Death and the dry cleaners

I was busy doing an inventory of the Sands of Time (which go into the Life-Timers that count down every moment of our lives) when Death appeared before me.

As Death’s PA I’m not easily surprised, but for the first time in a long while his appearance had me gaping in astonishment. I tried to hide my real feelings with a casual question.

“Is that dress new?”

He looked at me with the hollow eyes that have pierced the lifelines of a hundred billion souls.

“IT IS NOT MINE,” He said eventually. “I DECIDED TO TAKE THE ROBE OF DEATH TO BE DRY CLEANED.”

“I’ve always wondered about that,” I said, “whether it’s the same robe or you switch between two when the other’s being cleaned.”

“THERE IS BUT ONE ROBE OF DEATH.”

“So you’re wearing that wedding dress until you get the Robe back are you?” I suppressed a giggle. There was something quite ridiculous about the menacing, powerful figure of Death deprived of his robes and flung awkwardly into a massive, frilly, ball of white, frilly dandy.

“ALAS, NO,” He said. “THE CLEANERS HAVE LOST MY ROBE AND I MUST WEAR THIS DRESS UNTIL THE SILKWORMS OF DESTINY HAVE SPUN ME A REPLACEMENT.”

“The Silkworms of Destiny?”

“IT COULD TAKE MONTHS I’M TOLD. THEY’RE ONLY VERY SMALL YOU SEE, THE SILKWORMS, AND NOT MANY OF THEM. I DON’T LOOK TOO BAD DO I?”

“Oh no, you look fine. Very dignified. It’s a lovely dress, not dissimilar to the one I wore at my wedding.”

“WELL, I CAN’T STAND HERE GASSING ALL DAY. SOULS DON’T CUT THEMSELVES FREE FROM THEIR MORTAL COILS.”

“SEE IF YOU CAN HURRY UP THE WORMS WHILE I’M GONE,” He said, and was gone.

I was just settling down to my mid-morning break with a cup of tea and a kit-kat, when I was interrupted by a furious banging on the front door.

Though he has visited only twice before, I recognised his distinctive knock; it was War.

“It’s open,” I shouted.

He charged in, a massive grin on his face, as if he had just witnessed a mighty battle with no winners.

“Has He been in?” he asked. “Was he wearing it?”

“Ah, so it was your doing,” I said. “Haven’t you got better things to do?”

“Oh yes, wars to arrange, millions of innocents to slaughter, but I can always find time for a little joke for the man with the eternal grin. So where is He?”

“He’s gone to work, of course.”

War laughed mightily, if he were a god entire continents would quiver at his roar. “No! He’s not gone to work in that? Really? He didn’t wait for the worms to do their spinning?”

“I’m reliably informed that the dead can be impatient. Are you going to wait for Him to get back?”

“Oh yes. I don’t want to miss this. Death in a dress. I’ll send the photos to Pestilence and Famine, they’ll absolutely love it.”

“It’s not that funny I said. Death’s Robes are important, add to his stature and grandeur. Some poor souls are going to think it’s a comic relieve prank when a deathly skeleton arrives for them in a wedding dress.”

“If you’re dead you’re dead. He could appear in a Mr Blobby costume, it wouldn’t make a blind bit of difference. Ha, Mr Blobby, I could try that next time.”

War removed the Robes of Death from a bag bearing the label of a popular dry cleaners. “What does the old fool think he’s doing using a dry cleaners? It was so simple, all I had to do was switch tickets. If he wants cleaning done He should enslave some dead souls to do his bidding.”

“Is that what you do?” I asked. Despite being constantly engaged in bloody battle War always has a clean shirt on.

“Oh no, no need for that. I’m worshipped almost as a god by man. I have 1,000 of mortal slaves who will do my every bidding: darn my socks, wash my pants, make my tea and toastie. On the topic of which…”

I took the hint and made him a cup of tea and a toasted snack.

“Describe Him to me. I can picture it but I need words too.”

“He looked very lovely in white, it was a beautiful dress.”

"Oh joy. I can see him, a haggard skeletal figure in fine, frilly white dress. Oh what a sight!"

The day passed slowly. I’m so used to working on my own that I found War’s ongoing presence in the office awkward. Every time I looked up from my computer I’d see him there, in his blood-stained armour and war paint, and every time he caught my eye he’d demand more tea, another toastie or one of my Kit-kats, or another description of Death in the dress.

“He’s still not back,” I said at the end of the day. “I’m going home, my shift’s over. Do you want to come back in the morning?”

“No, no, I’ll wait. I wouldn’t want to miss him.”

The next morning War was still waiting. He stayed all day and all night. Of course, I’m used to Death not showing up for days or even weeks, it’s one of the challenges I have to deal with, but rarely do I have to keep a visitor waiting. Death never misses an appointment, as you’ll find out yourself one day.

I had to pop to the shops to top up my tea and toastie supplies, and War furnished me with a long list of snacks and treats he wanted while he was waiting. “You can get peckish on the battlefield,” he explained. I didn’t point out that he wasn’t on the battlefield, rather in my office.

Towards the end of the third day Death finally appeared. He presented a menacing figure, gone was the frilly white dress. Instead he was wearing the Robes I had always associated him with.

“You’re not wearing your dress,” I said.

“I MAY HAVE OVERESTIMATED THE TIME IT WOULD TAKE THE SILKWORMS TO SPIN ME A NEW ROBE”, He replied. “IN FACT IT ONLY TOOK THEM 0.3 NANOSECONDS.”

“OH HELLO BROTHER WAR. ARE YOU WAITING FOR ME? OH, YOU’VE BROUGHT MY SPARE ROBES. THEN THIS MUST BE YOUR DRESS. LET’S DO AN EXCHANGE.

War scowled, defeated in jest, just as many of his followers have been defeated in battle. “I’ll catch you out one day he said.”

“I WOULDN’T BE SO SURE. DEATH ALWAYS HAS THE LAST LAUGH.”