Doughnut - By Tom Holt Page 0,124
its roots. “You’re talking about sneaking out of death, right?”
“If you want to look at it in those terms, yes.”
“Theo.” Max leaned back in his chair and smiled. “Over the last few days—”
“Six years.”
“Huh?”
“Six years. That’s how long we’ve been here.”
Max went very pale, but went on, “Over the six years we’ve been here, I’ve come to value the bond that’s grown up between us, so the last thing I’d want to do is jeopardise our rapprochement by speaking out of turn.”
“Same here, Max.”
“Splendid. So, would it be all right if I just said something off the record and totally without prejudice?”
“Sure.”
“And if you don’t like it, you won’t be offended or anything?”
“Of course not.”
“You’re an idiot, Theo. You’re a complete moron.”
Theo nodded slowly. “I’m not offended,” he said.
“Good. Look, you may be a top-flight physicist and all that crap, but when it comes to sneaking out, compared to me, you’re nothing. A novice. A sneaking-out virgin. I’ve snuck out of everywhere over the years – bedrooms, hotels without paying, countries ten minutes ahead of the cops. You name it, I’ve got out of it, in my underwear, by the skin of my teeth. If there was a Nobel prize for last-minute absconding, I’d be climbing out the bathroom window with it tucked under my arm. And I’m here to tell you—”
“Max.”
“Death,” Max said firmly, “is the one thing you can’t sneak out of. There are no kitchens, there is no fire escape. This place here, it’s not somewhere you can sneak out from, it’s where you sneak out to. This is the walk-in closet in Death’s bedroom, Theo. Now that we’re here, we’re here. Face it. There’s no escape.”
“Max.”
Max gave him a furious glare. “What?”
“There’s a door.”
“There is now that you’ve said the D word. “
“No,” Theo said quietly. “Another one. Look.”
He pointed. Side by side in the wall were two doorways. One of them glowed blue. The other one was just a door; white, rectangular, panelled and fitted with a plain wooden doorknob.
“There,” Theo said. “See?”
“That wasn’t there before.”
“Correct.” Theo stood up, but didn’t move towards the door-infested wall. “The other one only showed up when I said there’s a—”
“Shh. Don’t say that.”
“Get a grip, Max, it’s already here. It’ll go away in a second. There,” he added, as it faded away, leaving nothing behind except a blur on the retina and a faint scent of primroses. “But the new one’s still there, look.”
“Keep well away,” Max said nervously. “We don’t know anything about it.”
“Don’t be so feeble,” Theo said. “It could be our way out of here.” He studied it and frowned. “Or it could just be somewhere to put coats and stuff. We just don’t know.”
“We haven’t got any coats. Or any stuff, come to that.”
“It could be a pantry. You know, food.”
That was a word that hadn’t been spoken for quite some time. At the sound of it Max twitched slightly, like an old fish that’s been hooked and thrown back half a dozen times, but still can’t quite resist the implausibly dangling worm. “No reason to think it’s that.”
“No reason to think it isn’t.”
But Max only shook his head. “I’m not going through that,” he said. “Not unless it’s guaranteed a hundred per cent safe. Whoever designed this place has got a seriously warped mind.”
Theo sighed. “Fine,” he said. “I’ll go.”
“What, and leave me here on my own for the rest of eternity? Over my dead body.”
“Actually, I’m not sure that’s even possible in here. Look, if you’re afraid of getting left, come with me.”
“No. It’s dangerous.”
“Max, for crying out loud. It’s a d—”
“Don’t say it.”
“Flat piece of wood with hinges and a handle. What is there to be afraid of?”
“Gosh,” Max said, “let’s see, now. There’s death, and serious injury, and not-so-serious-but-still-nasty injury, and perpetual imprisonment, and the annihilation of the soul, everlasting damnation, let’s not forget that—”
“Max. You haven’t suddenly gone and got religion, have you?”
“It’s an infinite multiverse,” Max snapped. “Who knows what’s out there? In an infinite multiverse, it’s pretty much inevitable that somewhere there’s a universe that was created in seven days by an old man with a long white beard and outmoded views on extramarital sex. If the stuff they made me read in school is anything to go by, I really don’t want to end up there, thank you ever so much.” He shrank back into the angle of the sofa, as if it was a snail’s shell. “The more I think about it, the happier I