Мор - ученик смерти

           UNTILIT’STIME,OFCOURSE.WIZARDSCANSEEME,ANDCATS.BUTYOURAVERAGEHUMAN...NO,NEVER.Heblewasmokeringatthesky,andadded,STRANGEBUTTRUE.

           Mortwatchedthesmokeringwobbleintotheskyanddriftawaytowardstheriver.

           ’Icanseeyou,’hesaid.

           THAT’SDIFFERENT.

           TheKlatchianwaiterarrivedwiththebill,andplaceditinfrontofDeath.Themanwassquatandbrown,withahairstylelikeacoconutgonenova,andhisroundfacecreasedintoapuzzledfrownwhenDeathnoddedpolitelytohim.Heshookhisheadlikesomeonetryingtodislodgesoapfromhisears,andwalkedaway.

           Deathreachedintothedepthsofhisrobeandbroughtoutalargeleatherbagfullofassortedcoppercoinage,mostofitblueandgreenwithage.Heinspectedthebillcarefully.Thenhecountedoutadozencoins.

           COME,hesaid,standingup.WEMUSTGO.

           Morttrottedalongbehindhimashestalkedoutofthegardenandintothestreet,whichwasstillfairlybusyeventhoughtherewerethefirstsuggestionsofdawnonthehorizon.

           ’Whatarewegoingtodonow?’

           BUYYOUSOMENEWCLOTHES.