Disclaimer: No copyright, trademark or other intellectual property infringement is intended. Highlander characters belong, I believe, to Rysher and Davis/Panzer. Death belongs to all humanity, but Terry Pratchett has a mechanic's lien on the aspect appearing hither, not to mention the other Discworld fruitcakes -- uh, personas. Other characters belong to Others. No profit is being made from this story or stories. All original characters (if present) are mine, but none of them will work for money, food or beer. Or love, if capable of same.
These stories contain portrayals of homosexual relationships, sometimes graphically. Do not read any further if you are offended by same-sex relationships. Don't read any of my stories, as a matter of fact. I can't afford to have you for a reader.
Rated: PG-13 for implied m/m relationships and the occasional four-letter word.
DEATH and Taxes
He tossed a pebble into the ocean and watched. No ripple effect; the moon and gravity-induced waves destroyed his pattern before it fixed in a reality-node.
God, that sounded stupid.
NO. JUST UNIMPORTANT.
The hair on the back of his neck stood to attention, but his body, better-trained, remained in the sprawling, curiously graceful seated position on the sand.
"I haven't talked to you in years," he said, grateful for the terror that numbs the senses.
MY, YES, IT HAS BEEN A LONG TIME. NOT SINCE YOU WERE USING MY NAME, I BELIEVE.
"Yes." His eyes slid sideways to the seated figure next to him, the black robe draping itself onto the sand in supple folds... funny how they fell into the sand and below it and were still visible... the glimpses of gleaming white bones weren't amusing, that was true. He thought the scythe was the worst, although the sword belted around a waist that wasn't there had its point...
Hay-scented breath nudged him, pushing him forward with irresistible strength and blowing on him.
"Binky!" Adam grinned and grabbed the horse's muzzle, rubbing in the special way he knew a horse liked. "You still have Binky! I'm glad, he's a great horse."
YES. A TRIFLE SPIRITED, BUT A NICE HORSE.
"Don't knock it. You need a good horse," Adam said, blowing in Binky's nostrils. "Didn't I tell you that?"
YES, YOU DID. MOST CURIOUS, THAT.
"What?"
YOU ARE THE ONLY MORTAL WHO EVER GAVE ME ADVICE.
Adam shrugged. "It's what I do." His mouth twisted. "What I did. I'm sort of out of the advice business, now."
EXCEPT FOR ONE STUDENT.
"MacLeod?" Adam dug himself into the sand, making a couch to fit him. "Nah. He's not my student."
INDEED.
"So, who have you come for?" Adam asked softly. "Me? Is it time?"
Death was silent.
Not a good sign. Adam knew Death to be terminally blunt. If he'd come for Adam, he would have said so.
"Joe? Mac? Amanda?" he guessed, trying to keep his voice level. It was stupidly macho, because Death knew what he was feeling, but he had to try not to show his fears.
WHAT WERE YOU DOING?
A non-sequitur if I ever heard one -- except that everything Death said meant something. He hadn't always understood that when he was a mere lad of two or three thousand years...
"I was throwing rocks into the ocean," he began. "It's a game and an exercise in motor skills."
DOES IT MEAN ANYTHING?
"No, not a thing. It's just something to do. It works better in small ponds or lakes, though. Then you can make a pattern of the ripples, small circles spreading out to meet each other, growing..." Adam tried to explain, because he knew Death was interested; he also knew there was no way Death was ever going to understand mortal minds and mortal follies.
INTERESTING.
A faint smile lifted Adam's lips. The terror and numbness were receding, and he was coming alive again, enjoying matching wits with the old gentleman. Of course, he was going to lose, but... 'Wotthehell, Mehitabel? Wotthehell?'
THERE IS LIFE IN THE OLD DAME YET.
"Right." The smile became a grin. "You read minds. I had forgotten."
REALLY?
"Yes, and don't get your knickers in a twist," Adam said, leaning forward to toss another stone in the ocean. "You are the most memorable of my many acquaintances, but over time we mortals do tend to forget things. Besides (if you'll forgive me), I'd hoped never to see you again."
