Death and the huskies

I was busy drawing up April’s tea and coffee rota when Death appeared before me.

“I NEED A FAVOUR,” He said.

As Death’s PA I’m used to all manner of unusual requests and am never daunted by any challenge He throws at me, no matter how impossible.

“Of course,” I said, “I can leave this ‘til later.”

“I NEED YOU TO GET ME A SLED AND A TEAM OF HUSKIES.”

“Will do,” I said. I refused to show my surprise, I’ll leave that for the ‘end-gamers’ he confronts every second of every day. “How many huskies in a team?”

He paused to consider. “LET US SAY SIX.”

“Okay, no problem, I’ll get a sledge and six huskies. Is your horse not well?” Of course Death never uses his horse, who’s stabled safely in another dimension, as He bends time and space to appear whenever and wherever he needs to, no need for neither horse nor huskie.

“IT IS NOT FOR ME. ‘TIS FOR THE FERRYMAN.”

“The Ferryman who carries the souls of the dead over the River Styx.”

“YES. THAT FERRYMAN.”

“Huskies and sledge. Is he going on holiday?”

“NO, THE FERRYMAN IS LIKE ME, HE NEVER TAKES LEAVE, HIS JOB IS AS RELENTLESS AS MY OWN. THE RIVER STYX HAS FROZEN OVER AND HE IS UNABLE TO CARRY THE SOULS OF THE DEAD TO THEIR DESTINY.”

“Frozen over? The River Styx?”

“I’M RELIABLY INFORMED THAT IT’S DUE TO GLOBAL WARMING.”

“Global warming? How can global warming make a river freeze?”

Death looked thoughtful for a while, as if contemplating a great issue of death and death. “NO,” He said finally, “I CAN FIND NO WAY OF EXPLAINING IT IN LESS THAN A THOUSAND YEARS, THE MECHANICS OF IT ARE TOO COMPLEX. ALL YOU NEED TO KNOW IS THAT CAUSAL RELATIONSHIPS CAN BE SOMEWHAT DISTORTED IN THE DIMENSION OF THE DEAD.”

When Death had gone back to work I phoned my friend Tricia, who works for one of the Big 4 Gods. Tricia can get hold of anything you ask for. She denies it but I’m sure her god does miracles for her. I caught her out once when I asked for a dodo for my birthday. All the bird does is waddle round my house shitting everywhere. Still, I should be thankful I didn’t ask for a T-Rex.

In no time at all a delivery man appeared with a large sled and a team of huskies. I persuaded him to help me attach the huskies to the sled and, craft and engine thus connected, I made my way to the shores of the Styx.

As Death had told me, the great river was completely frozen, a body of water many times that of the Atlantic ocean, which usually flowed at the speed of a racehorse you've bet against, had suddenly turned thick with ice, as if it were nothing more than the village duck pond on a cold February day.

The Ferryman greeted me with his traditional nod. Around him I could feel, but not see, the souls of the unferried dead.

“It’s looks like you’ve got quite a queue,” I said. “Like Tescos on Christmas eve.”

“I know nothing of your local shrines and festivals,” he replied, “my role is simply to ferry the souls of the dead across the River Styx to the Shores of the Dead from where they may never return.”

“Well, it’s lucky I’m here then, I’ve brought your new ferry.”

The Ferryman stared at the sledge for some time, assessing it’s suitability. Eventually he nodded his approval.

“I took the liberty of naming the huskies,” I said (it’s the sort of detail men always forget). I pointed them out as I called them. “Prince, Thumper, Murdoch, Moses, Pingu and Morrissey.”

“Thank you,” he said, “I’m sure they will serve me well.”

“Morrissey likes to lead,” I said, “Moses likes his yellow ribbon tied in a bow and Pingu likes to be told she’s a good dog, as she has a bit of a complex over the whole penguin thing.

“I shall remember,” he said. “Morrissey leads, Moses wears a yellow ribbon and Pingu is a good dog.”

With a crack of no whip The Ferryman, the huskies and an unseen soul suddenly sped off across the icy Styx to the Shores of the Dead, from where no soul may ever return.

I left a bag of doggy treats by the side of the river and returned to Death’s domain.