Мор - ученик смерти

           ’Oh.’

           Lezekhesitated.

           ’Icouldaskthemanifhewantsanapprentice,’hesaid,helpfully.’Veryreliable,thecateringtrade.’

           ’Idon’tthinkhedoes,’saidMort.

           ’No,probablynot,’saidLezek.’Bitofaone-manbusiness,Iexpect.He’sgonenow,anyway.Tellyouwhat,I’llsaveyouabitofmine.’

           ’Idon’tactuallyfeelveryhungry,dad.’

           ’There’shardlyanygristle.’

           ’No.Butthanksallthesame.’

           ’Oh.’Lezekdeflatedalittle.Hedancedaboutabittostampsomelifebackintohisfeet,andwhistledafewtunelessbarsbetweenhisteeth.Hefeltheoughttosaysomething,tooffersomekindofadvice,topointoutthatlifehaditsupsanddowns,toputhisarmaroundhisson’sshoulderandtalkexpansivelyabouttheproblemsofgrowingup,toindicate–inshort–thattheworldisafunnyoldlacewhereoneshouldnever,metaphoricallyspeaking,besoproudastoturndowntheofferofaperfectlygoodhotmeatpie.

           Theywerealonenow.Thefrost,thelastoneoftheyear,tighteneditsgriponthestones.

           Highinthetowerabovethemacoggedwheelwentclonk,trippedalever,releasedaratchetandletaheavyleadweightdropdown.