I CAN ACCEPT THAT.
"If I had a beer, I'd salute you," Adam said, inclining his head like royalty. "What are you doing here? I refuse to believe that you have nothing more important to do than talk to a five-thousand year old man --"
WHO HAS NOTHING BETTER TO DO THAN TOSS PEBBLES INTO AN OCEAN?
The sharply planed face inclined its head, the enigmatic smile and laughing eyes Adam's only reply.
YOU HIDE YOURSELF WELL. EVEN FROM MACLEOD?
He froze again, and cursed himself for his betrayal. You'd think I was a babe of five hundred! he raged at himself.
The placid carapace he wore never altered.
VERY WELL DONE. I CONGRATULATE YOU.
YOU GIVE ADVICE, DO YOU NOT?
"Not any more."
STILL, IT IS WHAT YOU DO BEST.
"What I do best is... survive," Adam said, his eyes narrowing as he tried to look into the hood. Not that Death's starry irises would tell him anything...
LET ME PLAY THIS GAME WITH YOU.
Adam's brow rose. He gathered a handful of smooth-worn pebbles and placed them on the outstretched bony fingers.
Death tossed the first one, and Adam eyed its flight.
HOW WAS THAT?
"You threw too hard. You're supposed to see where it lands, watch the ripple effect, maybe enjoy the sound of the rock falling into the water... the ocean isn't a good choice for this game..."
The next stone arced into a vast silent stillness; the waves were frozen, the gull's cries absent. The stone landed, ker-plunk! and round circles spread around it in the dead-calm water.
"Um. Yes, like that," Adam said blankly. Forget that he reads minds, forget he has this much power... are you sure you're a survivor, Methos? Gods!
IT DOESN'T SEEM TO HAVE MUCH CHALLENGE.
"Not for you. For me..." Adam watched as the sea timidly resumed its restless roar, as if it was afraid that whatever happened might happen again.
"For me, it's a challenge," he finished briskly.
A CHALLENGE.
Adam slid his eyes sideways, but otherwise didn't move from his sprawl.
DO YOU KNOW, I ONCE THOUGHT OF TAKING YOU AS AN APPRENTICE. AFTER ALL, YOU ALREADY HAD THE NAME. AND YOU LOOKED LIKE BEING AT LOOSE ENDS. BUT... I THOUGHT YOU MIGHT ENJOY IT A BIT TOO MUCH.
A pause of that infinitely graceful hand as it sifted through the sand. "Did you? I didn't know you needed an apprentice."
OH, YES. FOR HOLIDAYS AND SUCH, YOU KNOW. I GOT A BOY IN ONCE, BUT HE WASN'T SUITABLE. HE HAD TOO MUCH PASSION, THOUGHT THINGS SHOULD BE FAIR... AND THEN HE INTERFERED. IT CAUSED ALL SORTS OF TROUBLE.
"I can imagine. At least, I think I can," Adam said rather blankly.
I DON'T SUPPOSE YOU NEED A JOB NOW.
"Well, it's a nice thought, but I'm rather... tied up, at present."
THESE THINGS CHANGE.
A tremor in the hand; pressure on those strong knuckles. "I hope not. Not for a long, long time."
He changed the subject. "So what happened? To the boy?"
IT WAS A FAMILY THING...
"Your family?" Adam asked blankly.
OH, YES. THAT'S WHY I TOOK THE BOY IN THE FIRST PLACE, REALLY. MY DAUGHTER... WELL, SHE WAS AT AN AWKWARD AGE, NEEDED... UM... COMPANIONSHIP, THAT SORT OF THING.
"Um. Did you happen to speak with him about inheriting the family business via marriage?"
WHY, YES, I BELIEVE I DID.
"Ah."
NICE YOUNG MAN. A PASSABLE SWORDSMAN, TOO -- HE ACTUALLY FOUGHT ME.
