Мор - ученик смерти

           Buttherewasacallforservantsandmenialworkers,andwiththecommercialsectionsofthecitybeginningtoboomthethinyoungman–aMrLionaKeeble–hadinventedtheprofessionofjobbrokerandwas,rightatthismoment,findingitdifficult.

           ’MydearMr—’heglanceddown–’Mr,wegetmanypeoplecomingintothecityfromoutsidebecause,alas,theybelievelifeisricherhere.Excusemeforsayingso,butyouseemtometobeagentlemandownonhisluck.Iwouldhavethoughtyouwouldhavepreferredsomethingrathermorerefinedthan—’heglanceddownagain,andfrowned–’"somethingniceworkingwithcatsorflowers".’

           I’MSORRY.IFELTITWASTIMEFORACHANGE.

           ’Canyouplayamusicalinstrument?’

           NO.

           ’Canyoudocarpentry?’

           IDONOTKNOW,IHAVENEVERTRIED.Deathtaredathisfeet.Hewasbeginningtofeeldeeplyembarrassed.

           Keebleshuffledthepaperonhisdesk,andsighed.

           ICANWALKTHROUGHWALLS,Deathvolunteered,awarethattheconversationhadreachedanimpasse.

           Keeblelookedupbrightly.’I’dliketoseethat,’hesaid.’Thatcouldbequiteaqualification.’

           RIGHT.

           Deathpushedhischairbackandstalkedconfidentlytowardsthenearestwall.

           OUCH.

           Keeblewatchedexpectantly.’Goon,then,’hesaid.

           UM.THISISANORDINARYWALL,ISIT?

           ’Iassumeso.I’mnotanexpert.’

           ITSEEMSTOBEPRESENTINGMEWITHSOMEDIFFICULTY.

           ’Soitwouldappear.’

           WHATDOYOUCALLTHEFEELINGOFBEINGVERYSMALLANDHOT?

           Keebletwiddledhispencil.

           ’Pygmy?’

           BEGINSWITHANM.