Chapter 04: Magician

The Deathwatch was counting down again. Only ninety seconds remained. "No time to ride down the mountain," Zane said. "Can you take me there directly, Mortis?"
The stallion neighed, reared, and leaped into the air. Clouds raced by, and land and sea and more land. This was hyperdrive! When the horse landed, they were back in America. In fact, they were in Kilvarough; he knew his home city well. Well, of course people died here as well, and some would be in near balance; no need to be surprised.
They stopped at an affluent suburban estate. A fence of iron spikes surrounded it, and two lean young griffins patrolled the grounds. They were beautiful creatures, with powerful beaks and talons and rippling muscles on their bodies. Crossbreed of eagle and lion, with certain magical endowments, yet loyal to whatever person or creature they gave their loyalty to, they were just about the best protection an estate could have. This, more than the ob- vious wealth of the property, impressed him with the sta- tus of its owner.
But when the creatures menaced Zane, the Deathsteed lifted one steel forefoot in unmistakable warning, backing them off. Few griffins feared horses, but these were smart enough to perceive that this was no ordinary horse.
Still, Zane wasn't eager to leave the protection Mortis provided while the griffins remained. But he would have to, for he was sure the horse would not enter the building. He glanced about-and spied an object strapped to the saddle. He lifted it out and found two pegs mounted on a long, curving shaft. He gripped it by these, and a massive, gleaming

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blade snapped out at right angles to the base. Sure enough- it was a switchblade scythe.
Zane had had only very limited experience with a scythe in a class on archaic farming and harvesting. Certain magic crops suffered heavy losses when worked by machinery, so ancient tools were still used for them, and most schools had a course or two in the application of these. So Zane knew what this was and how to swing it, but would have trouble using it as a weapon. Still, as he held it now, felt the proper heft of it and its fine balance, and eyed the deadly expanse of the blade, a certain nervous confidence suffused him. This was a magic weapon, surely; its en- chantment made the wielder at least halfway competent. He believed he could use it and that its power and quality would enhance his ability. After all, the scythe was Death's traditional instrument, the grim tool of the Grim Reaper, and he was now that entity.
The horse stopped, and Zane dismounted. Yes, he was Death, standing here holding this deadly instrument. He began to believe. Perhaps he could do the job the way it should be done.
Thirty seconds remained. He strode toward the house. The two griffins spread their wings and rose up to the rampant posture, their elevated front claws springing out like narrow daggers, their beaks gleaming. A kind of screaming growl started in the two throats.
Zane drew his Deathcloak close about him and lifted the scythe. The griffins reared back, wary of its terrible blade. He strode toward them, glaring through the narrow aperture of his hood.
That did it. The monsters might fear nothing living, but all creatures feared Death, if they recognized him.
As his watch signaled time, Zane walked into the main room of the house. There was an old man, seated in an easy chair.
"Stay your hand a moment. Death," the man said. "I would converse with you."

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"I'm running late," Zane demurred, no longer as sur- prised as he had first been when people saw him and addressed him directly. It was evident that anyone who really wished to could relate to him.
The man smiled. "I must advise you that I am a Magician of the thirty-second rank, whose name you would not recognize because my magic protects my anonymity. I can stay your hand-yea, even yours. Death!-for a time. But I do not seek to oppose you, only to converse a moment with you. Put away your weapon, grant me a period of your attention, and I will reciprocate with something of greater value."
"Do you seek to bribe Death?" Zane asked, half angry and two-thirds curious. He folded the scythe and leaned it against the wall near the door. "What possible thing could you offer me?"
"I have already given you more than you can afford to know," the Magician said. "But I wiU couch my offer succinctly. Stop your watch, and if after five minutes you do not wish to converse longer, I will yield you my soul with singular grace. In return, I proffer you the dominant option on the love of my daughter."
This did not please Zane. The bitterness of his foolish loss of Angelica to the proprietor of the Mess o* Pottage shop was still fresh. "What use does Death have for any woman?" he asked.
"You remain a man, behind the Deathmask. Even Death does not exist by souls alone."
"What am I to make of a man who would prostitute his daughter to gain a few more minutes of life?" Zane asked, repelled.
"Especially one who would prostitute her to the person who killed his mother," the Magician agreed,
Zane punched the STOP button, freezing the overex- tended countdown. "You have my attention. Magician," he said between his teeth.

