Disclaimer: I know nothing. Own. Own nothing. Ha.
Blank Ned: Aww you say such nice things! Thank you.
Adora Bell Dearheart: Sorry. Please read on if you haven't given up on it!
Ouch
THAT DOOR LEADS TO YOUR AFTERLIFE. I SEE YOU LIKE CATS A LOT. Said Death, easing the door open.
"Not really, they're OK I suppose. Why are they trampling all over my afterlife?" Moist looked puzzled.
HMM, THIS IS QUITE WORRYING. STILL, IF YOU WOULD LIKE TO STEP INSIDE, JOYCE, I AM SURE WE CAN SORT IT OUT. Death put his skeletal hand on Moist's back to hurry him along. No one likes a job to take longer than it has to.
"Wait… I'm not ready, I… what did you just call me?"
WHAT? JOYCE OF COURSE. ODD NAME FOR A MAN BUT… WHY, WHAT DID YOU THINK I SAID? Death pulled a piece of paper out of his cloak.
"I thought you said Joyce. My name isn't Joyce. Aha! You've got the wrong person!"
YOU'RE NOT JOYCE MOUSTACHE? Death checked the piece of paper.
"Er… no, Joyce is a woman's name. My name is Moist von Lipwig." Moist replied slowly.
WELL THAT'S NOT REALLY MUCH BETTER IS IT? NOW LET ME SEE… Death read down the list. AH! JOYCE MOUS… OH NO.
"What's wrong?"
SOMEWHERE IN ANKH-MORPORK THERE'S A LADY THINKING "OUCH".
"Oh dear! Moist said happily. "Does that mean I'm not dead then? I don't have to go in there with all those cats do I?"
NO. NO, IT'S ALL JUST A TERRIBLE MIX UP. THAT'S THE LAST TIME I EMPLOY A TEMP. YOU CAN GO BACK IF YOU WISH, ALTHOUGH IT MAY BE A LITTLE DIFFICULT FOR YOU TO EXPLAIN.
"That's fine, I'll find a way. Can you send me back now please?" Moist grinned wildly at Death.
YES. THE DOOR IS THAT WAY. AND PLEASE DO NOT GRIN LIKE THAT, YOU WILL DO ME OUT OF A JOB.
Moist walked through the first door and things went black again.
The world was jerking around in a very loud manner. Every movement and sound sent painful vibrations through Moist's head. He tried to sit up but ended up swallowing what seemed like a sheet. He choked and instantly regretted it when miniature clacks towers started flashing in his head. Then he realised that he could hear someone screaming. It was a high-pitched, utterly terrified, animal scream and Moist vaguely hoped it wasn't himself. He was sure it wasn't, and found he was right when he pushed the sheet away from his face and saw Jim trying to climb out of a coach window.
"Jim please stop screaming, my head hurts." He pushed himself up on the seat and noticed that things were spinning much faster the higher he got.
Jim flopped away from the window and looked at him. "M… M… Mr Lipwig! You're… er… doin' things dead people don't normally do. You know, talkin' an' stuff."
"Yes Jim, and you're doing things that six foot tall, thuggish looking men shouldn't normally do. Trying to force your way through a small window whilst screaming like a little girl for example." Moist would have laughed if his head had let him.
"Sorry Mr Lipwig, but when faced with legions of the undead, even the biggest man can get a bit… disturbed like. Not that it isn't nice to have you back."
"I'm not undead Jim, and I'm certainly not a legion."
"You should've warned me first, that's all." Jim told him reproachfully.
"Right, next time I'll make sure I remember. I could sit up and whisper to you, 'Now Jim, don't be alarmed. In a minute or two I'm going to sit up. And I will choke on this large white sheet in the process. Please do not attempt to exit via the window.'" Moist closed his eyes and rested his head on the back of his seat. It had been a long speech for a dead man. "I'll write it in my diary along with the insurance."
"What are you on about Mr Lipwig? Sorry about the sheet anyway, only you didn't have a very nice look on your face."
"Well neither would you if an extremely large man had just put his foot on it. That reminds me, why were you wearing a towel on your head?"
"I would prefer not to answer that question, Mr Lipwig, if it's alright by you." Jim stated with dignity. "We'd best be gettin' back. I wrote Mrs Lipwig a letter but then thought it might be nice if you delivered it yourself. One last journey like."
"How thoughtful Jim. It sort of renders the letter itself pointless though doesn't it? Having my dead body deliver it, I mean."
