VIKING

An imprint of Penguin Random House LLC, New York

First published in Great Britain by Andersen Press Ltd., 2023

First published in the United States of America by Viking, an imprint of Penguin Random House LLC, 2024

Text copyright © 2023 by Sally Nicholls

Illustrations copyright © 2023 by Júlia Sardà

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Ebook ISBN 9780593692110

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For my sons—S. N.

To the good intentions—J. S.

Morning

Once, there was a poor fisherman. He was so poor that when his baby son was born, he had nothing to give him as a christening present.

“What shall we do?” said his wife.

“We must give him something,” said the fisherman. “We may not have a gift, but we can find something better. I’m going to go out and walk along the cliffs, and I’ll keep walking until I find an honest man to be his godfather.”

So he put on his warmest hat, and he wrapped himself in his warmest cloak, and he set out.

It was a cold, clear midwinter morning. The sky was blue and the sun was high, and the sea was moving in—and out—and in—and out, against the rocks. The fisherman walked along the clifftop, and he felt happy and full of hope.

Soon he saw a man coming toward him. The man was old and the man was bent. His beard was thick and long and white. His face was wrinkled, and his eyes were full of wisdom.

“Good day!” he called. “Who are you, and where are you going?”

“Good day, old man,” replied the fisherman. “I’m a poor fisherman, and I’m looking for an honest man to be my son’s godfather.”

“An honest man?” said the stranger. “Look no further. I am Father God. I treat all men and all women fairly. I love all men and women and all the little children. I will be your son’s godfather.”

Now, most people would be pleased to have God take especial care of their son. But the fisherman had had a bad year. His boat had hit a rock. There was a hole in his roof and the rain dripped onto his bed. His baby son was cold, and his family was hungry.

He was not happy with God at all.

“You!” he said. “Treat all men and all women fairly! Are you serious? Some people live in great big palaces and eat off gold plates with silver forks! Others live in horrible cold, wet houses where the rain falls down onto their bed! How is that fair? You cannot be my son’s godfather! No. Thank. You!”

And he stuck up his nose in the air and marched straight past.

Afternoon

The fisherman stamped down the cliff path in a fine rage. That showed him! God! An honest man! A fair man! Ha!

The day passed. Morning turned to afternoon. The sky began to fill with clouds and the wind began to blow. And another man came walking down the path toward the fisherman.

He was a young man, tall and handsome, with black hair and green eyes. He wore a bright scarlet cloak and yellow dancing shoes. He had a pointed chin and a little black beard like a goat.

“Hello, Fisherman!” he called. “How’s tricks?”

“Not so good, thank you very much,” said the fisherman. “My boat’s got a hole in it, my roof leaks, and I’m trying to find an honest man to be my son’s godfather.”

“A godfather for your son?” cried the stranger. “Well, Fisherman, today’s your lucky day! I am the Devil. Let me be your son’s godfather, and I’ll give him everything he could ever desire. Power! Money! Fame! Love! I’ll be the best godfather a boy could dream of.” And his green eyes flashed and he rubbed his hands together.

Now, the fisherman was poor. He was cold. He was hungry. But he wasn’t stupid.

“You!” he said. “An honest man! The Devil! What sort of a fool do you think I am? You love to make men and women unhappy. You’re the wickedest, trickiest demon the world has ever known! Let you be my little boy’s godfather! No. Thank. You.”

And he crossed his arms and he marched right past the Devil.

Ha!

He walked and he walked and he walked. The sun began to set. The air grew colder. The sky grew dark. The moon rose over the water. The wind whistled and the seagulls cried and the waves crashed against the rocks. The fisherman thought of pirates and wreckers and drowned sailors and ghosts and ghouls and goblins. He gave a shiver, and he pulled his cloak tight around his shoulders.

And then he heard a sound.

The sound of a horse’s hooves on the path.

And he saw a man coming toward him.

A man riding a white horse.

A tall man, wrapped in a long black cloak. His face was hidden in a great black hood. And over one shoulder, he carried a long silver scythe.

Closer he came to the fisherman, closer and closer.

The fisherman could not run.

He could not hide.

He could only stand and wait.

Night

The man stopped his horse before the fisherman. He looked down from the horse’s back, and he said nothing.

“Hello!” squeaked the fisherman. “T-t-t-terrible night, isn’t it? I’m a p-p-p-poor fisherman, I am. I’m l-l-l-looking for an honest man to be my s-s-s-son’s godfather. A-a-a-any idea where I might find one?”

The stranger lifted his long, white hands and the fisherman gasped. The stranger’s fingers were made of bone. He lowered his hood and the fisherman shuddered. Instead of a face, he had only a skull.

