be an echo from his pocket.
None of the four patients reacted at first. This gave Zane a moment to ferret out the mystery. He reached in the pocket and found the earring he had taken from Death. Had the echo come from it? Why?
“Hello,” he repeated—and this time was sure the sound reacted with the gamete.
The client's eyes turned slowly on him. The sagging mouth formed words. “About time you got here, Death!”
The client was speaking in a foreign language—but Zane understood him, because a translation emanated from the gem he held. He realized that this was a magic translation device, another enchanted stone. Naturally Death had duties all over the world and had to be able to handle any language. He jammed the gem into his left ear; later he would get it attached in a more normal fashion.
The novelty of the language and the stone had distracted him from the business at hand; the client was looking at him expectantly. Zane was taken aback. “You were expecting me? You're not afraid?”
“Expecting you? I've been seeking you for six months! Afraid? I thought I'd never get out of this prison!”
“This hospital? It seems nice enough.”
“This body.”
Oh. And it seemed the translation worked both ways, for the man understood Zane's words, though there was no noise in his ear. “You want to—?”
The client squinted at him. “You're new at this job, aren't you?”
Zane choked. “How did you know?”
The man smiled. “I had a close encounter with Death once before. He was older than you. More wrinkles in his skull. The sight of him so fazed me that I surged right back into life. I had been dying on the operating table, but the operation became a success. That time.”
“I know how that is,” Zane agreed, thinking once more of his mother.
“Then I had a reserve will to live that manifested when challenged. But my condition is farther gone now. Neither science nor magic can abate the pain any more. Not without dulling my intellect, and I don't want that. In any event, I suspect that death is merely a translation to a similar existence without the burden of the body. Some people don't even realize when they're dead. I don't mind if I realize, just as long as the pain abates. So my will has eased, and I'm ready to lay life down. I hope you are competent.”
Zane looked at the Deathwatch. He was a minute overdue! “I hope so, too,” he said. “I talked with you too long.”
The man smiled again. “It was a pleasure, Death. It provided me a brief respite. If you ever discover a person truly being kept alive beyond his will, you must use force if necessary to ease him. I think you will do that.”
Again Zane thought of his mother. “I have done that,” he agreed in a whisper. “A person has a right to die in his turn. I believe that. But some would call it murder.”
“Some would,” the client agreed. “But some are fools.” Then his face tightened with a spasm of intense pain. “Ah, it is time!” he gasped. “Do it now, Death!”
Zane reached for the man's soul. His fingers passed through the client's body and caught the web of the soul. He drew it carefully out, not tearing it. The man's eyes glazed; he was dead and satisfied to be so.
The three other patients in the room paid no attention. They did not realize the nature of the visitor, or know that their companion had died.
Zane folded the soul and put it in his bag with the other. He was getting better at this, fortunately. He felt better about it, too, for he knew he had done right by this particular client, sparing him further futile pain. Perhaps this office was not as dreadful as he had thought.
He looked at his watch. The countdown was running again, but showed almost half an hour. The cat's eye was large; the location was close. For once he wouldn't have to hurry.
He drove to a park area beyond Phoenix and pulled off the street. He opened his bag of souls, put in his hand, and drew one out. He unfolded it carefully,
None of the four patients reacted at first. This gave Zane a moment to ferret out the mystery. He reached in the pocket and found the earring he had taken from Death. Had the echo come from it? Why?
“Hello,” he repeated—and this time was sure the sound reacted with the gamete.
The client's eyes turned slowly on him. The sagging mouth formed words. “About time you got here, Death!”
The client was speaking in a foreign language—but Zane understood him, because a translation emanated from the gem he held. He realized that this was a magic translation device, another enchanted stone. Naturally Death had duties all over the world and had to be able to handle any language. He jammed the gem into his left ear; later he would get it attached in a more normal fashion.
The novelty of the language and the stone had distracted him from the business at hand; the client was looking at him expectantly. Zane was taken aback. “You were expecting me? You're not afraid?”
“Expecting you? I've been seeking you for six months! Afraid? I thought I'd never get out of this prison!”
“This hospital? It seems nice enough.”
“This body.”
Oh. And it seemed the translation worked both ways, for the man understood Zane's words, though there was no noise in his ear. “You want to—?”
The client squinted at him. “You're new at this job, aren't you?”
Zane choked. “How did you know?”
The man smiled. “I had a close encounter with Death once before. He was older than you. More wrinkles in his skull. The sight of him so fazed me that I surged right back into life. I had been dying on the operating table, but the operation became a success. That time.”
“I know how that is,” Zane agreed, thinking once more of his mother.
“Then I had a reserve will to live that manifested when challenged. But my condition is farther gone now. Neither science nor magic can abate the pain any more. Not without dulling my intellect, and I don't want that. In any event, I suspect that death is merely a translation to a similar existence without the burden of the body. Some people don't even realize when they're dead. I don't mind if I realize, just as long as the pain abates. So my will has eased, and I'm ready to lay life down. I hope you are competent.”
Zane looked at the Deathwatch. He was a minute overdue! “I hope so, too,” he said. “I talked with you too long.”
The man smiled again. “It was a pleasure, Death. It provided me a brief respite. If you ever discover a person truly being kept alive beyond his will, you must use force if necessary to ease him. I think you will do that.”
Again Zane thought of his mother. “I have done that,” he agreed in a whisper. “A person has a right to die in his turn. I believe that. But some would call it murder.”
“Some would,” the client agreed. “But some are fools.” Then his face tightened with a spasm of intense pain. “Ah, it is time!” he gasped. “Do it now, Death!”
Zane reached for the man's soul. His fingers passed through the client's body and caught the web of the soul. He drew it carefully out, not tearing it. The man's eyes glazed; he was dead and satisfied to be so.
The three other patients in the room paid no attention. They did not realize the nature of the visitor, or know that their companion had died.
Zane folded the soul and put it in his bag with the other. He was getting better at this, fortunately. He felt better about it, too, for he knew he had done right by this particular client, sparing him further futile pain. Perhaps this office was not as dreadful as he had thought.
He looked at his watch. The countdown was running again, but showed almost half an hour. The cat's eye was large; the location was close. For once he wouldn't have to hurry.
He drove to a park area beyond Phoenix and pulled off the street. He opened his bag of souls, put in his hand, and drew one out. He unfolded it carefully,
Similar Books
