Death Match The bony, robed figure stood behind the boy, waiting patiently. you! a shivery voice shouted. Death looked across the pub at another bony, robed, figure. Somehow, though, this one seemed, well, feminine. ME? he asked. what are you doing here? the newcomer demanded. THIS BOY IS ABOUT TO DIE AND... so? is this your domain? WELL, NO, BUT... go back to the discworld, then. i am the death of doctor who! The masculine Death lowered his cowl. WHY SHOULD WE FIGHT? PERHAPS WE CAN DISCUSS THIS, SAY OVER A CURRY? curry? can't stand the stuff. WHAT? NOT EVEN LEMON CURRY?