Мор - ученик смерти

           ’That’shorrible,’saidMort.’Willtherebemanydrowned?’

           THAT’SUPTOFATE,saidDeath,turningtothebookcasebehindhimandpullingoutaheavygazetteer.THERE’SNOTHINGICANDOABOUTIT.WHATIsTHATSMELL?

           ’Me,’saidMort,simply.

           AH.THESTABLES.Deathpaused,hishandonthespineofthebook.ANDWHYDOYOUTHINKIDIRECTEDYOUTOTHESTABLES?THINKCAREFULLY,NOW.

           Morthesitated.Hehadbeenthinkingcarefully,inbetweencountingwheelbarrows.He’dwonderedifithadbeentocoordinatehishandandeye,orteachhimthehabitofobedience,orbringhometohimtheimportance,onthehumanscale,ofsmalltasks,ormakehimrealisethatevengreatmenmuststartatthebottom.Noneoftheseexplanationsseemedexactlyright.

           ’Ithink...’hebegan.

           YES?

           ’Well,Ithinkitwasbecauseyouwereuptoyourkneesinhorseshit,totellyouthetruth.’

           Deathlookedathimforalongtime.Mortshifteduneasilyfromonefoottotheother.

           ABSOLUTELYCORRECT,snappedDeath.CLARITYOFTHOUGHT.REALISTICAPPROACH.VERYIMPORTANTINAJOBLIKEOURS.