The Last Days Of The Edge Of The World by Brian Stableford Page A

the Supernatural Bureaucracy.”
    “I was afraid you were going to say something like that,” said Ewan, with a slight groan. “Look, I’m tired. Do you think you could explain? Carefully?”
    “You are a dull one,” complained the apparition. “It’s very simple. You don’t think that magic just works by itself, do you? Records have to be kept. Spells don’t just work… they have to go through channels. Who do you think keeps all the curses that were ever laid on file? Who do you think sees to it that whenever the conditions of a curse are transgressed the transgressor suffers the effects of the curse? Who do you think keeps accounts of all the things that are conjured up by wizards, and balances out the conjurations by subtracting the objects elsewhere? Do you have any idea at all of the colossal amount of paperwork that goes into the business of keeping magic working?”
    “I didn’t realize…” said Ewan.
    “Of course you didn’t realize,” said the apparition, who was by now quite incensed. “No one gives a thought to us! Every spell registered, every curse on file, every magical object, its properties and penalties, properly classified. Oh, yes, you think a lot of enchanters reciting their silly rhymes and getting a result with a flash and a bang—but you never think at all about the poor clerks working behind the scenes to make sure the spell works properly, or even at all, and balancing out the books, and keeping an accurate record. We make occasional
    mistakes, I know, but we’re only superhuman…. Nobody understands, all we get is insults and jokes, insults and jokes….”
    Ewan coughed. “I think I understand now,” he said.
    “Oh,” said Wynkyn, calming down. “Oh, well… that’s all right. You understand. I’m just a messenger, Jeahawn Kambalba’s will has a codicil, and I’m here to carry out its dictates. Just doing an honest job, working my way toward the Eternal Reward.”
    “What’s the Eternal Reward?” asked Ewan. He tried to stop himself, but he was too late, and nearly bit his tongue. But Wynkyn didn’t immediately launch into another tirade.
    “It’s what you go on to when you’ve done your stint,” he said. “Nobody knows what it’s really like, but we all look forward to it. We reckon that there’s probably a whole series of different ones for people with different ideas. We talk about it a lot during our tea breaks. Mostly we think it ought to be a kind of summery, pastoral place, although one or two of us would like a little more action. We have one fellow who reckons the Eternal Reward is a castle where everyone spends all their time eating, drinking and fighting, and another who thinks it’s a perpetual round of dressing up in funny clothes and hunting little brown animals with packs of dogs. You get all sorts in the Vaults, I can tell you… or, rather, I can’t, because I’ve got work to do. There’s a big flap on right now, you see—not much going on this side but a proper blitz in the Vaults, getting everything tidy and all sorted out, everything in its file and the like, triple-checking the records and auditing the accounts. Rumor has it we’re packing up the whole operation soon and all going to our Eternal Reward at once, but that’s just wishful thinking, if you ask me. I think it’s just a routine panic.”
    “Yes,” said Ewan, quickly. “I see. Perfectly. So, if you could just give me the message, or whatever–-“
    “Ah!” said Wynkyn. “Glad you reminded me. That’s what I came here for, isn’t it?”
    The apparition reached a spectral hand into the blackness of the deep shadow which surrounded him, and drew out a ghostly guitar. He placed it on the floor, where it gleamed whitely. Ewan reached out to touch it, but his hand went straight through it, and he recoiled quickly.
    “Wait a minute,” said Wynkyn, crossly. “Hold your horses. Don’t rush me. There’s a spell that goes with it,
    if I can just… oh, yes–-Pluck