"Really?"
I DID SAY HE WAS TOO PASSIONATE FOR THE JOB, DIDN'T I?
"Yes, you did."
HE AND MY DAUGHTER LEFT. WENT BACK DOWN, MARRIED -- GAVE ME A GRANDDAUGHTER, A FINE GIRL. UNFORTUNATELY, THEY RAN OUT OF TIME WHEN SHE WAS SIX OR SO...
"That's always hard on children," Adam said cautiously.
OH, MY GRANDDAUGHTER TURNED OUT QUITE WELL. CAME INTO THE FAMILY BUSINESS FOR A WHILE, WHEN I HAD AN UNFORTUNATE TURN. BUT TOO LIKE HER FATHER. YOU FALL IN LOVE WITH A MORTAL AND THERE GOES YOUR JUDGMENT.
"I can see that happening. Hard cheese."
YOU HAVE NO IDEA. THE BOY WAS SUPPOSED TO DIE... I HAD TO ACTUALLY -- WELL, SHE CRIED, YOU SEE. IT WAS VERY UPSETTING.
"Might even affect the business if it happens often."
Death waved a bony hand and the waves hesitated, wondering what they were supposed to do now; finally they tumbled over themselves, obviously peeved at not being given further direction.
WELL, I HAVE AN UNDERSTANDING WITH MY DIRECTOR. THOUGH THERE FOR A WHILE IT LOOKED AS IF I WOULD HAVE AUDITORS LOOKING OVER MY SHOULDER, SECOND-GUESSING ME. BUT THEY DECIDED TO LEAVE, I BELIEVE.
"Gives a whole new meaning to the term 'down-sizing'," Adam murmured.
AND NOW... IT'S VERY PLEASANT, MIND YOU, BUT A BIT STRANGE. THE CHILDREN COME TO TEA ONCE A MONTH, REGULAR AS CLOCKWORK -- WOULD YOU LIKE TO SEE SOME PICTURES?
"Of course. How many great-grandchildren are there?" Adam politely inquired as he stared at the stack of dark etchings. A black cottage with neat black lawns and black roses edging them; around at the sides he could see black fruit trees with shiny black apples on them -- and, way at the back immense fields of golden wheat and corn, almost shocking. The children were perfectly normal, as far as he could judge, dressed in black playclothes and with dark chocolate smeared on their faces. No-nonsense expressions on all the girls; the boys looked dreamy, like poets and musicians.
"They look quite healthy, and very handsome, too," he said, tactfully not mentioning the birthmark on all their faces. "The white hair with a black streak is a lovely touch."
Death beamed, if there could be such a thing. Obviously a doting great-grandfather.
I'M HOPING ONE OF THEM WILL WANT TO COME INTO THE BUSINESS. I QUITE ENJOYED MY LAST HOLIDAY. OF COURSE, ONE A MILLENNIA IS MORE THAN ENOUGH.
Adam carefully went through each iconograph, murmuring the appropriate compliment. The swing on the apple tree (where the rope supports for the swing actually went through the trunk of the tree, in defiance of all logic) stymied him, but only for a moment. "That's an unusual swing. I bet the children enjoy it."
I MADE IT MYSELF, Death said proudly. IT IS QUITE EASY ONCE YOU GET THE HANG OF IT.
He passed over the malignant little man (obviously a servant) squinting into the lens and passing around fried cookies -- Adam was absolutely sure he didn't want to go there -- and handed the etchings back, not looking at where they were stowed in the inky robes.
A pitter-patter on the sand made his head jerk around and he saw approaching them a diminutive, dark-robed figure scuttling over the mounds. It carried a tiny scythe and an even smaller hooded thing (also with minuscule scythe) was on its bony paw.
SQUEAK.
"How do you do?" Adam said, inured to almost anything by now.
AH. WHEN I HAD MY UNFORTUNATE TURN, I SEEMED TO HAVE SPUN-OFF THE DEATH OF RATS. AND THE DEATH OF FLEAS, TOO.
