Free On a Pale Horse by Piers Anthony

Occidental baseball. They were merged.
    He let go of the ball. It hovered in mid-air, in almost perfect balance. What was this soul’s destiny?
    Then, slowly, it rose. The balance was marginally in favor of Heaven. Zane let his breath out; he had been more nervous about this than he had realized. He had been in doubt about both the technique of analysis and the destination of the nice gentleman he had talked with.
    Nice? The man couldn’t have been too nice, or he would not have had so much evil on his soul!
    The gem ball nudged gently against the ceiling of the car. Zane did not let it go outside; with the car windows closed, the ball was not going anywhere. He needed to send the soul itself to Heaven. But how?
    He fished in the compartment again. He found a roll of transparent tape and two packages of balls. The balls were of distinctly differing densities. Some were pith and threatened to float away; others were lead, quite heavy.
    Now it came clear. Zane refolded the soul into a compact mass, bound it together by a loop of tape, and affixed a buoyant pithball. Then he opened the car window and released it. It floated up into the starry sky and in a moment was lost to view.
    He hoped the package arrived safely in Heaven. This seemed an unconscionably primitive way to transport a commodity as precious as a soul. Surely it should be possible, in a world possessing magic carpets and luxury airplanes, to transport a soul more safely and efficiently than by such means. But, of course, this was his predecessor’s method; maybe Zane would be able to update it when he learned more about the office.
    The merged stones fell apart, their original dull colors returning. That job was finished. He returned them to the dashboard compartment.
    The Deathwatch was counting down past ten minutes. He had used up his spare time and had to move.
    Zane oriented the car and touched the hyperdrive button. This time the wrenching was longer. He looked out the window. He was passing across water. He was proceeding east across the ocean, according to the compass he now spotted on the dash. He left the night and re-entered day, realizing that it had been evening when he started this business, and late afternoon when he had taken his first client in Anchorage, and evening again in Firebird for his second. The world continued its turning regardless of his business, and he was zipping in and out of day.
    In a moment, land loomed. The car swooped up to it, slowing, then rolled across a brief beach, through a development of twenty-storey modernistic condominiums, through—not around—a ragged brown mountain range, past a village that filled in a valley with white, plaster-sided houses, through an olive orchard, past grazing horses, and to an open field.
    He was now near his client. He wasn’t sure why the hyperdrive never delivered him precisely to the target; perhaps long-distance accuracy was not great. More likely it was to preserve the anonymity of Death’s approach; it would be hard for people to ignore a car that abruptly materialized on the site of an accident. Magic did have its limitations, so it was best not to push it too far.
    He used the eye and arrow to close in on the target and arrived with a good minute to spare. He was at a decrepit farmhouse amidst languishing fields. This was a poverty-stricken family.
    He opened the door and walked in. He wondered whether he should have knocked, but concluded that no one would care to answer Death at the door. It was dawn here; he could hear the members of the family screaming at each other as they blundered sleepily about, getting organized in the chill house. His left ear picked up the translated words, for, of course, this was not Zane’s own language. The people were grumbling about the cold morning, the inadequacy of food for breakfast, and a rat that skittered across the floor.
    Zane’s gems guided him to the bedroom. The woman was there, sitting on the bed, an expression of discomfort on