Mort - shadows

“Mort,” said Mort automatically. The sound of their talking washed around him, but he couldn’t take his eyes off the scene around them. He felt real. Death looked solid. The king looked surprisingly fit and well for someone who was dead. But the rest of the world was a mass of sliding shadows. Figures were bent over the slumped body, moving through Mort as if they were no more substantial than a mist.

The girl was kneeling down, weeping.

“That’s my daughter,” said the king. “I ought to feel sad. Why don’t I?”

EMOTIONS GET LEFT BEHIND. IT’S ALL A MATTER OF GLANDS.

“Ah. That would be it, I suppose. She can’t see us, can she?”

No.

“I suppose there’s no chance that I could—?”

NONE, said Death.

“Only she’s going to be queen, and if I could only let her—”

SORRY.

The girl looked up and through Mort. He watched the duke walk up behind her and lay a comforting hand on her shoulder. A faint smile hovered around the man’s lips. It was the sort of smile that lies on sandbanks waiting for incautious swimmers.

***

Mort p38-39