"They're charming," Adam said, meaning every word. He had horrible memories of the black plagues that had swept Europe in the Middle Ages.
YOU DON'T THINK THEY'RE... REDUNDANT?
"I think you ought to have a little help," Adam said firmly. "And they don't appear to need much supervision."
TRUE. VERY TRUE. Death sounded relieved, as if he'd needed some reassurance.
Probably the middle-managers were on his back about the payroll, Adam thought, irritated. Bloody idiots.
AND HOW IS YOUR FAMILY?
"Mine?" Adam blinked. "We don't really have family, you know."
Death waved dismissively (the water, which had been coming uncomfortably close to them the last few laps, receded immediately and decided the tide could come in some other time). I MEANT YOUR ADOPTED FAMILY. YOU KNOW, THE SCOTTISH CHAP?
"Ah. MacLeod." Adam thought about it a minute. What was family? The same as home. And home is the place where, when you go there, they have to take you in.
Sounded awfully like Duncan MacLeod. Not that he gave the highlander much of a choice about it. But however Duncan grumbled, he'd never refused him shelter. Or food. Or even beer.
Well, damn. Imagine that. Him with a family, at his age.
"Oh, they're all well," he said out loud. Of course, if Duncan was family, so was Joe, and Amanda... maybe even Connor. That was about it. Didn't seem like much, but... damn fine quality there, if not quantity. "I see Joe every day. Amanda's in Toronto, I don't ask why. Connor -- I haven't heard from him in a while, but he's pretty loose about these things. And Duncan... he's fine."
But no one else, he said, like a drunk vowing to down only one beer.
He pursed his lips, wondering if he could get a look at Duncan's hourglass...
NOT A GOOD IDEA.
"No?" Now he was afraid. Was Duncan's time running out? "I heard from a very impeachable source," he began cautiously, "that sometimes one can, oh, move time... say, if I had a year or two left in my hourglass, I might be able to give it to someone else --"
NOT A GOOD IDEA.
"He's a very good man --"
The silence was... discouraging.
"Ah. Just a thought. So what brought you here?" he asked, burying the mingled disappointment and relief deep in his heart. He watched the Death of Fleas hop about the sand, mingling with the sand-fleas that infested the dead seaweed tossed up on shore. There might have been fewer fleas, but who could tell?
If it wasn't Death next to him, Adam would have said his visitor was embarrassed.
ACTUALLY... UM... I WAS HOPING FOR SOME ADVICE.
It took a minute (though you'd never know it from his face) for Adam to change gears, but he managed it. "I'm at your service. Mind you, it never does any good," he added practically. "I can't imagine I'd give you any better advice than, oh, say Azrael, but..." he shrugged. "I'll certainly try."
He thought an encouraging silence was best. Death had sounded almost embarrassed, but why would he be? He was just an immortal anthropomorphic personification. It wasn't as if he'd just spotted Adam on the off-chance, remembered the little contretemps they had about the use of a copyrighted name and how they'd finally gotten drunk together and parted on familiar (even fairly friendly -- you try drinking fermented mares milk with someone and then finding the strength to fight) terms, and then decided here was someone who'd appreciate the baby pictures --
Ah. Could be...
"Of course, if someone wanted advice about family problems... Well, sometimes family things are private, and people have second thoughts about confiding in others..."
DO THEY?
"Oh, lots of times. It can help just to know there's a sympathetic ear somewhere about -- you don't always have to actually use it." He added hastily, in case he was wrong, "Unless you want to. But just knowing there's a safety-valve is often enough to relieve the pressure..."
Death seemed to be mulling that one over -- not one of his best analogies.
"And many people get cold feet, decide they don't want to confide just yet..."
Come on, give me a clue here. Do you want a human viewpoint on something? Kids acting up? Sounds like you've already got a handle on adolescence from your daughter... Unsuitable suitors? I can't imagine you'd have trouble with that.
