Managing death

I open my eyes. Oh, yes, the 'interventionists' haven't left. How much have they seen?

'You don't have a clue how hard I work,' I say, but they do, and they're right.

'That's just it,' Lissa says. 'You're working so hard at avoiding everything that you're going to avoid everything out of your life. You've come unstuck, you're drifting, and you haven't even noticed it.'

Tim's nodding. I glare at him.

'Steve, you're even more disengaged than you were when Robyn left.'

Now, that's just too low. Robyn's my ex. She couldn't handle me being a Pomp and it took me years to get over that. It took Lissa, and the loss of nearly everything that I cared about. Surely I'm not… 'That's bullshit!'

'What's bullshit is the amount of work Lissa and I have had to do to cover for you. When was the last time you spoke to another RM?'

I'd initially tried really hard to keep in touch with them. To start a discussion about a global response to the Stirrer god. Nothing, silence. The global response had been for every RM to ignore my emails and my calls. If they weren't going to speak to me, I wasn't going to speak to them. 'They're all pricks and backstabbers,' I say.

Tim nods. 'Exactly, and you've left us to deal with them. The whole Orcus, and no RM to bat for us. Thanks a lot, mate.'

'Well, you're my Ankou.'

Tim nods. 'And I'll watch your back. But I'm not here to wipe your arse. If this keeps going on… we're both out of here.'

Lissa's face is as resolute as I have ever seen it. 'Do you know how hard I've been working? Hunting down new staff in Melbourne, Perth, Mount Isa, Coober Pedy? I've run around this country, God knows how many times, trying to find you people who at the very least have a chance of not dying on the job. And you're hardly interested. Have you spoken to any of them after their interview? Have you made yourself available to any of them?'

I open my mouth to speak: what about Meredith? But once, just once, isn't enough of a defence. They're right. I know they're right, but if they could sit in this throne… dream my dreams… They're right. 'So what do you want me to do?'

'Today?' Tim asks. 'Or from now on?'

'Both.'

Tim beams at me. 'That's what I want to hear. A bit more enthusiasm would be nice, though.'

I lean back in my chair. 'All right. All right. Where do I start?'

Lissa unfolds her arms, walks to the desk and takes up another chair. 'The Death Moot. Let's start with that. The business we can get to, but the Moot is a priority. You've got to find the Point of Convergence.'

'Can't we just book a hotel?'

'Ha! This is Mortmax Industries,' Lissa says. 'Things don't work that way. It's revealed through some sort of ceremony, although I'm not sure what it entails. And Tim can hardly go and ask anyone else. How do you think the other RMs would take that?'

'Bad. It would be bad,' I say.

She pats the black phone on my desk. 'You're going to have to speak with Mr D. And after that you're going to have to start paying attention to the business of being RM.'

I pick up the heavy handset. 'Do I have to call him now?'

Lissa starts to fold her arms again. Tim's face is settling into a scowl. 'It has to be done. And today,' Lissa says. 'In some ways we've been as bad as you. We should have done this sooner. Today's the last day you can perform the ceremony.'

More than a twinge of guilt hits me at that. They've been putting this off and putting this off, hoping I'd come good on my own. I can't help feeling I've let them down. The business I don't care about, but Lissa and Tim are the centre of my world.

Yet there's part of me wondering how they could have let this get so far. Ah, more guilt! I put the phone to my ear.

'I was wondering when you would call,' Mr D says, without the slightest pause. There's a large quantity of affront in his voice. Maybe the bastard has some feelings after all. I certainly didn't witness them when he was alive.

'Are you in on this, too?' I ask.

'Mr de Selby, I have no idea what you mean.'

'I need to talk to you.'

'Yes, you should have been talking to me for some time, but you haven't. Oh well, it's never too late to start.' He chuckles. 'Until it's too late. And you are running out of time.'

'I'll be there soon.'

'Don't keep me waiting.'

I put the handset back in the cradle. 'There,' I say.

Both Tim and Lissa stare at me.

'Don't you two have work to attend to?'

Tim smiles thinly. 'Of course we do.' He's out of my office without a backwards glance.

Lissa stays a moment, touches my arm. 'It had to be done,' she says. 'I'm sorry.'

'Don't be. You're both right.' I grab her wrist as she pulls away, and squeeze it gently. Flesh and bone. I doubt I'll ever get used to being able to touch her. 'I'm just happy that you care enough to do this.' I'm not sure that I sound all that convincing. I've got to see Mr D. I've suddenly got work to do.

Lissa bends down and kisses my cheek. 'Dying isn't the only way a girl can lose someone,' she says.

I want to ask her if that's a threat, or a fear, or a promise. Talk of Robyn has got my head in something of a spin. I could do with a drink.

Instead, I get to my feet, prepare myself for my shift into the Underworld and say, 'Don't worry, you haven't lost me yet.'

I let go of her wrist and, looking into her eyes, I disappear – or she and the office do. I'm not sure which it is. One reality is exchanged with another, the air folds around me, changes density, and taste. Light, sound, all of it is instantly different. I'm bathed in the red glow of the Underworld.

The shift is hard. This one makes me sick, literally. Mr D pats my back until the vomiting stops. 'You do understand that it gets easier the more you practise?'

I wipe my mouth with the back of my hand. 'Yeah, but it's the practice that's so hard.' He passes me a glass of water, obtained from a small tank by his chair. I gulp it down, and take in my surroundings. This is Hell of course, but what a view. I'm standing on one of the uppermost branches of the One Tree. The Underworld equivalent of the city of Brisbane is beneath us, suburbia stretching out to the dark waters of the Tethys, the CBD's knuckles of skyscrapers constrained as Brisbane is bound up in a ribbon of river. The air is loud with the creaking of the One Tree. It permeates everything in the Underworld. The One Tree is the place where souls go to end their existence. It draws them here from across the Underworld and absorbs them, down into its roots and into the great secrets of the Deepest Dark. It's a Moreton Bay fig tree, bigger than any city, with root buttresses the size of suburbs. It's also where my old boss hangs out. Dead but not dead, he waits here to act as my mentor in all things RM.

There's a cherub by the name of Wal fluttering about my head. He looks a little plumper than I remember him, but I wouldn't say that to Wal. He's rather sensitive, comes from spending most of his existence as a tattoo on my arm. In fact, it looks like he's already pissed off. His Modigliani eyes are narrower than usual. It's been a good couple of weeks since I was in the Underworld, and it's only here, or close to it, that he can manifest. He gets rather shirty if he can't spread his wings. I do my best to ignore him. I only have enough strength for one intervention today.

'You know why I'm here?' I ask Mr D.

'It's the 20th of December. Must be getting hot up there. I was always fond of Christmas in Brisbane. Are the cicadas singing? Have they put up the Christmas tree in King George Square?'

'Yes, but -'

'It can be very lonely in Hell,' Mr D says, and his face, which notoriously shifts through a dozen expressions in a second, grows even more furious in its changes. 'Particularly when you are in someone's employ. Specifically to advise that someone. To steer them through the roughest channels of their job away from the snares and the rocks of Orcusdom. To save them making the same mistakes you did. And yet, they never visit you. Never call. Never ask for advice.' He nods to his armchair, the single piece of furniture on the branch, and the stack of old science-fiction novels beside it. 'I'm running out of things to read, and without you I can't even go fishing. When did you last drop a mercy pile of books down here? When did you last reply to one of my invitations on Facebook, or comment on an update? You're not even following me on Twitter.'