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"I shall summon her," the man said. He tapped one gnarled finger against the arm of his chair with a sound like the clang of a small bell.
That was not what Zane had meant, but he kept silent. The Magician was evidently a complex, knowledgeable man who had done his research on Zane's past. Why he chose to bring his daughter into it, Zane could not guess, but that was the Magician's business. Maybe the girl was so homely that no one would seek to take advantage of her anyway.
The girl entered the room. She was naked. Her hair was bound under a bathing cap; evidently she had just stepped out of an air-shower. Her body was slender and well formed, but not spectacular. She was just a normal, healthy young woman of perhaps twenty years. "What is it. Father?" she inquired, her voice gently melodious.
"I have offered your love to this person, Luna," the Magician said, gesturing to Zane.
She glanced about, perplexed. "What person?"
"You can see him, if you try. He is the new Death."
"Death!" she exclaimed with mild horror. "So soon?"
"He has come for me, not you, my dear, and I shall go with him shortly. But I wanted you to meet him before I gave him the love-spell with your name on it."
She squinted, looking at Zane, beginning to see him. "But I'm not dressed!" she protested.
"Dress, then," her father said, as if indifferent. "I wish you to make an impression on him so he will desire you."
"As you wish, Father," she said dutifully. "I have yet to meet the man I couldn't impress when I tried, but I doubt I have much future with the like of Death." She turned and departed the way she had arrived, poised but 8 still not special. It seemed to Zane that Magician and daughter both had considerable arrogance, assuming so blithely that the officeholder of Death could be swayed by such obvious means.
Perhaps, he thought further, his glimpse of lovely Angelica

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had forever spoiled him for other women, even if his new office had not.
"My message is this," the Magician said abruptly. "There is a complex plot afoot that affects my daughter, Luna Kaftan. I have protected her hitherto, but I shall no longer be able to do so. Therefore I am asking you to do so."
"I must have misunderstood. I thought you were of- fering me your daughter's favors in exchange for five minutes of my time."
The Magician smiled. "Death, you are rightly cynical. It is a barbed offer, of course. If you accept the bait, you will find yourself emotionally committed and you will guard her in a manner few others could."
"How can I guard anyone?" Zane demanded, sensing that he was being managed. "I am Death!"
"You are uniquely qualified," the Magician insisted. "When, through my black arts, I perceived the nature of the conspiracy against my child, I knew she would have to have a champion to guard her as I could not. I re- searched diligently to locate that champion, neglecting my health in the process, and at length identified you."
"Me!" Zane exclaimed. "As Death, I can do only a thing you would not want for your daughter. As a man, not as Death, I am unqualified to do anything at all for her. You should know that!"
"As a man, it is true, you are unremarkable," the Ma- gician agreed. "But you are nevertheless uniquely quali- fied for the need. I believe you will grow with the office and become what you presently are not."
"You know something about how I got the job of Death?" This was indeed interesting.
"I was the one who persuaded Fate to arrange your placement at that office," the Magician said.
"Persuaded Fate! You-?"
"I suspect you are not yet aware of the significance of your role."

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"Well, every person has to die sometime-"
"But any person can serve, however indifferently, in the office of Death. This particular situation requires your personal expertise."
"You're not making much sense to me!" Zane said. "It was sheer chance that brought me to-"
He broke off, for the Magician's daughter Luna had re-entered the room. She was clothed now-she was ev- idently efficient about getting dressed-and wore makeup and had let down her hair-and it did make a difference. Her tresses were shoulder-length, chestnut brown, and shone with such a rich luster that Zane was sure an en- chantment of enhancement had been applied. Her eyes, which had seemed nondescript before, now were huge and beautiful, their color a deep gray like the hide of a fine racing horse, or the Deathsteed himself. Her cheeks had warmed and her lips were bright and sensual, the teeth showing white and even. She wore two Satum-stone earrings that projected little colored rings and illuminated the smooth column of her neck on either side.
But she had hardly finished her makeover there. She wore an off-shoulder gray blouse that clung lightly to the contours of her arms and bosom, making what had seemed modest before come to life now as a fully re- spectable endowment. Her belt was wide and heavy and set with colored stones; probably it was a flying belt. Her brown skirt, matching the shade of her hair, caressed a configuration of hip and leg that was elegant in its artistry of form. Zane had not before realized how strik- ing a slender woman could be. Even her feet were pretty, in delicate, winged, green slippers that were crafted to resemble her namesake, the luna moth. About her neck was a chain of gold in the mode of fine serpentine, and on the chain, suspended artfully between her breasts, was a large moonstone, its brightness at crescent phase.Such stones waxed and waned magically with the changes of the