Or is it the boys? A mésalliance? Shouldn't be a problem, same solution as above.
Oh, well, you'll tell me if you want to. In the meantime...
"By the way... I always meant to thank you," Adam said awkwardly. He stared at the ocean fiercely, concentrating on the patterns of the wind and waves, ignoring the sting of the salt tears that clung to his eyelashes.
DID YOU?
"Yes. I know we haven't talked since I was called Death, but... I've seen you more recently. A few years ago, when I was with Alexa. I meant to say hello then, but... I couldn't.
"It was good of you to... take her home yourself."
AH... WELL, I WAS PASSING THROUGH... IT WAS CONVENIENT. A VERY NICE YOUNG LADY.
He sounded embarrassed to death. Adam thought the waves reflected a carmine blush.
"Still, it was kind. She was always a little afraid of what was to come; I could have told her about you, but..."
NOT A GOOD IDEA.
"So many of mine seem to be like that," Adam said wryly, thinking back over his long, long life. "Kronos, Augustine..."
YOU CAN'T REMEMBER FORWARD, THAT'S ALL.
"Yes, well, I'm sure it's a useful gift for you. I'd probably go crazy," Adam said, even as he half-wished for the ability. I might be able to help Duncan —
AND YOU COULDN'T CHANGE ANYTHING.
Ah. That took care of that.
A pulse of presence resounded through him and he stiffened, twisting his neck and automatically reaching for the hilt of the sword in his coat. A moment later he relaxed.
"It's Duncan," he said unnecessarily.
YES. HE IS YOUR CURRENT BEAU AS WELL, ISN'T HE?
Adam stared at him blankly, then shouted with laughter, just as the outline of the highlander came over the sand dune.
"I'm glad I amuse you," MacLeod said, not amused himself.
"Not you, just my thoughts," Adam said, still catching his breath. Can he see you?
I WOULDN'T THINK SO. EVEN AS A SMALL BOY HE WAS DISTRESSINGLY LITERAL-MINDED.
Really? What was he like as a small boy? Adam thought with fascination as he made room on his right side.
MacLeod frowned, looking at the clear, flat space to Adam's left -- where his lover was staring. If he crossed his eyes, there might have been something there...
He shook his head and sat down, scowling at his own foolish fancies. But it was still disturbing to look at that bit of space, so he focused on Adam instead, his intent scrutiny usually enough to grab Adam's attention.
It wasn't working.
OH, INQUISITIVE, ALL ENERGY, FEARLESS... I WAS SURPRISED NOT TO MEET HIM BEFORE HE BECAME IMMORTAL.
"That, I believe," Adam murmured. "A reckless, idiot child."
YOU WEREN'T ANY BETTER.
"Really?" Adam's eyes lit up, and he leaned forward, anxious to explore the topic. "You know, I can't remember --"
"Adam."
"What is it?" he asked irritably.
"There's no one there."
A slit-eyed face was turned towards the Scot.
"Just. Because. You. Can't. See. It. Doesn't. Mean. There's. Nothing. There."
MacLeod nodded so fast you'd think he was a bobbing doll.
"Right."
He watched Adam carry on a one-sided conversation for another five minutes, eyes growing bigger as he listened. Finally he decided, in mounting perturbation, that the old man had completely lost it.
Shifting a little closer every time he thought Adam didn't notice, a hand gently fisted as he brought it up, ready to rabbit-punch his in-need-of-medical-care friend.
Instead, a sharp pain went right down his knuckles and he drew them back with an outraged "Ouch!"
Sucking the blood from the back of his hand, he could feel Adam swivel to glare again at him, but his fascinated gaze couldn't move from the author of his wound.
Which was a six-inch tall skeletal rat in a black hooded robe (a polished white snout with brittle grey whiskers poked out of the cowl). With a tiny (now-bloody) scythe in its bony paws.
SQUEAK!
"Tell me it's not there," he said after a minute.
"Tell you what's not there?" Adam asked cleverly.
