Мор - ученик смерти

           ’TheBrokenDrum?InFiligreeStreet?Stillthere?’

           ’Well,theychangethenamesometimesandrebuilditcompletelybutthesitehasbeen,er,onthesiteforyears.Iexpectyou’reprettydry,eh,sir?’Rincewindsaid,withanairofghastlycamaraderie.

           ’Whatwouldyouknowaboutit?’saidAlbertsharply.

           ’Absolutelynothing,sir,’saidRincewindpromptly.

           ’I’mgoingtotheDrum,then.Halfanhour,mind.Andifthey’renotwaitingformewhenIcomeback,thenwell,they’djustbetterbe!’

           Hestormedoutofthehallinacloudofmarbledust.

           Rincewindwatchedhimgo.Thelibrarianheldhishand.

           ’Youknowtheworstofit?’saidRincewind.

           ’Oook?’

           ’Idon’tevenrememberwalkingunderamirror.’

           AtaboutthetimeAlbertwasinTheMendedDrumarguingwiththelandlordoverayellowingbartabthathadbeenhandeddowncarefullyfromfathertosonthroughoneregicide,threecivilwars,sixty-onemajorfires,fourhundredandninetyrobberiesandmorethanfifteenthousandbarroombrawlstorecordthefactthatAlbertoMalichstillowedthemanagementthreecopperpiecesplusinterestcurrentlystandingatthecontentsofmostoftheDisc’slargerstrongrooms,whichprovedonceagainthatanAnkhianmerchantwithanunpaidbillhasthekindofmemorythatwouldmakeanelephantblink...ataboutthistime,BinkywasleavingavapourtrailinskiesabovethegreatmysteriouscontinentofKlatch.