeleton who takes people’s lives and you’re trying to make
me
the bad guy in this situation?”

“Technically Death doesn’t kill people, Marcus..” Kendra chimed in as she retreated.

“Yes, yes I know,” Marcus grumbled, waving vaguely in her direction.

“So what’s the deal, here?” she asked, hopping up onto a bar stool next to Mud. “Some sort of grudge match, clearly. Oh! I know!” She smiled, swinging back and forth on her perch. “Marcus – tell me honestly. You stole that scythe from him, didn’t you?”

“No,” Marcus said, at the same time as Death said ”yes” with equal vehemence. “Wait, I never used the blade near you, how did you know it was a scythe?”

“I didn’t,” Kendra said cheerfully, “that was a total guess. But it made sense! This also explains why you’re so attached to the thing. And also why you never let me hold it.”

“Kendra,” Marcus said bleakly, “please stop talking.” And she did, for it was at that moment that Death lunged, his lack of expertise with the sword making it all the more terrifying a sight as it came swinging towards Marcus’s throat with aplomb. He urgently twisted at the staff’s knob, and with a
boing
the blade of the scythe shot out from its hiding place to meet and deflect the Reaper’s blade. Staggering from the impact, Marcus stepped back as Death spun around, coming in low for another attempt. Panicking, he span the scythe upside down, jumping as the blade passed under him and hit Death’s, this time knocking the Reaper back with the sheer momentum of the hit. Marcus found himself dragged around in a full turn to bring the scythe back upright, and made it out of the spin just in time to block another swing from Death, this time with the wood of the staff.

They stood back, eyeing each other. The lights in Death’s eyes flared brighter than ever before as Marcus stood panting from the exertion, but the room was still dark. A solitary lamp still burned on the bar, casting flickering shadows over its few remaining occupants. Kendra sat by it, applauding.

“That’s really not helping,” Marcus called to her.

“Shut up,” she said, “that was awesome. Keep spinning! I mean, even if I were the Grim Reaper, I’d still be a little scared of a madman swinging a blade on a stick about randomly!”

Death glanced at her, his expression unreadable. Seeing an opportunity, Marcus swung the scythe overarm, aiming for the skeletal ribs, but the Reaper slid aside like a snake, and Marcus had to drop to the floor and roll away to dodge the thrusting blow that came in, aimed at his side. Stumbling to his feet, he realised that the scythe was no longer in his hands, and felt the aura of dark menace that he had become so accustomed to leave him as Death’s focus retargeted on the weapon, lying between the two of them on the floor. Their eyes met as they both paused, surveying the distance; it was nearer to Marcus, but Death had already demonstrated a capacity for impossibly fast movement.

Still, it was do or die, in the most literal sense. They both dived for the weapon at the same time, and both missed; their questing hands found the hand of the other, and the two connected properly for the first time. Marcus felt the sheer essence of Death, a stronger form of what he’d always felt emanating from the staff, creeping down his arm, and jerked back in surprise and horror, only dimly noting as he did that Death had pulled back in disgust as well. Stumbling backwards, Marcus grabbed the scythe before the Reaper could come back around, and swung it; his aim was true, and the tip of the blade was on course for the skull as those eyes caught his own again... and smiled.

The blade went right through Death as if he wasn’t even there, and Marcus almost tripped, surprised to still be in possession of all of his momentum. He staggered sideways as the blade swung around, crashed into a table and promptly fell over again. Cackling wildly, Death recovered his posture and advanced on Marcus, sword held out depressingly point-first.

“What did you honestly expect, Marcus? To defeat me with my own tools? To kill Death? Idiot. You might be able to hold me off for a while, but I’m
inevitable.
It’s part of the job description.”

“And what about me?” asked another voice, both new and old, into the silence. Both Marcus and Death followed its tune back towards the bar, which remained lit in the flickering lamplight. Kendra was still sat next to Mud, but she too was looking past the man’s prone form at the figure that now sat on his opposite side. Young, clean-shaven, well-dressed and faintly recognisable, this man smiled peacefully at both Marcus and Death as their attentions settled on him, and both realised with a jolt that this new apparition was connected to Mud’s body by a familiar long grey cord.

“Mud?” Marcus asked.

“Yes,” the spectre said, “although I believe I preferred to be known as Malcolm when I looked like this.” It brushed some ghostly lint from its ghostly suit. “Ah, the good old days.”

Marcus, Death and Kendra all continued to stare at him.

“Well, anyway,” the ghost said, straightening its bow tie, “I can’t stick around here all night. Isn’t anyone going to give me the old chop chop? Since there seems to be two of you and all, surely one of you can spare me a few moments?”

Marcus didn’t move. Death looked from his adversary to this new apparition, then back again, and growled his terrible growl. He angrily wrenched the sword back from where it had been hovering, dangerously close to Marcus’s neck, and stalked away towards the ghost, eyes flaring. Sensing the opportunity within this sudden deliverance, Marcus staggered to his feet and signalled furiously to Kendra, who gave him a Look, but slipped off her stool and followed him as he made for the door.

“Duty,” Death said, to no-one in particular, “duty is the most important thing. I
will
deal with you, Malcolm, because though it means my quarry will surely escape me once more, it remains the thing that should be done. I do this because this is my job, and the continuation of the order of things is something I have the greatest respect for. It is not something that should be
cocked about with
.”

Marcus flinched, stood at the foot of the staircase that led back to the street, as the last part of that was clearly aimed at him. He wanted to retort, somehow, to say that he hadn’t asked for any of this, that he was only doing the best that he could.. but he didn’t. From the perspective of Death, who was a much higher authority on things like the general shape of the universe and what should and should not be things that happened, the best thing that Marcus could do was to give up and die, and his selfish sense of self-preservation was, apparently, having none of that. So he kept walking.

“Hey,” the ghost of Mud said, over Death’s shoulder, as the Reaper poised to swing his sword. “If you see my brother, please, give him my apologies.” He gave a sad salute.

Marcus returned it, then grabbed Kendra and fled back to the daylight.

“That was
awesome,”
Kendra yelled gleefully as they fled though Tiski’s streets, putting as much distance between themselves and The Griever’s Shoe as possible. “I can’t believe you didn’t tell me about this before! A duel to the death, with Death! Oh
man
I need to write this down..”

“Please,” Marcus said, as they rounded a corner, “do we have to talk about this now?”

“And when would you like to talk about it?” Kendra called back, ducking as two men holding a pane of glass appeared from an alleyway in front of them. Marcus slashed it with his scythe and left the two men looking bemused as he carried on through the tumbling shards without a pause.