Dicing with Death

by Beth Chambers

  For the first time in five years, Max felt uncomfortable with the way he’d acted that day.

  ‘Amy,’ he urged. ‘Come on, open your eyes.’

  Gradually it dawned on him that not only could he see Amy, but that she was lying in a pool of light. Glancing up he saw the source of the light was the scythe. Death hadn’t gone at all, he had simply moved further away.

  The Grim Reaper regarded him, skull tilted to one side. ‘Enough!’ His voice reverberated like a tomb slamming closed. ‘It is time. Your sister must leave this world.’

  Something deep and angry inside Max began to boil. He leapt to his feet. ‘You can’t take her,’ he screamed with clenched fists. ‘I won’t let you.’

  With only a skull for a face, Death wasn’t naturally good at expressions, but despite this Max got the impression the Grim Reaper didn’t like being defied by a mortal. ‘Don’t be foolish,’ he boomed. ‘Move out of the way.’

  ‘I don’t think so,’ Max croaked.

  Death tipped his head back, almost as if he were laughing, and appeared to take a huge breath. Then he dropped his head again, opened his jaw and released a howling blast of freezing air.

  The force of the surge knocked Max off his feet and propelled him half way across the glade. He slammed against a tree trunk, the sudden pain in his back fighting for supremacy with the agony in his ears as roaring wind tore through the forest.

  A giant hourglass appeared in the air above Amy. Death appeared to be waiting for the last of the sand to run from the top bulb to the bottom. A gold thread shimmered between the hourglass and Amy’s heart. Max gulped. It was Amy’s lifeline.

  Once again, Death raised his scythe into the air.

  It was at this precise moment that inspiration hit Max like an icy wave.

  ‘Stop! Stop! I’ll play you!’ he shouted.

  For a long moment, nothing moved. Death remained with his arms raised, about to sever Amy’s lifeline; Max lay against the tree where he’d landed, hardly daring to breathe.

  Slowly, Death lowered his scythe.

  ‘What?’ His deep voice boomed around the glade.

  ‘That’s the rule, right? I can challenge you to a game. Everybody knows that,’ Max gabbled. ‘I’m allowed to play a game with you, and if I win you can’t take Amy.’

  Death floated slowly across the forest floor towards Max. The way he moved had the uncanny effect of making the forest seem as if it were rushing into the distance, while Death himself stayed perfectly still. Max screwed up his eyes as the world shifted and bent out of focus.

  ‘Actually,’ said Death, leaning over him, ‘it’s the best of three.’

  Chapter Five

  ‘If you choose to join the queue of candidates, you will have a very long wait,’ grinned Death.

  ‘W-w-what?’ stuttered Max, before his brain clicked into gear. He could put up with a day or two’s wait. This was for Amy’s life, he’d queue for weeks if need be. ‘What will happen to Amy while I’m waiting?’ he panted. ‘She’ll be alright, won’t she?’

  ‘What she will be,’ boomed Death ‘is old. The queue is thirty years long, give or take a month or two.’

  Max’s eyes widened. ‘Thirty years!’

  Death swung his scythe so that its sharp blade pointed forward like the beak of a bird of prey. Realising what was about to happen, Max rolled sideways as the huge blade fell, missing him by millimetres and slicing into the stony ground. A crack appeared which rapidly grew deeper and wider. Stones rattled down into the depths of what had suddenly become a chasm, before two podgy grey hands appeared on either side of the crack. These were followed by a face more wrinkled than a British bulldog with hairy warts sprouting on the folds of grey skin. The creature had long pointed ears, a beaky, sharp nose and slanting, luminous eyes. Accompanying his struggle through the gap was a sound like a balloon being deflated. This was immediately followed by the smell of rotten eggs.

  ‘Whoops,’ the creature smirked. ‘Pardon me.’

  ‘Mopsus,’ Death sighed.

  The creature called Mopsus was only about three feet tall, but he was able to reach eye level with Death thanks to the madly flapping feathered wings attached to his ankles.

  ‘Master Reaper.’ His voice grated like two stones being ground together.

  Death dipped his head slightly. ‘This… boy has challenged me to a game.’

