Мор - ученик смерти

           ’Okay,’hesaid,I’mnotcomplaining,Ijustwanttoknowhowyoudiditsofast.’

           TIMEISNOTIMPORTANT.

           ’Yousay?’

           RIGHT.

           Hargadecidednottoargue.

           ’Well,you’redoingadamnfinejobinthere,boy,’hesaid.

           WHATisITCALLEDWHENYOUFEELWARMANDCONTENTANDWISHTHINGSWOULDSTAYTHATWAY?

           ’Iguessyou’dcallithappiness,’saidHarga.

           Insidethetiny,crampedkitchen,strata’dwiththegreaseofdecades,Deathspunandwhirled,chopping,slicingandflying.Hisskilletflashedthroughthefetidsteam.

           He’dopenedthedoortothecoldnightair,andadozenneighbourhoodcatshadstrolledin,attractedbythebowlsofmilkandmeat–someofHarga’sbest,ifhe’dknown–thathadbeenstrategicallyplacedaroundthefloor.OccassionallyDeathwouldpauseinhisworkandscratchoneofthembehindtheears.

           ’Happiness,’hesaid,andpuzzledatthesoundofhisownvoice.

           Cutwell,thewizardandRoyalRecogniserbyappointment,pulledhimselfupthelastofthetowerstepsandleanedagainstthewall,waitingforhishearttostopthumping.

           Actuallyitwasn’tparticularlyhigh,thistower,justhighforStoLat.Ingeneraldesignandoutlineitlookedthestandardsortoftowerforimprisoningprincessesin;itwasmainlyusedtostoreoldfurniture.

           However,itofferedunsurpassedviewsofthecityandtheStoplain,whichistosay,youcouldseeanawfullotofcabbages.

           Cutwellmadeitasfarasthecrumblingcrenel-lationsatopthewallandlookedoutatthemorninghaze.Itwas,maybe,alittlehazierthanusual.