“Good evening,” said the stranger. “I am Death. I am the only honest man in all the world. To the rich, I bring death. To the poor, I bring death. To all men, women, and children in all the world, to the beasts and the birds, the little buzzing flies and the great white whales, I bring death. You cannot bargain with me. You cannot bribe me. You cannot steal what is mine. No one can escape me. And I will be your son’s godfather.”

The fisherman opened his mouth. He thought about what Death had said.

Then he shut it.

“Wait a minute,” he said. “You’re right! You are an honest man! The only honest man in all the world.” He beamed at Death. “Yes!” he said. “You can be my son’s godfather. The christening is at two o’clock on Sunday at the church in the village. Don’t be late.”

The Gift

At two o’clock on Sunday, the fisherman and his family were waiting in the church. Everyone wore their best clothes. And everyone tried very hard to be polite to the baby’s godfather.

“Known the family long?” asked the priest.

“Since the first man stood on two legs in a jungle,” said Death.

“Oh,” said the priest. “Blimey. I’ve only been here since September.”

Death held the baby and he swore to help raise him as a good Christian. Afterward, he went back to the house for the party. He ate the food (everyone wondered where it went, but were all too polite to ask). He drank the ale. And he danced a strange and stately waltz with the dancers.

He gave no gift to the baby, but after the party, he went up to the fisherman and said,

“Come with me.”

The fisherman followed Death out of the little house and onto the beach. It was a cold night, and the moon was high. Under the moonlight, the moving sea was all silver and silk.

“You are very poor, Fisherman,” said Death.

“Well,” said the fisherman. “I mean, we do our best, but…yes. Yes, we are.”

“How would you like to be rich?” said Death.

“Well—yes,” said the fisherman. “That would be very nice.”

“A wealthy doctor, perhaps?”

“A doctor!” said the fisherman. “Me? Don’t be daft! I don’t know anything about doctoring!”

Death put a hand into his robes and pulled out a bottle. He gave it to the fisherman. It was small and dirty and very old. Inside was a dark, purple, evil-looking liquid.

“What is it?” asked the fisherman nervously.

“This?” said Death. “Water and blackberry juice. It’s not important. This is my christening gift. With this bottle, you can be the most famous doctor in all the land.”

“How?” said the fisherman.

“You must do exactly what I tell you,” said Death. “When you go into a sick person’s room, I will be there. If I am standing at the foot of the bed, they will recover. Give them the blackberry water and tell them any nonsense you want. They’ll think you’re a miracle-worker. But if, when you come in, I am standing at the head of the bed, then the patient is mine, and they will die. Then, you must shake your head and say there’s nothing you can do. Follow my instructions exactly, and you will make a fortune for my godson.”

“Wow,” said the fisherman. He took the bottle from Death. “Thanks!”

The Fisherman

The fisherman took Death’s bottle and went to the nearest town. He stood in the market square and rang his bell.

“I am the greatest doctor in all the world!” he cried. “With one glance, I can tell if a patient will live or die! Drink my medicines and you’ll be cured!”

At first the people laughed. But one or two crept up to him and asked him to look at their loved ones. And quickly they found that he was telling the truth.

If he said that someone would die, they died.

If he said that someone would live, they lived.

People began to talk. They sent messengers asking him to cure their friends and family. The fisherman traveled all across the land. He became very successful. He bought his family a big house by the sea, with a garden and lots of servants. Life was good.

Until the king fell sick.

The king sent for the finest doctors in the city.

They tried to cure him.

But they all failed.

He sent messengers out across the country. One came to the fisherman’s village.

“All of the doctors in the land must come to the palace!” he said. “If you can cure the king, you’ll be given treasure beyond your wildest dreams! But beware! If you fail, his Lord High Executioner will chop off your head.”

“Hey!” said the fisherman’s friends. “You’re the most famous doctor in all the land! Aren’t you going to help?”

“Oh!” the fisherman said. “Oh, yes! Yes, definitely. I just—I’ve just got to—just got to go and—and—I’m very busy right now. Goodbye!”

For nearly a month, the fisherman made his excuses. Then, one day, two guards knocked on his door.

“Why haven’t you come to cure the king?” they said.

“Oh!” said the fisherman. “I was just about to! This afternoon! Right now, in fact! I was just on my way!”

“Excellent,” said the guards. And they took the fisherman, shoved him into a carriage, and drove across the land to the king’s palace.

Oh goodness, thought the fisherman. Oh heavens! Oh, help! Oh, please, Father God, I’m sorry I didn’t let you be my son’s godfather! Please, Father God, please help me. Please let Death be standing at the foot of the bed.

The guards took the fisherman to the king’s bedroom. They opened the door.

And there was the king.

And there was Death.

Standing at the head of the bed.