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real moon, the ultimately female symbol. She was magically lovely, as stunning as any model at a fashion show.
Of course she had magic, Zane reminded himself. She was a Magician's daughter! Naturally she had become impressive; it was ail artifice! Yet he could not help being impressed, for it was indeed the same girl he had seen before, in a new aspect. Luna's present presence was like a selected precious stone, dull in shadow, suddenly en- hanced by the brilliance of a spotlight that caused it to project its awesome luster.
She had been nude before. Truly, in seeing her un- covered, he had not seen her at all. Not even Angelica could rival-
"Shall I do a dance for you?" Luna inquired with a charming quirk of a smile.
"I don't believe it," Zane muttered.
"Well, you should," she said mischievously. "You saw me nude."
Zane shook his head. "I don't believe a creature like you can be casually offered to a nondescript character like me. It just doesn't make sense."
"Oh, she is no gift," the Magician said. "Luna has to be won, and the winning is not straightforward. What you get is the first option to compete."
"I don't care to compete," Zane said, distrusting this. He was aware that the Magician was offering less, now that Luna had manifested as more. Zane didn't like being managed.
"Suit yourself. The Lovestone is here." The Magician indicated a small blue gem on the table beside him.
"I have no use for Lovestones!" Zane snapped. He now wished he had never seen Angelica; how much grief that would have saved him!
"Perhaps you misunderstand," the Magician said. "This is not your common locater stone; this one compels love. Merely hold it and look at the woman you desire, and she will be instantly afflicted with overwhelming passion for you. You do not find these on sale in knickknack shops."

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Zane eyed the stone with new respect. If he took that and looked at Luna, she would become his love slave. Probably its effect was limited to a single session; oth- erwise the user would never be able to get away from the subject. But it meant the man-or woman-possessing such an artifact could take advantage of any other person encountered. What was he to make of the father who openly offered to subject his lovely daughter to such in- fluence, or of the girl who knowingly permitted such en- chantment to be used on her? "Thanks, no."
Luna nodded slightly, perhaps in approval. Had this been a test? The Magician had said his daughter needed to be won, and the use of the Lovestone was hardly fair competition. Maybe the stone induced passion but not love. Given the choice between passion and love, Zane preferred the latter.
The Magician settled slightly in his chair, relaxing. "I must proceed; the spell that extends my life beyond its appointed time is weakening, and I dare not use another."
"You dare not?" Zane asked, increasingly suspicious. "Aren't you a powerful Magician?"
"Magic is addictive and often damning. The white magic which has become so popular is generally harmless, but it can lead stage by stage to the more potent black magic, which gradually corrupts and eventually damns the user. All serious practitioners employ black magic, because of its versatility and power. I have used more than enough to damn me to Hell."
"But you are in balance, or I would not have been summoned!"
"Technically true. It was necessary that I summon you, and this was the only way possible without alerting the Unmentionable."
"The-"
"Do not utter the name, for he is attuned to it. My enchantment protects us from chance discovery, but against his direct inquiry there is no protection, and his name would bring that. This discussion has to be private. Once I talk to

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you, my fate hardly matters, except that I must stay free of Hell long enough to give the plan a chance to function. The Unnamed quickly picks the brains of his incoming victims. So we had to seem to meet in the normal course, to avoid suspicion."
"You set up your own death, just to talk to me without a certain entity knowing-when you yourself had gotten Fate to put me in office?"
"It does seem to be a cumbersome mechanism. But a complex conspiracy is abroad, and devious sacrifices are required."
"Such as your life-and your daughter's virtue?"
Luna smiled, taking no offense. "Father is like that. That's why he's a great Magician-one whom even the Incarnations respect."
Evidently so."What conspiracy?" Zane demanded.
"That I may not tell you," the Magician said.
"How can I help you if I don't know what you want?"
"I have told you what I want. My daughter's salvation."
"Some way you have to guarantee it!" Zane said, glanc- ing meaningfully at the Lovestone. "Your daughter is obviously only a pretext for some more sinister scheme. What do you really want?"
The Magician stared at the floor for a moment as if considering. "I want what every halfway decent man wants: the belief that his life has in some small or devious fashion benefited the cosmos. My use of black magic has so weighted my soul that my daughter had to assume a share of my evil in order to put me in technical balance. Now she, too, is in peril. But she should have time to redeem herself, if our ploy is successful."
"She can take some of your evil?" Zane asked, sur- prised. "I thought every soul had to be judged on its own merits."
"It does, ordinarily. But sophisticated magic can alter cases, and this case has been altered. At the moment, both of us are in balance."