I THINK WE'VE JUST BEEN BROUGHT TO HIS ATTENTION.
MacLeod turned his head just the little bit necessary to stare past the rat-in-a-cowl (not taking his eyes off the rat, you understand, just to make sure the patch of sand on the other side of Adam was in his peripheral vision).
Sitting there was a much bigger skeleton, human-looking this time (the lack of snout was a dead giveaway), in black robes. With a bigger scythe.
"A friend of yours?" the highlander finally asked.
ONLY FOR A FEW THOUSAND YEARS OR SO.
"Ah. Barely enough time to call each other by your first names."
QUITE.
"Look, MacLeod, why don't you go back to the dojo and lie down for a bit. I'll meet you there in a while, we can go to Joe's. I'll even buy the beer," Adam added in desperation.
"Not a chance, old man," MacLeod said flatly. "I'm not leaving you to one of your old friends again."
Adam whitened and scrunched up, looking deliberately out to sea.
OH MY.
"I don't give a rat's arse what you want, you're not having Adam. Do we understand each other?" MacLeod asked, still in that voice that sounded like the bottom of a mineshaft.
NO. NOT REALLY. BUT IT IS INTERESTING, Death answered brightly. (The Death of Rats, highly offended at MacLeod's language, had turned his back on the highlander and was now sitting by Adam's side, hoping for a bit of cheese.)
"No?" MacLeod's voice was rising like a winched bucket.
"Don't make yourself more of an ass than you already are," Adam finally muttered. "He didn't come for me, I already asked. As if you could stop -- never mind that," he hastily back-pedaled, realizing almost too late what a gimlet-eyed stare and flexed shoulder muscles might mean, especially when coupled with a disengaged brain.
"What did he come for, then?" MacLeod asked suspiciously.
"If you must know, we were exchanging family news," Adam said, throwing up his hands in exasperation. "Do you have a biscuit?"
"A what?"
"A biscuit, a cookie, a -- oh, good, one of those power-bar things," Adam said, delving into a coat pocket. "Here you go, Squeak. Never mind him, he's got no manners."
With mouth open, MacLeod saw his last snack disappear under a shadowed cowl, accompanied by skitterings and clicking teeth.
"Family news?"
ARE YOU SURE HE'S INTELLIGENT? YOU WERE TALKING ABOUT MÉSALLIANCES...
"The only reason I did better the first time you showed up was that I was drunk out of my mind," Adam snapped, staring worriedly at his lover. "Believe me, without that cushion you would have had to peel me off the tent walls."
REALLY? I WOULD NEVER HAVE GUESSED IT.
"Well, I thought Caspian had put something in the booze," Adam admitted. "Mushrooms, some kind of hallucinogen. Either that, or one of the slaves was trying to poison me. But if it was Caspian, I was damned if I was going to let one of his merry little pranks get me going."
BUT YOU OFFERED ME A DRINK.
"I figured if you weren't real it wasn't an ethical issue, and if you were real, you certainly should have been able to handle it."
MacLeod had heard all of this, and some of it had penetrated. Enough so that he'd managed to dig out his hip-flask (never been without it since Prohibition) and manage some hefty swallows. Absently, he passed it to the black-robed rat, who poured a small dose into the lid and sipped daintily, the white-boned paws making an elegant contrast to the tarnished silver. Power-bars were dry stuff.
"But... why?"
"Why what?" Adam asked suspiciously; he was damned if MacLeod was going to dig up Kronos and all his past again.
"Why is he here? Besides exchanging family news -- and you haven't a family anyway," MacLeod asked, quite reasonably he thought.
He changed his mind when he saw Adam's eyes narrow and realized his lover had just gone into a massive snit.
"You're my family, you cretin; and Joe, and Amanda, and that drunken thug you call cousin, too," Adam hissed at him, and grabbed the flask away from the Scot's protective paws.
Duncan gaped, then realized what Adam had said. An enormous smile broke over his face and he fumbled in his coat, bringing out the other hip flask, this one full of the good stuff. He split it in serene contentment with Squeak while Adam and Death shared out the last of the first pint.
