Soul Music - Albert's Timer

There was a battered shoe-box under the bed. Albert pulled it out very, very carefully and took the top off. It was half full of cotton wool; nestling in the wool, like a rare egg, was a lifetimer. Engraved on it was the name: Alberto Malich.

The sand inside was frozen, immobile, in mid-pour. There wasn't much left in the top bulb. No time passed, here. It was part of the Arrangement. He worked for Death, and time didn't pass, except when he went into the World.

There was a scrap of paper by the glass. The figures '91' had been written at the top, but lower numbers trailed down the page after it. 73 . . . 68 . . . 37

Nineteen! He must have been daft. He'd let his life leak away by hours and minutes, and there had been a lot more of them lately. There'd been all that business with the plumber, of course. And shopping. The Master didn't like to go shopping. It was hard to get served.

And Albert had taken a few holidays, because it was nice to see the sun, any sun, and feel wind and rain; the Master did his best, but he could never get them right. And decent vegetables, he couldn't do them properly either. They never tasted grown. Nineteen days left in the world. But more than enough.

Albert slipped the lifetimer into his pocket, put on an overcoat, and stamped back down the stairs.

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Soul Music - p194-195