Мор - ученик смерти

           ’Andthrowawaythebricklayer!’chortledRincewind,whofelthewasgettingthehangofthis.

           Thebursarscowledathim.’Noneedtogetcarriedaway,’hesaid.

           InthesilencealargerthanusualsanddunehumpedupawkwardlyandthenfellawaytorevealBinky,blowingthesandoutofhisnostrilsandshakinghismane.

           Mortopenedhiseyes.

           Thereshouldbeawordforthatbriefperiodjustafterwakingwhenthemindisfullofwarmpinknothing.Youliethereentirelyemptyofthought,exceptforagrowingsuspicionthatheadingtowardsyou,likeasockfulofdampsandinanocturnalalleyway,arealltherecollectionsyou’dreallyratherdowithout,andwhichamounttothefactthattheonlymitigatingfactorinyourhorriblefutureisthecertaintythatitwillbequiteshort.

           Mortsatupandputhishandsontopofhisheadtostopitunscrewing.

           ThesandbesidehimheavedandYsabellpushedherselfintoasittingposition.Herhairwasfullofsandandherfacewasgrimywithpyramiddust.Someofherhairhadfrizzledatthetips.Shestaredlistlesslyathim.

           ’Didyouhitme?’hesaid,gentlytestinghisjaw.

           ’Yes.’

           ’Oh.’

           Helookedatthesky,asthoughitcouldremindhimaboutthings.Hehadtobesomewhere,soon,herecalled.Thenherememberedsomethingelse.

           Thankyou,’hesaid.

           ’Anytime,Iassureyou.’Ysabellmadeittoherfeetandtriedtobrushthedirtandcobwebsoffherdress.

           ’Arewegoingtorescuethisprincessofyours?’shesaiddiffidently.

           Mort’sownpersonal,internalrealitycaughtupwithhim.