Grim Tides (Marla Mason) by T.A. Pratt Page A

lively and bright; but all Rondeau could imagine was a void behind those eyes, an everlasting blackness. Eternity was eternity. As far as Death was concerned, everything before eternity was just a waste of time.
    “I’m, uh, a pretty big fan of trivialities.” Rondeau resisted the urge to squirm away from Death’s touch. “String together enough trivialities, and you’re talking about something pretty substantial.”
    “Disappointing.” Death let go of Rondeau and spun around just as the door to the bookshop opened. “Marla, darling! I come bearing news from the worlds below.”
    “Anything useful?” Marla entered, followed by Pelham, and she sat right down in the chair Death had vacated. She looked worried, and thoughtful, which was a nice change from the way she’d mostly looked lately – namely, bored and pissed-off.
    “Alas, I have little to report.” Death sat on the arm of the chair, putting his hand on Marla’s shoulder, prompting her to roll her eyes. “Ronin declined to tell me who’d murdered him.”
    “What, he doesn’t know?”
    “He knows – he just doesn’t want to say. He informed me it was none of my business.”
    “But you’re Death,” Rondeau said. “It seems like his murder would fall under your jurisdiction.”
    “He disagreed, and politely asked me to leave him to his eternity. So I did.”
    “Don’t you have some kind of kill-o-vision you can access to see the dirty deed done?” Marla said. “I thought you were present at the moment of every death.”
    “I am present for every death the way a bank is present for every credit card transaction, my love. In a highly-distributed, extremely abstract, and basically impersonal fashion. Oh, I sometimes make a personal appearance, if the deceased interests me particularly, but that’s a rarity. Don’t pout, Marla.”
    She shruggled his hand off her shoulder. “I don’t pout. I’m not pouting. I’m fuming . You’re telling me there’s no way you can find out who murdered Ronin?”
    “Marla, I’m Death . Of course I could find out, if I expended the effort. But Ronin asked me not to do so, and I am granting his request.”
    “You’d favor some dead guy over your own wife?”
    “I’m not just the god of Death, Marla – I’m the god of the dead . One of my subjects made a reasonable request, and I see no reason to deny it.”
    “You want me to have to do this the hard way, don’t you?”
    “It is lovely to see you interested in something again, I admit. Be honest. Did you take this case because you have a burning desire to see justice done, or because you thought investigating a supernatural murder would be interesting?”
    “You know me well enough to know the answer to that one.”
    Death spread his hands. “Then where’s the fun if I just tell you who killed Ronin?”
    “What, it’ll mean more to me if I earn it? That what you’re trying to say?”
    “Hmm. I suppose so.”
    Marla sighed. “I prefer to be the one teaching people lessons, Mr. Mason. You’d do well to remember that in the future. But, fine, point taken. If you’re not going to help me, beat it. I’ll see you at my funeral. Which won’t be for a long time, so don’t get excited.”
    Death stood. “Before I go, I wanted to give you this.” He slipped the silver ring off his right hand and held it up. “You lost your cloak – and good riddance to the vile thing – but I hate to think of you with only one artifact in your possession.”
    Marla grunted. She still had a magical dagger that could cut through anything physical and many things that weren’t, including ghosts and astral bodies; it was an exact replica of the dagger of office she’d had as chief sorcerer of Felport, and it was also a gift from Death. Being married to a god had advantages, Rondeau had to admit.
    “What is it?”
    “A wedding band.”
    “Well, yeah. What’s it do?”
    “Again – where’s the fun if I just tell you?”
    Marla actually smiled. “Ha.