  Mopsus scratched his head. ‘Another one? I don’t know where you expect me to put him. They’re queueing back as far as the boiler room. Tempers are getting pretty hot down there.’ He coughed, splattering Max with stinking phlegm. ‘Ahem, no pun intended.’

  Death leaned a little closer to Mopsus. ‘Perhaps you might suggest an alternative,’ he intoned. ‘The boy should be given the chance to save his sister, no matter how slight. I believe we have an understanding?’ He emphasised the last word so that it echoed around the glade.

  Mopsus glanced in Max’s direction, comprehension flitting across his ugly face. ‘Oh,’ he said haughtily. ‘Yes, of course. I suppose the boy could be my assistant. After all, being your personal assistant is an immensely time-consuming job, and I really could use a new minion to clean up after the zombies – perhaps sew back on the occasional limb. And then there are the ghouls – they’re forever haunting places where they have no right to be. I just hope he’s a bit more hardy than the last one you gave me. He was in pieces before the week was out. Literally.’ He scowled. ‘Perhaps we could come to some arrangement with… er…’

  ‘Max,’ Max supplied.

  ‘Yes, Max, to take on a short-term contract in return for Amy’s life?’

  ‘Eh?’ Max was struggling to keep up. Why did they want him when there was a thirty-year-long queue of candidates to choose from? It didn’t make any sense. His glance slid to Amy. Now wasn’t the time for looking a gift horse in its mouth – or in this case, a gift skeleton and its hideous PA.

  ‘I’ll do it on one condition,’ Max began, trying to sound more confident than he felt. ‘Amy goes home – now.’

  ‘Boy, making demands is really not the best way to start off your working relationship with me,’ Mopsus spat with a sly sidelong glance at Death.

  Death spoke over him. ‘Max will be my assistant. Not yours. Take the girl to her parents’ house, Mopsus.’

  Mopsus’s mouth dropped open. Max saw several maggots squirming around the gaps in the creature’s rotten teeth. ‘But I’m your – ’

  ‘Enough!’ Death scowled. ‘Take the girl back. Now!’

  Mopsus glared at Max who felt completely bemused. He was going to be working for Death, directly? He hoped he wouldn’t have to kill anyone.

  ‘Of course,’ rumbled Death, ‘if you do not fulfil your contract with me I will come back for your sister and her life will not be the only one to be forfeit – yours is also on the line.’ He stretched out his scythe and pressed it against Max’s chest.

  Max gulped. Questions raced through his mind. How short was the ‘short’ in his contract? What precisely would his job description be, since Mopsus clearly thought of himself as Death’s personal assistant? And how had Mopsus known Amy’s name?

  Before he could voice any of them, Death snapped his fingers, and a moment later Max heard a gentle splash. Losing his balance, he collapsed onto a wooden seat and felt the motion of a boat gliding through water. Max faced the stern, but could only just make it out through the swirling thick fog.

  ‘I thought we would take the scenic route.’ Death’s voice rumbled. ‘If you are to be my assistant, you will need to learn your way around my kingdom. Take the key. It is next to you.’

  ‘Why?’ Max questioned as his fingers connected with smooth, cold brass.

  ‘Do not lose it,’ Death went on, ignoring him. ‘Without it you cannot gain entrance to, or exit from, the Underworld.’

  Exit sounds good, Max thought. It’s entrance I’m not so keen on.

  A faint high-pitched howling sounded. It was the type of noise that made you think
of werewolves and haunted graveyards. Worse, they seemed to be floating closer and closer to it.

  ‘What’s that?’ asked Max.

  ‘Cerberus.’

  ‘Cerberus?’ Max grew uncomfortably aware of a smell worse than a crate full of rotting rats.

  ‘I would not do that if I were you,’ Death said, as Max peered intently into the gloom. ‘Those who look Cerberus in the eye turn to stone.’

  ‘What?’ yelled Max, squeezing his eyes shut and pulling his jumper over his head.

  ‘He is the guardian of the entrance to Hades – my Underworld. Show him the key.’

  Max raised a shaking hand.

  ‘Not to that head – it’s not looking at you.’

