Мор - ученик смерти

           ’Hemighthaveopenedthedoor,’saidKeli,afterhehadgone.

           ’Ithinkhewasabitembarrassed,’saidCutwell.’Weallgothroughthatstage.’

           ’What,ofwalkingthroughthings?’

           ’Inamannerofspeaking.Walkingintothem,anyway.’

           ’I’mgoingtogetsomesleep,’Kelisaid.’Eventhedeadneedsomerest.Cutwell,stopfiddlingwiththatcrossbow,please.I’msureit’snotwizardlytobealoneinalady’sboudoir.’

           ’Hmm?ButI’mnotalone,amI?You’rehere.’

           ’That,’shesaid,’isthepoint,isn’tit?’

           ’Oh.Yes.Sorry.Um.I’llseeyouinthemorning,then.’

           ’Goodnight,Cutwell.Shutthedoorbehindyou.’

           Thesuncreptoverthehorizon,decidedtomakearunforit,andbegantorise.

           ButitwouldbesometimebeforeitsslowlightrolledacrossthesleepingDisc,herdingthenightaheadofit,andnocturnalshadowsstillruledthecity.

           TheyclusterednowaroundTheMendedDruminFiligreeStreet,foremostofthecity’staverns.Itwasfamednotforitsbeer,whichlookedlikemaiden’swaterandtastedlikebatteryacid,butforitsclientele.ItwassaidthatifyousatlongenoughintheDrum,thensoonerorlatereverymajorheroontheDiscwouldstealyourhorse.

           Theatmosphereinsidewasstillloudwithtalkandheavywithsmokealthoughthelandlordwasdoingallthosethingslandlordsdowhentheythinkit’stimetoclose,liketurnsomeofthelightsout,winduptheclock,putaclothoverthepumpsand,justincase,checkthewhereaboutsoftheirclubwiththenailshammeredinit.