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Zane looked at Luna again. Her face was unlined and innocent. He was relieved to know that the evil in her soul was not truly hers; she was basically a good girl. He was well aware that physical beauty bore no certain re- lation to the condition of a person's soul, but he still felt more at ease when the two matched.
Now the girl leaned over her father. "It is time. Father," she said. "I'll never know your equal." She kissed him. Then she straightened up and faced Zane. "Death, bring thy sting," she said, and turned away.
Zane started his countdown timer again. He walked up to the Magician, who had abruptly settled into the final seizure, and drew out his soul. Quickly he folded it and put it away.
Still facing opposite, Luna spoke. "My father made an agreement with you. I will honor it without the use of the Lovestone. You will understand if I do not pretend any personal joy in the matter. Come this way." She walked toward the doorway through which she had entered.
The Deathwatch was counting down for the next client, but Zane paused. "You father, whom you professed to love deeply, has just died," he said, shocked. "How can you think of a thing like-like that-at this moment? Where is your grief?"
She halted, but did not face him. "I can do what my father asked me to do because I respect his judgment above that of any other person. When I realized that his death was upon him, I invoked the enchantment he had prepared for this occasion. I put on a gem that eliminated incapacitating emotion. After you depart, I wffl remove that stone and suffer as much as I can stand before I have to don the gem again. My grief will run its course in measured stages. But my grief is not yours, and while I am with you, I shall not share it with you."
Zane shook his head, appalled at this explanation. "I don't claim to be a good man or a good Death. Mostly I have been satisfied to take what I can get. I was a fool not long ago and

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threw away my chance to love and marry a wonderful woman-"
"Fate arranged that loss, at my father's behest, " Luna said. "You need feel no responsibility there."
So that, too, had been no coincidence! Zane was shaken, but plowed on. "Now I'm going to be a fool again. I have not done your father any genuine service I know of and, in any event, don't deserve the sort of attention you-"
Luna turned back to face him. She seemed prettier than ever. Her eyes were pearl as they fixed on his. No, she had not been bluffing about her ability to impress a man! "Yes, you are correct, of course. You don't want false rapture. Use the Lovestone; then my passion will be genuine. I should not have tried to avoid that. I will also, if you wish, use it on you, so that your reservations will dissipate."
"That's not what I meant!" Zane exclaimed, embar- rassed. "I don't deserve the attention or the love of a woman like you. Keep the Lovestone; I will not abuse your nature by using it. Maybe when I was a living man I would have done so, but now I am Death, with an im- portant responsibility, and I must honor the dignity of the office as I perceive it. I will leave you to your grief." He turned to the exit, half-cursing himself for his perversity. This was not typical behavior for him; why hadn't he simply taken the proffered payment?
"Why?" she asked. He could tell by the sound of her voice that she had turned again. They were both facing away, the dead Magician's body between them.
Zane himself wasn't sure. He had spoken of the dignity of his office-but not long ago he had tried to give up that office. "I-look, I admit you're the kind of woman I like. The kind any man would like. You set out to impress me and you certainly did. You didn't seem like much when- when you weren't trying-well, right now I'm sure you're every thing I might want, but-I guess it's what your father said. I want to make something good of my life, or of my office, while I still

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have the chance. Otherwise, what's the point? If I had been good before, I wouldn't have come to the point of death myself so soon. I'm trying to be good now, for what it's worth, so at least I can think of myself as halfway useful for something. To-to take advantage of you-especially at this time-I know that would- I did something like that once in life, and it re- mains a blot on my soul-well, it's just not the way I think someone as important as Death should be. So I'm going to try to play the part the way I think it should be played, even though I'm not-I know I'm not a worthy actor."
"You are going counter to my father's wish," she said. "He scheduled his death to bring you here so you would meet me. Fate took that other woman from you so that you would be free for me. I am owed to you in a very real sense."
"I have met you. I don't think you owe me anything for what Fate did. Maybe I'm on the rebound from that love I threw away before it started. Maybe I'm just angry at being managed. I think I would-I don't know. Maybe your father misjudged me."
"Maybe he did," she agreed. "Still, I must acquit my own debts and try to honor his will. I would be false to my father's memory if 1 did otherwise. Would you settle for a date?"
"If I start seeing a woman of your quality, I'll soon want too much."
"You can have too much."
"I-no, I mean Death should not be distracted."
"Then come when you're off duty."
Zane felt guilty, but also sorely tempted, "One time," he agreed.
"One time." Nothing more was to be said. Zane opened the door, picked up his scythe, and went out to his horse.
He mounted. "On to the next, steed," he said.
The stallion leaped into the sky. Dawn was just arriving here, and a bank of clouds to the east was starting to glow.

