~ * ~ * ~ * ~
Albert frowned absently and chewed the end of the pencil, staring down at the blank sheet in front of him. It loomed before him, just waiting to be filled with words…… Cups with cold tea in the bottom lurked round him on the kitchen table, some creeping towards the edge and freedom, hoping not to be noticed. Balled up paper littered the floor where he'd been trying to write the advertisement, forming an ankle deep layer around him. What could you say? he thought. Seven-foot skeleton is looking for a partner, must be warm, good with horses, definitely not dead and like black – a lot?
He sighed and started scribbling. Again.
~ * ~ * ~
ALBERT. IT IS TIME FOR THE DUTY.
"Hmmmmm?" Albert looked up from the piece of paper, now covered with his almost unreadable scrawl. "What? Oh! The Duty. Yes. Alright, Master, coming. Just let me finish this – we can drop it off at the Dating Society Offices on the way round, if that's alright," he said, grinning.
Death nodded, trying to look over Albert's shoulder at the paper. HURRY, THEN.
But Albert was having none of that; he leaned over, covering the advert with his arm until Death stepped back, pretending that he hadn't been trying to look anyway. I WILL GET THE TIMERS FROM THE ROOM. He pointed a bony finger at Albert. YOU CAN SADDLE BINKY.
He turned, robe swinging behind him, and headed out of the kitchen, the door banging shut as he left. Albert smirked, listening as his Master footsteps tapped away down the hall; then he finished his mad scribbling, tucked the paper in his pocket and wandered out to the stables.
~ * ~ * ~
Death hitched his robes to one side and climbed onboard the large white horse, who peered round and eyed him with mild interest, flicking his ears back and forth. Death had tried the traditional skeletal horse, but had become extremely fed up of being chased by stray dogs and dropping bones everywhere. So he'd got Binky. Once Death had settled himself, Albert gingerly heaved himself up into the saddle in front of his Master, being careful to avoid the sparkling blue blade of the scythe.
READY? Death said, almost cheerfully, if a voice like a granite slab slamming closed can be cheerful. Sweet revenge for not letting him look at the advert; he knew Albert hated flying and would only do it on special occasions. Mind you, since it was the only way to reach the Disc, every time Albert fancied a pint became a special occasion. Albert nodded reluctantly, watching as Death shook the reins lightly. Binky began to move forward, picking up speed; when his hooves left the black earth of the garden, Albert swallowed, squeezed his eyes tightly shut and prayed madly to the deity of his choice.
~ * ~ * ~
The Duty had been completed, the souls collected carefully, either stored in Death's robe or vanishing into blue pinpricks. Some had gone more cheerfully than others, and one wizard had downright refused to leave, but he'd gone eventually, after some careful – persuasion, we'll call it. Yes. Persuasion, and Albert's rheumy gaze, had done a lot. Especially since the wizard had recognised Albert's frowning, annoyed glare…
WHERE IS THIS – DATING SOCIETY? Death looked at the back of Albert's head. YOU WANTED TO VISIT IT?
Albert twisted round uncomfortably to peer up into Death's face. "It's over on All Souls Alley, Master. You just let Binky land nearby and I'll run in and it'll be all done!"
Death looked doubtful. SHOULD I COME IN WITH YOU? AFTER ALL, IT IS ME THEY WILL BE MEETING. EVENTUALLY. IF YOU KNOW WHAT I MEAN. AHAHAAHAHAHAHAAHAH. JUST MY LITTLE JOKE.
Albert stared in fascinated horror for a moment. "Ah. Well. Ah, no, no, Master, I think you should, um, yes, you should stay outside with, with, with - Binky. He, erm, might get stolen. Or something. I won't be long." He turned back round and stared ferociously at Binky's twitching white ears.
Death shrugged bony shoulders and guided the large horse down. WELL, I WILL DO WHAT YOU THINK BEST. ARE YOU QUITE SURE I SHOULDN'T COME IN WITH YOU?
