Chapter 1: A Death Misplaced

Chapter 1: A Death Misplaced

Aaron met his Death coming down Kings Street.

He didnt know how he recognized it. Ithelooked exactly like a man, walked exactly like a man, except that every bone in Aarons body went cold with the knowing: this was his Death. Aaron rounded the corner from Butchers Row and his Death rounded the corner from Weavers, and they stood a block apart and face to face with not a lie to soften the space between them.

Oh, Aaron said, the sound leaving his mouth quite unbidden. Oh.

With a steadiness to his stride that surprised him, he kept walking.

They met at the blocks midpoint, in front of a smithy. Closed for the evening, now, and hed never heard of blade nor shield helping when Death had already come. It was late: the only light was from the watchtowers on the citys wall and the stars farther yet. The world was silent, and they were alone.

He didnt see what was to kill him. He would have bet on the Rafferty brothers, but hed ditched their cutthroat an hour past.

Good evening. He could be polite when he wanted to. Now seemed the time to put in the effort. Is this it, then? Tonight?

Yes. His Death spoke with a plainness Aaron quite appreciated. No dressing things up, no hesitation, and no pity. Just plain, simple, steady, yes.

Is it going to hurt? A breeze stirred his hair, raising a line of gooseflesh on the back of his neck.

His Death looked at him for a long moment. It was not the up-and-down appraisal of a stranger. The man did not pause to take in the patch on Aarons pants that hed carefully sewn earlier that week, the one of cheerful blue that did a passable job of covering up a tear in the cloth. Hed stopped limping from that parting gift, not that it particularly mattered now. His Death made no comment on his lack of shoes and the dirt on his feet, nor on the comparative cleanliness of his hands and face. Aaron took care to wash every morning. It was not every good-for-nothing who did that. He was suddenly glad of the habit: he stood before his own Death and he knew himself to be presentable.

But the man was looking only at Aarons face, directly into his eyes. His Death had the same cool gray eyes as Aaron did. And something else in them, which Aaron knew hed lost years ago: a certain sympathy, without apology. It was a different thing than pity. In another time and another place and in entirely different circumstances, he could have liked meeting a man with those eyes. Such men did not last long down in Twokins.

With me, his Death said, and turned his back.

Aaron thought of running. Who wouldnt? But he followed, all the same. Hed never heard of someone whod actually met their Death, but the tales he knew didnt paint them as particularly indulgent sorts.

They went up Kings Street, the same way Aaron had been headed. They turned towards the weavers quarters, the same that his Death had come from.

Sir, if I may ask a question?

You may.

This is me, isnt it? he asked the Deaths, interrupting a conversation between them that he had not been hearing. I should have been back here already. I was supposed to die.

If not for the cutthroat hed spotted, another would have done him in more neatly. Probably wouldnt be appropriate to send his thanks.

Well, the other boys Death eyed him with a certain appraising look that Aaron did not at all like. He has a base capability for intelligent reasoning, I will grant you that. But it will not be enough. Let me settle this. You know it is the only way.

I disagree, Aarons Death stated, his gray eyes steady.

The other boys Death waved a dismissive hand. Gold rings glinted on his fingers. Fine. A matter of semantics: not the only way, but you know it is the best way.

I disagree, his Death repeated.

Aaron crouched down next to the body and traced it over with experienced fingers. The clothes were exceedingly plain. Not unlike his own, especially not in the dark. But finer. Much finer. The cloth was new and thick. The dead boys black hair was short in a street urchins style, but cut perfectly even at the bottoms and the sides. Not exactly the work of a lone boy cropping his own hair with a knife. He might have been an inch or so taller than Aaron and a bit more well fed, but his face, his eyes

May his soul not wander. Aaron shut the dead boys eyes and stood, having confirmed what he already knew. The boy looked like him. Eerily so, especially in the dark. Especially to those who needed to do their work and be gone. The upper town took note of murders in a way the caves of Twokins never would.

Hed missed another part of the Deaths conversation. He should probably stop doing that.

The other boys Death was talking. Right. Of course. Because it is such a simple substitution, just a changeling for a child. Whos to notice?

He was growing loud enough to attract attention. Loud enough that he should attract attention, but not a single window on the shophomes around them was unshuttered as the Death shouted, and gesticulated, and generally made his displeasure plain.

No one else can see you, or hear you. A question to confirm what Aaron already knew. His own Death nodded. But I can. Because Im already supposed to be dead?

No nod this time. Aarons Death had turned his attention back to his coworker. You cannot do this without my consent, he stated. I do not give it.

Be reasonable

And then he began to say a word, perhaps a name, but Aarons Death silenced him with gray eyes that were like a storm front.

We will try my plan, he articulated with painful clarity. Or we will do nothing. Then they both will die. Make your choice.

I would like to try his plan, Aaron offered, into the silence that followed.