Мор - ученик смерти

           Thatwaswizardtalk,wasn’tit?’saidMort.

           ’Youshutupaboutwizardtalk.Idon’tknowanythingaboutwizardtalk.Youapplyyourbraintothishere.’

           Mortlookeddownagainatthetraceryoflines.Itwasasifaspiderhadspunawebonthepage,stoppingateveryjunctiontomakenotes.Mortstareduntilhiseyeshurt,waitingforsomesparkofinspiration.Nonevolunteered.

           ’Anyluck?’

           ’It’sallKlatchiantome,’saidMort.’Idon’tevenknowwhetheritshouldbereadupsidedownorsideways.’

           ’Spirallingfromthecentreoutwards,’sniffedYsabellfromherseatinthecorner.

           Theirheadscollidedastheybothpeeredatthecentreofthepage.Theystaredather.Sheshrugged.

           ’Fathertaughtmehowtoreadthenodechart,’shesaid,’whenIusedtodomysewinginhere.Heusedtoreadbitsout.’

           ’Youcanhelp?’saidMort.

           ’No,’saidYsabell.Sheblewhernose.

           ’Whatdoyoumean,no?’growledAlbert.Thisistooimportantforanyflighty—’

           ’Imean,’saidYsabell,inrazortones,’thatIcandothemandyoucanhelp.’

           TheAnkh-MorporkGuildofMerchantshastakentohiringlargegangsofmenwithearslikefistsandfistslikelargebagsofwalnutswhosejobitistore-educatethosemisguidedpeoplewhopubliclyfailtorecognisethemanyattractivepointsoftheirfinecity.ForexamplethephilosopherCatroasterwasfoundfloatingfacedownwardintheriverwithinhoursofutteringthefamousline,’WhenamanistiredofAnkh-Morpork,heistiredofankle-deepslurry.