  ‘W-w-what d’you mean, not that head?’ Max panicked. ‘How many heads does it have?’

  ‘Three. Unless you count the snake, and then it would be four.’

  ‘The snake?’ Max repeated, while transferring the key into his other hand and waving it madly.

  ‘Cerberus’s tail. It is very effective at keeping uninvited people out,’ Death replied.

  Max couldn’t imagine there were that many people trying to get in.

  They carried on down the river. As the panting and snarling faded, Max risked opening his eyes to narrow slits. The craggy rocks that rose up on either side of the river were illuminated by burning torches. Against the fiery backdrop, he saw the shadow of a creature larger than an elephant straddling the river. Each of its three massive heads had wide-open jaws, revealing teeth like razor-sharp tombstones.

  What am I doing? Max panicked, quickly squeezing his eyes shut again.

  Suddenly, the boat bumped into a stone ledge and stopped. Opening his eyes, Max saw that they had floated into a low-roofed cave. He scrambled after Death, who turned and plucked the key from Max’s hand before leading the way to a huge room made from great slabs of black marble. The floor, walls and roof were all made of the smooth, glistening stone, making Max feel like he was trapped in an enormous, stickerless Rubik’s Cube. The light from the flickering torches threw Death’s shadow against the walls as he stalked towards an ornately carved table.

  Mopsus was waiting for them.

  ‘Don’t tell me, you took the scenic route?’ Mopsus said knowingly while Death took his seat at the head of the table.

  Scenic isn’t exactly the first word that comes to mind, thought Max, as Death indicated he should sit down.

  Mopsus heaved his fat body over to Max’s side of the table, and slid a tightly rolled-up scroll towards him.

  Death snapped his fingers and the scroll unrolled.

  Max peered intently at the spidery writing but he couldn’t make any sense out of it. There was an empty, thick red line at the bottom of the parchment.

  ‘Sign.’ Death leaned over to tap the parchment with a long bony finger. ‘Now.’

  ‘I can’t read it. What does it say?’ Max asked nervously.

  ‘That you agree to become Death’s assistant for a non-specified period of time,’ interrupted Mopsus, speaking with such speed that Max could barely follow what he was saying. ‘That once you have signed you cannot change your mind and ask to go home. That you cannot sue if you are injured, lose any of your limbs or die during the course of your employment. Oh, and that if you fail in any of your duties, not only will your own life be forfeit but Death will claim your sister’s soul. Now sign.’

  Max felt a spasm of fear shoot up his spine. ‘Alright.’ He nodded. He felt a sudden rush of daring. ‘But where does Death sign?’

  ‘Pardon?’ said Mopsus, quietly.

  ‘Where does Death sign to agree that Amy and I are free once I’m done?’

  ‘I?’ boomed Death. ‘Sign?’ Swirls of acrid smoke wafted from his eye sockets.

  Max’s courage buckled. Hastily he grabbed the black-feathered quill that appeared from thin air. The nib made a loud scratching noise whilst oozing out thick red ink. He had barely finished the last letter of his name when the scroll rolled itself up and vanished.

  How, Max wondered, had the contract been drawn up so quickly? Had he been expected?

  Before he had time to brood any further, Death lifted his hand from his chair’s skull-studded armrest. ‘The kitchen is through that door.’ He pointed. ‘You may fetch refreshments.’

  Surprised that Death had something as mundane as a kitchen, Max got up and made his way across the hall. Before he reached the door he stopped and looked over shoulder. ‘My mother…’ He hesitated. ‘She’ll be worried about me. She’ll think I’ve run away.’

  Death dipped his head in acknowledgement. ‘Maximus Di Angelo,’ he intoned. ‘You are about to become a statistic.’

  Chapter Six

  Death’s kitchen had the spiders’ webs and gloomy lighting that seemed a pre-requisite in the Underworld. Unlike the great hall, which was cavernous, the kitchen was cosy by comparison, although it was still bigger than the entire downstairs of Max’s house. Shelves hewn out of black marble were crowded with plates, bowls and goblets. What does he need all this stuff for? It wasn’t as if Death could eat or drink – it would leak through the gaps that were supposed to be plugged by flesh and sinew.

