Popov.

Popov Ch3 Dead Stop

Chapter 3 Dead Stop

‘Popov step into my office and close the door behind you.’ Death sat behind huge mahogany desk that had a green leather centre. A glass inkwell and a tall hour glass were the only objects on it, placed off to one side. Death had his elbows on the desk and was drumming his fingertips together. Popov smiled as he closed the door behind him.

‘You wanted to see me El Splendido?’

‘Popov -,’

‘Sorry your sereneness, but just being in your august presence is more than any mere mortal ever dare hope for.’

‘Popov, sooner or later every mere mortal comes into my presence, at least once. But you seem to relish the experience so many times do I see you. Yet again I have to speak to you about your performance. I was somewhat perturbed by the state of the arrivals hall today.

When I collected you from your funeral what did you do once I had left you in the arrivals hall with, I may add, the clear indication of which queue you were to go to?’

‘er –I forget Inquisitive one.’

‘Didn’t the Seraphim at the guardian angel desk get an unexpected customer?’

‘Did she?’ Popov was all wide eyed innocence. Death sighed a heavy sigh.

‘You know she did Popov, because it was you. However she did spend some minutes looking for Albert Einstien on her list before consulting the despatch department for confirmation that one Albert Einsten had actually been born, only to be informed he was not due to leave for another fifty human years. You were then escorted to your own queue weren’t you Popov?’’

‘Janovich can sound so like Einstien – I did advise the young lady to get a full hearing test.’

‘But that was not all was it Popov? Why did you then remove the queing rope system and amalgamate the whole arrivals area into one giant queue with the next in line going to the next available Seraphim?’

‘Well –I- er –‘

‘The children used the ropes to skip with and you used the posts for an impromptu bowling tournament. The Seraphim booked you in ahead of time just to get rid of you. Now tell me why did Michael let you go?’ Death leant back in the leather button back chair and rested his head against one of its high wings. He steepled his fingers together in front of his nose and tapped it as Popov spoke.

‘I’m not really sure padre, but I did find his sun chariot a little hard to handle.’

‘From what I heard Popov you found it very easy to handle. In fact you were a bit of a boy racer with it. You took the chariot on a little spin around the earth as fast as it could go. Thereby creating two global phenomena at once. One, the longest night across the entire planet and then the longest amount of daylight in one day.’

‘Was good, wasn’t it?’ Popov grinned as he stood in front of the desk.

‘The winged horses had to have an aroma therapy session just to calm them down afterwards. I don’t believe Michael took the view that it was good, did he?’ Death slapped the flat of his hand down on the desk making Popov jump.

‘No enscythed one,’ Popov hung his head.  

‘No, I believe he sent you to work with Peter in arrivals, didn’t he?’

‘Yes great reaper, after giving me a long lecture about the cycle of life and patterns and such,’ Popov said.

‘And why did Peter let you go?’ Death did not hide the sarcasm in his voice.

‘Well really your eminence it wasn’t anything that I did,’ Popov protested.

‘No, from what I heard it was more a case of something you didn’t do,’ Death persisted sitting back in his chair and looking hard at Popov. ‘What was it you didn’t do Popov?’

‘Oil the gates sire,’ he mumbled.

‘Pardon?’

‘Oil the gates, persistent one,’ Popov repeated in a louder voice.

‘Oil - the - gates. And how long was the queue to get in? How many people went downstairs because they thought they had reached hell having to queue in the afterlife?’

‘We did get them all back, chief.’

‘So how much did you charge those poor souls for you to - let me see - how did you put it? Ah yes, ‘slip them in through a side gate while Peter wasn’t looking’?’ Death arched an eyebrow at Popov.

‘I didn’t know anyone knew out about that, Excellency. Do I have to give all the harp strings back, only they make excellent washing lines and I-’

Popov jumped once more as Death banged a fist down on the desktop as hard as he could. He leant forward across the desk and almost snarled.

‘Popov you are a nuisance. No one in heaven wants you anywhere near their department. You’ve even been banned from the underworld because you created so much chaos out of – well chaos. This is your last chance, do you understand? If you can’t settle down and perform your duties as my assistant according to the code book then there will be no other option but-’

‘No master you can’t mean-’

‘I do mean. The Lord has made it plain. If you don’t pay attention, shape up and start making respectful collections it’ll be you know what for you. Have I made myself clear?’ Death snapped.

‘No, boss please, I’d kill myself if I got reincarnated,’ Popov said, horrified.

‘That wouldn’t cut any ice here, you’d just be resurrected,’ Death said in a firm tone. ‘So you had better go and collect this soul without any messing around.’ Death waved his hand towards the hour glass stood on the desk.

The top section was almost empty of the purple grains of life. ‘This is a very important collection for you Popov, not to mention for the dear soon to be departed. I want you in full uniform, cloak, hood and my second best scythe. I shall be issuing a customer satisfaction survey form to the client afterwards and your future depends upon what he puts down about you. No scams, no offering a once in a death time, too good to miss offer of the seat just to the right of the Lord for only one halo. No false promises, no more making it interesting.’

‘Yes benefactor, thank you benefactor,’ Popov hung his head. He had never been threatened with reincarnation before.

‘Death, my name is Death, just that Popov. Use it from now on. Here, take your collection sheet and make sure you get a signature from the check in desk at arrivals when you drop your customer off there. Go Popov, get out of my sight. Get on with it.’

‘Thank you sir, I’ll do my best.’ Popov turned away from the desk to see a small operating theatre in front of him. Surgeons and nurses were clustered around a patient draped with green covers, who was lying on a table under bright lights. Popov grasped the scythe that had appeared in his hand and stepped towards his next collection.

‘Well Popov, what can I say?’ Death towered over his assistant who stood downcast clutching the tall scythe. ‘Perhaps it was my own fault for having you wear the uniform. You were supposed to collect the person having the operation. Can you tell me how you managed to collect two surgeons, three nurses, a porter and a potted aspidistra as well?’

‘I tripped, munificent one.’