"I never thought of that Mr Lipwig. Now, you have a nice sleep. We'll be home soon." Jim turned back to the front of the carriage and clicked at the horse.
"Don't you even want to know why I'm suddenly alive again?" Moist asked with his eyes still closed.
"No Mr Lipwig," said Jim soothingly, "I don't understand all this spare tool business."
"Spare tools, Jim?"
"You know, death an' angels an' stuff."
"Ah yes." Moist slept and dreamt of celestial hammers.
Moist drifted in and out of sleep over the next few days. He was vaguely aware of being carried around and occasionally being put somewhere soft and warm. He often heard talking, mostly along the lines of "Charge it to Mr Lipwig, Ankh-Morpork Post Office. Thanks." He forced himself awake when he heard the bustle of Ankh-Morpork and sat up groggily. They pulled into the Post Office carriage yard quietly at Moist's request, but it seemed news had preceded them. Adora was already standing in the yard waiting. She was more noticeably pregnant than she was when Moist left, and he found he was overwhelmingly happy to see her. He opened the carriage door and swung his legs out. He landed on the floor in a heap.
"What have you been doing to him Jim? Did you get him drunk again?" Adora demanded as she tried to help Moist up. "You know he can't drink as much as you! Why are you home so soon? I thought you were going to be gone months. Moist for crying out loud! At this moment in time I am supporting the entire Lipwig family, will you please stand up straight." She looked at him properly for the first time. "What happened to your head?"
"Don't shout at him Missus, he died." Jim said meekly. Even the Upwright brothers had a way of being meek around Adora. It was just something most intelligent people did. Or at least most intelligent people who wanted to retain their vital organs.
"WHAT?"
"JIM!"
"Oops."
"Moist von Lipwig is this true?"
Moist shuffled his feet. "Er… if I say yes do you promise not to shout? My head still hurts a bit."
Adora took a deep breath. "Alright, I won't shout. Now, how did it happen?"
"A really fat man stood on my head." Moist winced at the memory.
"Right. Can I have the whole story please, or am I to assume you were temporarily keeping your head on the floor?" Adora was managing to stay calm, but it was obviously difficult for her.
Moist told her the story from day one of arriving in Lipwig, making a great deal of the fact he'd bought her some chocolate.
"Jim, while the father of my child was being slowly murdered, where were you?" Adora glared at Jim. "You were meant to be protecting him."
"I was in the toilet Missus."
"With a towel on his head." Moist interrupted.
"In the sink." Jim blushed, an odd occurrence for Jim.
"Why were you in the sink with a towel on your head?"
"I asked the men that an' they just said it was 'cos there weren't any 'shoovers'.
"Showers." Moist corrected him. "They would have meant showers. I should have guessed."
"You won't tell anyone will you? I don't want it gettin' round that's all. I jumped out as soon as I heard Mr Lipwig scream Missus, I swear. An' I pushed that Frederick off his head. Well, I said 'Oi! Get off his head!' and poked him in the arm. Nearly broke my finger." Jim looked at the floor.
"I did not scream!" Moist said, looking defensive.
"You did Mr Lipwig! You shook the windows!"
Adora sighed. "Alright. Jim, go home and… do whatever it is you want to do in an attempt to reclaim your masculinity. Moist, you're going straight to bed and I'm going to send Stanley to fetch a doctor, just in case there's any permanent damage. You're odd enough as it is."
"I don't need a doctor, I just want to sleep." Moist groaned at his wife.
"Yes and how long has he been asleep Jim?"
"Since he came back to life Missus. About a week, on and off. He scared me to death he did. He sat up and made this horrible choking noise, like the one Reg Shoe makes when he's angry."
"Alright Jim, go home. See Moist? It's no good trying to hide things from me. When you're feeling better you can explain to me exactly how you awoke from the dead."
"I'm fine. I feel fine. Just a bit wobbly because I've been sat down so long." Moist sighed and wobbled a bit.
"You look like raw dough. Now stop arguing or I'll get Miss Macalariat to force feed you Mr Groat's Pigeon Pie."
Moist stopped talking immediately.
Well, that's enough now because I'm tired. It's not finished yet, although I have no idea how I'm going to end it yet. But I will say I'm not going to kill Moist off again, this is meant to be funny. She says.
By the way, when Jim says 'spare tool' he means 'spiritual'. My brother proofread and had no clue what I was on about. So sorry if that bit isn't funny, just that I liked it so it's staying haha.