Мор - ученик смерти

           Itisthekindofstateinwhichonedoesthingsthatonewillrecallwithcrimsonshameinlaterlife,suchasblowingthroughapapersqueakerandlaughingsomuchthatoneissick.

           InfactsometwohundredofthePatrician’sguestswerenowstaggeringandkickingtheirwaythroughtheSerpentDance,aquaintMorporkianfolkwaywhichconsistedofgettingratherdrunk,holdingthewaistofthepersoninfront,andthenwobblingandgigglinguproariouslyinalongcrocodilethatwoundthroughasmanyroomsaspossible,preferablyoneswithbreakablesin,whilekickingonelegvaguelyintimewiththebeat,oratleastintimewithsomeotherbeat.Thisdancehadgoneonforhalfanhourandhadwoundthrougheveryroominthepalace,pickinguptwotrolls,thecook,thePatrician’sheadtorturer,threewaiters,aburglarwhohappenedtobepassingandasmallpetswampdragon.

           SomewherearoundthemiddleofthedancewasfatLordRodleyofQuirm,heirtothefabulousQuirmestates,whosecurrentpreoccupationwaswiththethinfingersgrippinghiswaist.Underitsbathofalcoholhisbrainkepttryingtoattracthisattention.

           ’Isay,’hecalledoverhisshoulder,astheyoscillatedforthetenthhilarioustimethroughtheenormouskitchen,’notsotight,please.’

           IAMMOSTTERRIBLYSORRY.

           ’Nooffence,oldchap.DoIknowyou?’saidLordRodley,kickingvigorouslyonthebackbeat.

           ITHINKITUNLIKELY.