Мор - ученик смерти

           Funnything,history,’saidCutwellreflectively.’Youbecomeaqueen,reignforthirtyyears,makelaws,declarewaronpeopleandthentheonlythingyougetrememberedforisthatyousmelledlikeyoghurtandwerebitteninthe—’

           ’She’sadistantancestorofmine,’snappedKeli.’Iwon’tlistentothissortofthing.’

           ’Willyoubothbequietandlistentome!’shoutedMort.

           Silencedescendedlikeashroud.

           ThenCutwellsightedcarefullyandshotMortintheback.

           Thenightsheditsearlycasualtiesandjourneyedonwards.Eventhewildestpartieshadended,theirguestslurchinghometotheirbeds,orsomeone’sbedatanyrate.Shornofthesefellowtravellers,meredaytimepeoplewhohadstrayedoutoftheirtemporalturf,thetruesurvivorsofthenightgotdowntotheseriouscommerceofthedark.

           Thiswasn’tsoverydifferentfromAnkh-Morpork’sdaytimebusiness,exceptthattheknivesweremoreobviousandpeopledidn’tsmilesomuch.

           TheShadesweresilent,saveonlyforthewhistledsignalsofthievesandthevelvetyhushofdozensofpeoplegoingabouttheirprivatebusinessincarefulsilence.

           And,inHamAlley,CrippleWa’sfamousfloatingcrapgamewasjustgettingunderway.SeveraldozencowledfigureskneltorsquattedaroundthelittlecircleofpackedearthwhereWa’sthreeeight-sideddicebouncedandspuntheirmisleadinglessoninstatisticalprobability.

           ’Three!’

           ’Tuphal’sEyes,bylo!’

           ’He’sgotyouthere,Hummok!Thisguyknowshowtorollhisbones!’

           IT’SAKNACK.