Albert firmly shook his head and watched as the cobbled street rushed up to meet them. Amazing, the amount of people who won't see a large, flying white horse as it lands in the middle of the street. The busy populace of Ankh-Morpork simply parted on either side of the horse, who peered round at them placidly. WELL, HERE WE ARE. OFF YOU GO – I SHALL WAIT HERE FOR YOU.
Albert slid down ungracefully from the saddle, grateful to feel cobbles under his feet again. He watched for a moment as Death also dismounted, produced a nosebag from somewhere inside his robes, and carefully fitted it over Binky's ears, humming tunelessly under his – well, humming tunelessly. Death looked up mildly. STILL HERE?
"Just going, Master." Albert turned and trotted down the street, digging out the carefully folded piece of paper from his pocket.
~ * ~ * ~
The woman glanced up, smile pasted on her bright red lips, as the bell above the door jangled to announce a visitor. When she saw Albert, however, the smile fell from her face like a stone, leaving it blank for a moment. After a swift kick from its companions, an expression of deep distaste shuffled over hurriedly to take its place on her refined features, and camped there.
She riffled through some papers on the counter in front of her and sniffed. The sound spoke volumes.
"Oh," she said icily. "It's you again." Her upper class accent could have sheared through glass. A tiny, tasteful golden plaque in front of her declared that her name was Mrs. Frost, Proprietress.
Albert grinned and waved the paper at her as he wandered towards the desk, avoiding the hugely lush potplants that crowded the office. "Ah!" He wiggled a finger at her. "Not me, this time. I've come on behalf of, of – er, a gentleman I know. Wants to meet "that special someone."
"Ay see." She looked a little more interested, though her expression still said that she didn't believe Albert could possibly know anyone who could be called a "gentleman". Her eyebrows climbed towards her hair as she continued. "And do you have a description of this gentleman who has asked you to come here?" Her eyes narrowed and she looked suspicious. "Why hasn't he come himself?"
Albert pushed the paper under her nose. "He's ah, ah, a very busy, ah, er, person. Yes, that's what he is." He was glad she couldn't see that the fingers on his other hand were crossed behind his back. "And, yes, I do have a description," he said triumphantly. "And I've even written the advert for him. It's all there," he added proudly.
She sniffed again and gingerly took hold of the paper by its very edges, as lightly as possible. If she'd been able to hold it without touching it, she probably would have. She read the words on the sheet, muttering out loud as she did so.
"Hmmm….distinguished………own home…….steady job……..must like cats…" she raised an eyebrow. "Livestock?*** Oh well, Ay suppose one can't have everything………………"
Finally she finished and sat back in her chair, steepling her fingers in front of her. She looked at Albert silently for a few moments, watching as he fidgeted.
"He seems very good," she said slowly. "Almost too good to be true, in fact. There must be something wrong with him. Not a vampire, is he? Not that there's anything wrong with them, but one's clients must know what to expect when they go on dates. Or a zombie? Never goes well when bits of one's date fall off here and there. Terribly messy."
Albert shifted from foot to foot, fingers crossed more tightly than ever. "Errrrm. No. No, there's, ah. Ah. Nothing wrong with him at all." That a bit of feeding up wouldn't cure, he added silently.
He reached into another pocket and withdrew a small bag that clinked. "Here's the fee," he said, pouring the money out in front of her. "It's all there. I counted it out myself." And Death stood behind me while I did it and moaned about the cost, he thought. She watched the coins tumble brightly over each other into a shining heap.
"Fine," she said briskly, scooping up the money. "We'll run the advert. Ay'm sure your, ah," she peered back at the paper in front of her, "Mr De'ath – certainly an odd name – will be very popular with our ladies. Ay'll be in touch. Good day to you!"
~ * ~ * ~
*** - It might be worth noting that Death keeps chickens, being particularly fond of hard boiled eggs. He likes to paint them. See? Death has got a hobby. Oh yes, and he also owns a cow called Barbara. Hence, livestock.