I do not own the Discworld. All relevant properties, characters, and locations belong to Sir Terry Pratchett and his surviving estate. Hail to the king.

Albert often saw Death reading as a pastime, in between visits with his granddaughter and grandson-in-law, the various and sundry tasks of the supernatural world, and of course the collection of souls. In fact, it was mainly Susan herself who had gotten the Pale Rider back into reading in the wake of a Certain Visitor crossing Death's path, but unfortunately he had started to run out of sufficiently stimulating reading material of late.

Well, that wasn't exactly surprising-when one had all the time in the world and access to every piece of written literature across the whole of recorded history and didn't have to worry about silly things like the passage of time... well, it would take a while, but eventually one started scraping the bottom of one's To Be Read pile.

Albert frowned in surprise, though, and Death's latest choice in reading material: a relatively slim paperback volume entitled To Court Death. Albert knew the book, of course. It was a silly little paperback novel concerning one of the legendary Dark Clerks who frequently went on exceedingly dangerous missions for the Palace, often risking life and limb to fulfill his mission. Officially, the Palace cheerfully denied any such activities were going on, sanctioned or otherwise, but there were always rumors, and stories had power, especially here. According to legend, the Dark Clerks were absolutely fearless, facing off against any foe that threatened the sanctity of Ankh-Morpork or any of its allies. There were even those who claimed the Dark Clerks were a very controlled sort of insane, not even flinching at the prospect of losing their lives in service to the Palace.

"Good book, sir?" Albert asked.

Death's blue eyelights shifted from the page he'd been reading up to regard his manservant. It is well-written, to be sure, he said, but the title seems to be rather misleading.

"What do you mean, sir?" Albert asked. The paperback's cover showed a lean man in a black suit leaping from a clifftop while something presumably very expensive exploded behind him.

Death marked his place with a bookmark and regarded the cover. Well, it is entitled To Court Death, he said. His eyes dimmed a bit in disappointment. I suppose I was expecting more romance.

Author's Note: This story idea cropped up during a freeform roleplay between my friend and me, and I thought it was too funny not to write down. RIP Terry Pratchett - may his stories live on forever.