“Right,” said Death adjusted his new hat as we stepped out of the clothes shop, fresh soul in hand. “Hand me the list!”
Scowling at him and the crowds pressing towards us I shoved my hand into my pocket and pulled out the water-stained parchment crumpled against the lining.
“Ah, wonderful,” said Death, taking it between thumb and forefinger. “It survived your dip in the Thames then?”
“And the Ganges,” I shrugged. “You should really stop dropping us in rivers.”
“What can I say,” shrugged Death, uncurling the list as he spoke. “Teleporting has it- Ange? Why does this say eggs, milk and cup-o-soup?”