Мор - ученик смерти

           ’Thesewerenewtoday–yesterday,Imean.’REALLY?

           ’Fathersaidtheshopwasfamousforitsbudgetclothing,’saidMort,runningtokeepup.

           ITCERTAINLYADDSANEWTERRORTOPOVERTY.

           Theyturnedintoawiderstreetleadingintoamoreaffluentpartofthecity(thetorcheswereclosertogetherandthemiddensfurtherapart).Therewerenostallsandalleycornertradershere,butproperbuildingswithsignshangingoutside.Theyweren’tmereshops,theywereemporia;theyhadpurveyorsinthem,andchairs,andspittoons.Mostofthemwereopenevenatthistimeofnight,becausetheaverageAnkhiantradercan’tsleepforthinkingofthemoneyhe’snotmaking.

           ’Doesn’tanyoneevergotobedaroundhere?’saidMort.

           THISISACITY,saidDeath,andpushedopenthedoorofaclothingstore.WhentheycameouttwentyminuteslaterMortwaswearinganeatly—ittingblackrobewithfaintsilverembroidery,andtheshopkeeperwaslookingatahandfulofantiquecoppercoinsandwonderingpreciselyhowhecametohavethem.

           ’Howdoyougetallthosecoins?’askedMort.

           INPAIRS.

           Anall-nightbarbershearedMort’shairintothelatestfashionamongthecity’syoungbloodswhileDeathrelaxedinthenextchair,hummingtohimself.Muchtohissurprise,hefeltinagoodhumour.