~ Chapter Four ~
  Desperation

"DEATH!"

The Reaper glanced in the Brewers' direction, then did a double take and turned to face him.  The Brewer was standing by the fireplace holding the Collection Tome inches from the flames.

The crow dived toward the Brewer but he made a motion as if to throw the book into the flames. The black bird saw this, hesitated, and diverted its path to land once again on the bar.

 The Reaper’s eyes were glowing so brightly now with anger it was difficult to look at them.  Death had been careless, and he knew it.

“Mortal, do not toy with me.”  

“Let my daughter live and I’ll give you the book.”

“She must die. Now.”

“Let her live and I’ll see to it you will not be troubled again”

Now Death seemed amused, the red eyes cooling slightly to a dark violet.  “You cannot possibly make such a promise and keep it.”

“I can, and I will.”  The Brewer replied steadily.  “Now let her go. You would be abusing your office if you were to take a soul that does not appear in the tome, and you know that.”

The red quickly reappeared in the empty eye sockets.

“Do NOT tell me my job Brewer...” Death growled.  He raised a skeletal finger towards Barley.  “This girl should have come with me long ago; she taunts me with her insolence.  I have watched her destroy those around her.  She dies tonight.  Now give me the tome.”  

"Screw you, asshole" Barley spat.  The Reaper took a menacing step towards her, but Barley did not flinch.

The Brewer was frantically running through options in his mind, aware that Death was calling his bluff.  He had to think of something, and quick.

The crow on the bar cawed mockingly.  As the Brewer glanced over to the bar he caught a glimpse of an oak cask with a golden spigot.  This cask contained the Brewer’s latest batch of experimental ale.  The beer within was the end result of months of brew testing, countless recipes and hours of research to find the “Perfect Ale”.

Suddenly an idea struck him.

“Death...” The Brewer said slowly, giving his mind the time it needed to knit together what he was going to say next.  “I want to make a deal with you.”

“I am not Satan. I am Death.  A messenger, nothing more.”  The Reaper appeared dismissive but also seemed interested in this new development and walked over to the bar to pet the crow.   Barley watched, frowning from her bed.  What was her father up to?

“What could you possibly have that I want?” Death asked absently, as if to himself.  The crow seemed to enjoy the cold bones ruffling its oily feathers.

“Your mortality”  the Brewer said, tossing the Collection Tome at Death’s feet with a heavy thump.

The Reaper stopped scratching the crow and looked at the large book on the floor.  After many minutes had passed, Death looked up and set his intense gaze full upon the Brewer.  

“I am listening.” he said.

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