  The best description for Death’s kitchen was ‘random’ – as if it had been built by someone who had never boiled an egg in his life, but had raided a stash of Good Housekeeping magazines. Black marble counters rose up in various places, strung about with chintz curtains. Copper pots and pans were suspended from a huge chain strung across the ceiling. Max couldn’t see an oven and assumed that any cooking took place over the small fire that smoked in an open fireplace.

  ‘What are you doing here?’ snapped a high-pitched voice. ‘Nobody dead is allowed in Death’s private quarters.’

  ‘I’m not dead!’ Max span around and saw a girl who looked only a little older than himself. Her long red hair tumbled untidily over her shoulders and her green eyes were piercing.

  She put her hands on her hips. ‘Well then, you’re definitely in the wrong place.’

  ‘I know. Apparently I’m Death’s new personal assistant,’ Max said gloomily.

  ‘But Mopsus is his PA!’

  ‘I think I must be the other one.’

  ‘The other one?’

  ‘Never mind.’ Max didn’t understand it either. ‘Death sent me in for refreshments.’

  She sighed. ‘Food doesn’t appear like magic in this place, you know.’

  ‘Erm…’ squirmed Max, feeling awkward, as he realised she must be the cook. ‘What’s old Bone Face like then, you know, as a boss?’ He was feeling a little braver now that a door separated him from the Grim Reaper.

  ‘You don’t want to let him hear you calling him that. He’s very hit and miss when it comes to humour,’ the girl replied, frowning. ‘Since you have a problem with names, let me spell mine out for you. It’s L I A H.’

  Adopting one of his most sincerely innocent faces, Max mangled the pronunciation just to get a rise out of her. ‘Liar! That’s an interesting name.’

  ‘You’re not funny.’

  Max held up his hands. ‘OK, sorry. Liah, as in the princess from Star Wars?’

  ‘What are you talking about?’ Liah pulled back one of the hideous floral curtains and took out a round loaf of bread that looked as if it could be entered into a shot put contest.

  Max suspected a chainsaw would be of more use than the blunt knife she was using to hack off a slice. ‘You’ve never heard of Star Wars?’ he said, surprised. ‘How long have you been down here?’

  ‘Some of us don’t have time to sit around talking. You could help.’ Liah indicated a pot beside the sorry excuse for a fire. ‘That needs to be put on to heat.’

  Max picked up the pot and hung it on a giant hook over the flames. He lifted the lid and his stomach rebelled at the sight and smell of the thick grey contents. Occasionally something solid would bubble up to the surface only to be dragged back beneath the thick skin of the liquid, possibly by something still alive. Max b
acked away from the pungent aroma, focusing all his energy on not being sick, before he realised that Liah was talking.

  ‘What?’

  ‘You haven’t been listening,’ she huffed. ‘I was saying that down here, it’s impossible to keep track of time. No one ages either. I’m sure I’ve been here for at least a year. One thing I’m certain of,’ she said darkly, ‘is that I’m owed leave.’ She reached up to retrieve plates and goblets.

  ‘So you’re not dead then?’

  ‘Do I look dead?’ she snapped.

  Max hesitated. To be quite honest she did look a bit ghostlike with her alabaster skin and large eyes. Her floral apron spoilt the overall supernatural effect, but give Liah a white sheet and she’d be more than convincing.

  ‘Well?’ she prompted.

  ‘You do look as if a touch of sun wouldn’t be a bad thing,’ Max said, evading the question. He looked at her thin frame and decided not to mention the fact that she also looked in need of a good meal. Girls could be so touchy about their weight.

  Liah poured water into two goblets. ‘I can’t remember what it’s like to feel the sun on my skin.’ She sounded wistful.

  ‘So if you’re not dead, how did you end up here?’

  Liah’s lips pressed into a thin line. ‘I played Death and lost, but instead of taking my life he offered me a job. His cook had just quit – some row about his talent being wasted – and Death said I could become his housekeeper instead of having my soul harvested.’ She sighed. ‘I’m still not convinced I made the right choice.’

  Max waited for her to load up the tray. ‘Do you want me to carry it through?’

  She hesitated then thrust the tray into his hands.