'I'm not hungry, thanks.'
'It's really good. Not stale old stuff like it used to be.'
'No, thanks.' Gloria gave her another nudge. 'Want to go and get your own, then?' she said, leering behind her beard. 'Why should I do that?'
'Oh, quite a few girls have gone down there today,' said the dwarf. She leaned closer. 'It's the new boy working there,' she said. 'I'd swear he's elvish.' Something inside Susan was plucked and went twang. She stood up. 'So that's what he meant! Things that haven't happened yet.'
'What? Who?' said Gloria. 'The shop in Three Roses Alley?'
'That's right.' The door to the wizard's house was open. The wizard had put a rocking chair in the doorway and was asleep in the sun. A raven was perched on his hat. Susan stopped and glared at it. 'And have you got any comment to make?'
'Croak croak,' said the raven, and ruffled its feathers. 'Good,' said Susan. She walked on, aware that she was blushing. Behind her a voice said, 'Hah!' She ignored it. There was a blur of movement among the debris in the gutter. Something hidden by a fish wrapper went: SNH, SNH, SNH. 'Oh yes, very funny,' said Susan. She walked on. And then broke into a run. Death smiled and pushed aside the magnifying lens and turned away from the Discworld to find Albert watching him. JUST CHECKING, he said. 'That's right, Master,' said Albert. 'I've saddled up Binky.' YOU UNDERSTAND I WAS JUST CHECKING? 'Right you are, Master.' HOW ARE YOU FEELING NOW? 'Fine, Master.' STILL GOT YOUR BOTTLE? 'Yes, Master.' It was on the shelf in Albert's bedroom. He followed Death out into the stable-yard, helped him into the saddle, and passed up the scythe. AND NOW I MUST BE GOING OUT, said Death. 'That's the ticket, Master.' SO STOP GRINNING LIKE THAT. 'Yes, Master.'
Death rode out, but found himself guiding the white horse down the track to the orchard. He stopped in front of one particular tree, and stared at it for some time. Eventually he said: LOOKS PERFECTLY LOGICAL TO ME. Binky turned obediently away and trotted into the world. The lands and cities of it lay before him. Blue light flamed along the blade of the scythe. Death felt attention on him. He looked up at the universe, which was watching him with puzzled interest. A voice which only he heard said: So you're a rebel, little Death? Against what? Death thought about it. If there was a snappy answer, he couldn't think of one. So he ignored it, and rode towards the lives of humanity. They needed him. Somewhere, in some other world far away from the Discworld, someone tentatively picked up a musical instrument that echoed to the rhythm in their soul. It will never die. It's here to stay.
The End
