Мор - ученик смерти

           Notwishingtoappeardisrespectful,however,hetookaswig.

           Thecrowdwatchedhim,countingunderitsbreath.

           Mortfeltsomethingwasbeingdemandedofhim.

           ’Nice,’hesaid,’veryrefreshing.’Hetookanothersip.’Bitofanacquiredtaste,’headded,’butwellworththeeffort,I’msure.’

           Therewereoneortwomuttersofdiscontentfromthebackofthecrowd.

           ’He’sbeenwateringthescumble,that’swhat’tis.’

           ’Nay,thouknowstwhathappensifyouletsadropofwatertouchscumble.’

           Thelandlordtriedtoignorethis.’Youlikeit?’hesaidtoMort,inprettymuchthesametoneofvoicepeopleusedwhentheysaidtoStGeorge,’Youkilledawhat?’

           ’It’squitetangy,’saidMort.’Andsortofnutty.’

           ’Excuseme,’saidthelandlord,andgentlytookthemugoutofMort’shand.Hesniffedatit,thenwipedhiseyes.

           ’Uuunnyag,’hesaid.’It’stherightstuffallright.’

           Helookedattheboywithsomethingvergingonadmiration.Itwasn’tthathe’ddrunkathirdofapintofscumbleinitself,itwasthathewasstillverticalandapparentlyalive.Hehandedthepotbackagain:itwasasifMortwasbeinggivenatrophyaftersomeincrediblecontest.Whentheboytookanothermouthfulseveralofthewatcherswinced.ThelandlordwonderedwhatMort’steethweremadeof,anddecideditmustbethesamestuffashisstomach.

           ’You’renotawizardbyanychance?’heenquired,justincase.

           ’Sorry,no.