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Mortis trotted over clouds as if they were sand, flying without wings, then plunged down through them somewhere on the day lit portion of the globe.
But it was not land below. The horse came down on the expanse of the Atlantic Ocean. His feet touched and held; naturally this animal could run on water!
Ahead, the cloud cover dipped to intersect the water: a storm. The stallion galloped right at it. Zane viewed the lash-whipped waves with increasing alarm. The person who held the office of Death was immortal only as long as he was not killed. Suppose he drowned? The sea was becoming mountainous, the waves already surging higher than his head, and much higher nearer the storm.
"I don't like this," he said. "Who will replace me if I drown here?" That wasn't really his worry, however. He didn't care who next assumed the office; he didn't want to vacate it.
He didn't? Then why had he tried, so ineptly, to get his client to turn on him and kill him? What did he really want?
He wasn't sure, but suspected it related to some per- sonal aspect. He could accept his own demise more read- ily if he deliberately handed the office to a chosen successor than if an inanimate ocean washed him out. It was control and self-esteem at the root of his disquiet.
A spot near the saddle horn blinked. Zane touched it- and the horse became a double-hulled speedboat, cutting through the fringe of the storm.
Wonders never ceased! "You are some creature. Mor- tis!" Zane exclaimed.
But the waves were so horrendous that the craft was soon tilting precariously. The pale boat was steering itself aptly, to avoid being swamped, but the sea seemed de- termined to outmaneuver it.
"I prefer you as a horse!" Zane cried as the craft crested a pinnacle and tilted sickeningly forward. He punched the blinking button on its control panel.

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The horse returned, galloping along the shifting con- tour of the wave. Yes, this was definitely better! The animal could not be swamped or overturned. "I couldn't manage without you. Mortis," Zane said, hanging on des- perately.
Then the client came into sight. It was a young man, clinging to a bit of flotsam. The man saw Zane and lifted a hand weakly. Then he sank into a wave.
"He doesn't have to die!" Zane protested, speaking as much for himself as for the client.
Mortis snorted noncommittally. After all, Death had been summoned here to collect the client's soul.
"I'm going to rescue him," Zane said. "To watch him drown-that would be like murder!"
The horse did not react, except to come to a halt on the water beside the drowning man. Zane dismounted and found that his feet stood firmly on the surface. Fate had said his shoes would make that possible, but he had not quite accepted it until now.
He reached down, caught the man's projecting arm, and hauled him upward. The wave was liquid for the client, solid for Zane's feet-and Zane's gloved hand did not pass through the man's flesh when he didn't want it to. His magic accommodated itself to his specific needs.
But a surge crossed their location, burying the client and almost jerking him away. Irritated, Zane punched the center button of the Deathwatch, seeking to freeze time itself. Nothing happened, and he remembered that this button had to be pulled, not pushed. He pulled.
The water halted in place: waves, bubbles, and spume. The racing fog stopped as if photographed. All was still and silent.
Zane got a better grip on the client and hauled him out of the sea. Apparently time did not abate for Death or Death's pale horse, or for what Death touched. What an amazing power Chronos had bequeathed! But it was not enough, for it was evident that the client was far gone; he had inhaled water during his final submersion.

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Zane got the man up on the rump of the horse, arms dangling down to one side, legs to the other. He pressed on the man's back, trying to squeeze out the water from his lungs, but this wasn't very effective. Then Mortis bucked, bouncing the man, and that did it; the water drib- bled out of his mouth, and he began to choke and gasp.
Zane helped him stand. The man's eyes widened. "You are Death-but you haven't killed me!"
"I will take you to shore," Zane said. "Mount behind me and hold on."
They mounted. "I don't understand," the man said somewhat plaintively.
Zane pushed the button in the watch. The storm re- sumed. The horse walked up the progressing slope of the wave. The wind tore at them, but they were secure against it.
"Why?" the man asked.
Zane couldn't answer. He feared he was violating his office and would somehow be punished, but he still had to save this man.
Soon they exited from th& storm. There was an island ahead; the pale horse knew where he was going. They came to a deserted beach, but stray bottles showed it was at times frequented by tourists. There was civilization within range.
The man got down and stood on the wet sand, still unbelieving. "Why?" he repeated. "You, of all crea- tures-"
Zane had to make some response, if only to justify his irrationality to himself. "Your soul is in danger of Hell. Go and do good in the world, to redeem your afterlife."
The man stared, mouth open. This was the twentieth century; no one took such cautions seriously!
"Farewell," Zane said.
Mortis took off, prancing once more into the sky. Zane realized that more magic must be involved to prevent him from falling off when the horse made such motions. His office was failsafe in various ways!

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