On A Pale Horse by Piers Anthony Read Free Book Online Page A

Or is it pure chance?”
    Fate stood. “I prefer to answer that at another time. I must not keep you from your appointed rounds any longer.”
    “But I don't even know how to locate my—my clients!”
    “There should be an instruction manual somewhere. Mortis will help you.”
    “Who is Mortis?”
    She looked about. “Oh, I almost forget. You had better take the accouterments; I'm not sure how they work, but you'll need them.”
    “Accouterments?”
    “The jewelry. The magic devices.”
    “My Wealth stone? I don't see—”
    “Not that junkstone. Leave everything of your former life here as it is. Especially the star. Sapphire is no good for wealth divination at its best, and this one's inferior. Leave your watch, too, and any rings you have. You are through with living.” She walked toward the door.
    “But I have so much to learn!” Zane cried plaintively.
    “Then get to it, Death,” she said, closing the door behind her.
    Zane looked desperately about, seeking some better hold on reality. How could he be Death? He had never even imagined anything like this!
    He saw something flashing. It was a solid watch on the wrist of the dead Death that would hardly be in keeping with the corpse of Zane, who had been too broke to redeem his pawned watch. This was surely an accouterment. He bent, with a certain distaste, to remove it, then put it on his own wrist. It was heavy, a good four ounces, but fitted comfortably, as though sized for him, and the flashing stopped. Evidently the watch had merely been calling attention to itself so that it would not be overlooked; it went with the office. It was, of course, dead black: a mechanical, self-winding instrument that seemed dull but expensive.
    Why would Death use a mechanical watch, of whatever quality, instead of a sophisticated electronic one, or a miniature magical sundial? Zane couldn't answer that at the moment. Maybe the last Death officeholder had been of a conservative bent. He might have lived for centuries before getting careless and failed to keep up with the times.
    Odd, Zane thought, that he felt no special remorse for the person he had killed. His initial shock at the act was wearing off, so that what remained was mostly horror that there had been a killing, as if he had just watched a singularly brutal murder on television. Maybe this developing indifference was because, to him, Death remained an “it” rather than a human being. But he, Zane, was now that “it.”
    He spied another flash. It was from an ear ornament, almost concealed because Death's left ear lay against the floor. Surely he was meant to take this, too; it was one of the items of jewelry Fate had mentioned. He nerved himself for another contact with the dead flesh and got the gem removed. It was an earring, with a red garnet cabochon, rounded on one side, flat on the other, shining prettily.
    The thing was designed to fit a pierced ear, and Zane's ear was whole. He hesitated, then put the gem in his voluminous cloak pocket.
    There were footfalls in the hall, followed by a tentative knock on the front door. “Mr. Z, are you all right?” a voice came. It was his elderly neighbor, a nosy woman, but nice enough.
    Zane stood frozen again. What should he do? If he let her come in—
    “Mr. Z!” the neighbor called more urgently.
    “I'm all right!” he called back.
    “Mr. Z,” she repeated. “I heard what sounded like a gunshot from this room. Please answer me!”
    “It's all right!” Zane shouted.
    The door opened. The woman's head poked in. “Mr. Z, why don't you answer? I know you're home; I saw you come in. If there is anything wrong—if a mugger shot you—”
    “I am home! There's no mugger!” Zane shouted. “Please get out!”
    The woman came all the way into the apartment. “I'm sure I heard—” Then she spied the body on the floor. It now wore Zane's clothing, though he did not remember dressing it; probably Fate had done that while he was distracted by the enormity of