ACTUALLY, I WANTED YOUR ADVICE ABOUT SOMETHING ELSE... Death said mournfully, after the liquor was gone.
"Not family?" Adam was at the stage where this was a disappointment. He could almost imagine himself as Dr. Death Brothers...
NO. IT'S VERY DISTRESSING.
"You can't be distressed, you don't have any glands," Adam pointed out, passing on to the literal stage of public drunkenness.
Death ignored this non-sequitur. IT'S... TAXES.
"Taxes?" Adam almost choked, and Duncan frowned when he grabbed the good booze to clear his throat.
THE PATRICIAN IN ANKH-MORPORK HAS DECIDED TO TAX DEATH.
Duncan was fascinated. How did the, um, fellow form words out of black clouds?
Adam took another sip, amazed that MacLeod hadn't snatched the pint back, and passed it on to the calcareous fingers. "That takes guts," he breathed in awe.
THE PATRICIAN KNOWS NO FEAR WHEN IT COMES TO ACCUMULATING A TAX BASE, Death acknowledged. BUT I AM AT A LOSS AS TO WHAT ACTIONS I SHOULD TAKE TO PROTEST THE TAX.
"Well, first you don't pay it," Duncan said pragmatically. "Unless he can garnishee your wages, or imprison you, or take away your real property."
Death considered that a moment. I DON'T RECEIVE WAGES; AND IMPRISONING ME... I SHOULDN'T THINK HE'D WANT ME HANGING AROUND. I DON'T THINK I HAVE ANY REAL PROPERTY. IT'S ALL SO REAL IT'S RATHER... UNREAL.
Duncan knew he hadn't had enough to drink. It almost made sense.
"Is he taxing you on the act of dying? Or is it an inheritance tax? Or death-duties? And who pays?" Adam asked briskly, sitting straight up. (Duncan pouted; the old man had to be Scots -- how else could he hold that much liquor?)
Death pondered a moment. Or it might have been that he was simply making sure that the flask was indisputably empty.
I BELIEVE THE PATRICIAN IS TRYING IT BOTH WAYS -- COMING AND GOING, AS IT WERE. THERE'S A TAX ON BEING BORN AND A TAX ON DYING, AND THERE IS SOME TALK OF TAXING PEOPLE FOR THE YEARS IN BETWEEN AS WELL.
Adam's weasel-like brain was working at top speed. "Have any tax-collectors shown up yet?"
NO.
"It doesn't matter if they did," Duncan pointed out. "He wasn't born, they can't get a tax on him after he dies (if he does), and even in-between -- he isn't alive, is he?"
"Yeah, but if they get him into court he'll lose; even against the tax people. I mean, Death?"
Duncan could see the justice in that. "Still, they'd have to get him into court."
"Exactly," Adam said. "No tax-collector is going to come calling on Death, even with the Patrician on his back. And there's no stopping him on his appointed rounds. So he's safe."
I AGREE THAT I DO NOT HAVE TO PAY THE TAX. THE QUESTION, REALLY, WAS WHETHER I SHOULD. I MUST SET A GOOD EXAMPLE FOR THE CHILDREN, AFTER ALL.
"Law-abiding? You want to be law-abiding?" Adam squawked. "Never in all my five thousand years --"
Duncan had a hard time hiding the smile.
"I could hae wished ye'd set an example for yer namesake when ye met him," he murmured, lapsing into a Scots' burr.
WELL, IN THOSE DAYS HE WAS MUCH LESS... RECEPTIVE TO MODERATION. YOU'VE DONE A MARVELOUS JOB ON HIM.
Duncan brightened up. "D'ye think so? It's hard tae tell, ye ken, when ye're close tae --"
"Thank you very much, but I'm still here." Adam glowered at both singularly unrepentant characters before he returned to the subject matter at hand.
