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- He was just in time to see the cart rumble straight on. The road, on the other hand, curved sharply. Satchelmouth shut his eyes and held on tight until the last scream and crackle and splinter had died away. When he opened them, it was just in time to see a burning wheel bounce down the canyon.
- 'Blimey,' he said, 'it was lucky there . . . was . . . some . . . thing . . .' His gaze went up. And up.
- YES. IT WAS, WASN'T IT?
- Mr Clete sat up in the ruins of the cart. It was clearly very much on fire. He was lucky, he told himself, to have survived that. A black-robed figure walked through the flames. Mr Clete looked at it. He'd never believed in this sort of thing. He never believed in anything. But if he had believed, he would have believed in someone . . . bigger. He looked down at what he'd thought was his body, and realized that he could see through it, and that it was fading away.
- 'Oh, dear,' he said. 'Hat. Hat. Hat.'
- The figure grinned, and swung its tiny scythe. SNH, SNH, SNH.
- ***
- Soul Music - p250
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