Мор - ученик смерти

           Heusedtolookasifheknewnothingatall;nowhelooksasthoughheknowstoomuch.Somethingabouthiseyessuggeststhathehasseenthingsthatordinarypeopleneversee,oratleastneverseemorethanonce.

           Somethingaboutalltherestofhimsuggeststothewatchersthatcausinganinconvenienceforthisboymightjustbeaswiseaskickingawaspnest.Inshort,Mortnolongerlookslikesomethingthecatbroughtinandthenbroughtup.

           Thelandlordrelaxedhisgriponthestoutblackthornpeacemakerhekeptunderthebarandcomposedhisfeaturesintosomethingresemblingacheerfulwelcominggrin,althoughnotverymuch.

           ’Evening,yourlordship,’hesaid.’What’syourpleasurethiscoldandfrostynight?’

           ’What?’saidMort,blinkinginthelight.

           ’Whathemeansis,whatd’youwanttodrink?’saidasmallferret-facedmansittingbythefire,whowasgivingMortthekindoflookabutchergivesafieldfulloflambs.

           ’Um.Idon’tknow,’saidMort.’Doyousellstardrip?’

           ’Neverheardofit,lordship.’

           Mortlookedaroundatthefaceswatchinghim,illuminatedbythefirelight.Theywerethesortofpeoplegenerallycalledthesaltoftheearth.Inotherwords,theywerehard,squareandbadforyourhealth,butMortwastoopreoccupiedtonotice.

           ’Whatdopeopleliketodrinkhere,then?’

           Thelandlordlookedsidewaysathiscustomers,aclevertrickgiventhattheyweredirectlyinfrontofhim.

           ’Why,lordship,wedrinkscumble,forpreference.’

           ’Scumble?’saidMort,failingtonoticethemuffledsniggers.