"Should. Should pay taxes. What a --" Adam shut his mouth firmly. "The absolute worst thing you could do for the children is inculcate a sense of --"
"Responsibility?" Duncan said, frowning. "Adam --"
"All right, all right," Adam back-pedaled, unwilling to enter into a pointless fight. "Although when you've seen as many governments as I have come and go..."
"Adam --"
"I said all right, didn't I?" Adam was the injured party now. He liked it that way. More scope for paybacks and delicious reparations. "The simplest position is that Death is not a citizen of Ankh-Morpork. Therefore, the Patrician cannot tax him or his actions."
"And if the actions fall within Ankh-Morpork?"
"The bulk of Death's services don't fall under Ankh-Morpork's jurisdiction. If the tax people don't want to accept that, then we fall back on the position that Death doesn't charge for his services -- therefore they have no value and cannot be taxed. If that argument fails, then he charges for his services an amount exactly equal to the tax, so you have no balance left. And let the city collect the money and do the paperwork.
"In any event, it's not Death's problem."
Duncan cautiously examined the idea from all sides. "That might work."
Death was following the debate with morbid fascination. He coughed.
THIS IS A LEGAL ARGUMENT?
"Oh, quite," Adam reassured him. "I've been a lawyer hundreds of times; trust me."
Duncan winced. Even Squeak's tiny snout looked dubious.
"But if you have problems, then come and get me. I'd appreciate a copy of Ankh-Morpork's laws and a little time to bone up on them, first, but I wouldn't mind representing you; sort of a professional courtesy. I might even enjoy it, it'd make a nice little holiday," Adam offered, surprised at himself.
He was rewarded by Duncan's beam of approval.
Death nodded. I'LL DO THAT. He pulled out an hourglass and made a tsking noise without the soft tissues. TIME FOR ME TO BE ON MY WAY. IT WAS A PLEASURE TO SEE YOU AGAIN, AND TO MEET YOUR HUSBAND.
Adam smiled as he got up; then narrowed his eyes as the second sentence sank in. Duncan had turned away to hide his expression. "Yes, we must do this again sometime -- how about New Year's? We're having people in, it should be a decent bash. Lots of liquor, anyway. Immortals drink like fish, those who survive a few centuries. Probably some kind of correlation there."
His mood shifted, looking at his lover's profile.
"I worry a bit about us sometimes -- about the age difference," Adam confided, watching MacLeod as he gravely shook a farewell paw with Squeak. "Although he makes friends easily... He'll get tired of me being so much older..."
ALL LIVES ARE EXACTLY THE SAME LENGTH. EVEN THE VERY LONG AND THE VERY SHORT ONES. FROM THE POINT OF VIEW OF ETERNITY, ANYWAY. OF COURSE, FROM THE POINT OF VIEW OF THE OWNER, LONGER ONES ARE BEST.
I SHOULDN'T WORRY ABOUT IT. THE DISCREPANCY WILL DECREASE AS YOU BOTH AGE, AFTER ALL. EVENTUALLY IT WILL BE HARDLY NOTICEABLE, Death added parenthetically.
"I certainly hope so," Adam murmured. His face brightened. "Hey! Does that mean --"
But Death and Squeak and Binky (and Hop, the Death of Fleas, with them) were gone. The only one left was MacLeod, who was staring in a bemused fashion at the sky.
He finally shook his head and caught sight of Adam, and a smile (his beautiful, wonderful, sexually-depraved and deprived smile -- the one that made Adam's loins melt every time) broke over his stubbly face.
"Who was that masked man?" Duncan said evilly.
Adam sighed and gave up on getting any tonight. "Come on, I'll take you home. If you've drunk enough to say things like that, you're too drunk to fuck."
Paying no attention to the incoherent protests sputtering from the adorable sexual object at his side, he grabbed the car keys and buckled the infant into his seat.
He thought about telling Duncan he'd invited Death for New Year's, but decided not to.
He really wanted to see Connor's face when their guest showed up.
On to Death at Hogmany
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