Death

The fisherman stared at Death. Death looked down at the floor. Oh no! thought the fisherman. Oh, whatever shall I do? Oh, why did I have to choose an honest man? What use is that? If I can’t save the king, they’ll chop off my head.

But how can I save him?

Unless…

“Ah,” he said to the guards. “Well. Yes. I see what your problem is. You’ve got the bed in the wrong place, that’s what it is. You want to turn the bed around, that’s what you want to do. Turn it around, so the head is where the foot is, and the foot is where the head is. Simple!”

So the guards turned the bed around. And it worked. Almost at once, the king sat up. Then he asked for something to eat. Soon, he was walking around like nothing had ever been the matter.

“What can we give you?” the guards said to the fisherman. “Gold? Silver? Jewels? Ask, and it will be yours.”

“Yes, yes,” said the fisherman. He was looking at Death, who had not moved. “Lovely,” said the fisherman. “Lovely. Thanks very much! Send them to my house, would you? There’s only one thing I want right now. What I really want, right now, more than anything…is a very, very, very fast horse.”

The Fisherman’s Clifftop

The guards took the fisherman to the stables and gave him the king’s own horse. The fisherman climbed onto its back and galloped away as fast and as far as he could. When the horse grew tired, he sold it and bought another. When that horse grew tired, he did the same again.

He rode all through the day and all through the night.

He rode and he rode and he rode. He rode until there was no land left. Until he was standing on the edge of the cliff, looking out over the sea.

He was back in his own village, where his adventures had begun.

He stopped the horse, and he looked around.

And there, beside him on the cliff path, was Death.

“Ah,” said the fisherman. “Er. Yes. Hello! Sorry about that. Bit of an emergency. Er. No hard feelings, eh?”

Death put a bony hand on the fisherman’s shoulder.

“Come,” he said.

And Death, and the fisherman, vanished.

Death’s Kingdom

The fisherman blinked. The sea was gone. The cliff was gone. He and Death were standing in a huge, black cave. All around them—above, below, before, behind—were candles. Some candles were tall and strong. Some were small and faint. Some had great long lengths of wax left to burn.

Some had barely any.

“Oh,” said the fisherman. “Well. Er. What lovely—er—light features you’ve—er—”

“This is my kingdom,” said Death. “Each of these candles is a life. When the candle burns out, a soul’s life is ended.”

“Oh,” said the fisherman. “And—er—which—which candle is mine?”

Death raised his bony finger and pointed to a candle. It was very small. Its wick was sputtering in a tiny pool of wax. Its light was almost gone.

“Oh!” said the fisherman. “Oh no! Oh, Death, save me!”

“No,” said Death. “I will not save you. I am an honest man, even if you are not. You gave the king a life that was not his to live. You must pay for it with your own.”

“Oh, Death!” pleaded the fisherman. “Please do something. Look—look at that candle there!” He pointed to the tall, thick candle burning strongly beside his own. “I’ve got an idea! I’ve got a wonderful idea! Why don’t we just chop a bit off the bottom of that candle and stick my candle on top of it? That person’s got loads of life! They won’t miss a bit off the bottom. Just a little bit! Well—maybe a slightly bigger bit. We could do that, couldn’t we, Death?”

Death turned his hooded face toward the candle, but he did not speak.

With trembling hands, the fisherman took the candle and sawed at it with his knife. But the knife did not cut. The wax would not break. And with every second that he tried, the fisherman’s own candle flickered and guttered and seemed about to drown.

At last, in desperation, the fisherman lifted the end of his own candle out of the candlestick and pressed it on top of the other. The other candle’s flame was drowned in the wax, but the fisherman’s took heart from the new fuel and grew tall and strong. The fisherman felt as though new life were surging into his body. For the first time since he had heard the king’s message, he felt truly alive.

“There!” he said. “That wasn’t so hard, was it?”

“Not for you,” said Death. “But I imagine it might be rather harder for my godson. That was his candle, you know.”

And as the fisherman cried out in sudden grief and horror, the cave, the candles, and the figure of Death all vanished…leaving him standing there on the windy clifftop. Alone.

About the Author and Illustrator

Sally Nicholls grew up in Stockton-on-Tees and after school traveled the world, working for a period at a Red Cross hospital in Japan. Sally’s first novel, Ways to Live Forever, won the Waterstones Children’s Book Prize, and she has been shortlisted for the Guardian Children’s Fiction Prize, the Costa Children’s Book Award, and the Carnegie Medal twice. She lives in Liverpool with her husband and two sons.

Júlia Sardà is an artist who has illustrated many books for children, including The Liszts by Kyo Maclear and Mary Who Wrote Frankenstein by Linda Bailey. Her work has been published around the world in many languages. She lives in Barcelona, Spain.

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