Мор - ученик смерти

           Binkytrotteddownovernothingnessandtoucheddownontheflagstonesofthecastle’stopmosttower.DeathdismountedandtoldMorttosortoutthenosebag.

           ’Won’tpeoplenoticethere’sahorseuphere?’hesaid,astheystrolledtoastairwell.

           Deathshookhishead.

           WOULDYOUBELIEVETHERECOULDBEAHORSEATTHETOPOFTHISTOWER?heSaid.

           ’No.Youcouldn’tgetoneupthesestairs,’saidMort.

           WELL,THEN?

           ’Oh.Isee.Peopledon’twanttoseewhatcan’tpossiblyexist.’

           WELLDONE.

           Nowtheywerewalkingalongawidecorridorhungwithtapestries.Deathreachedintohisrobeandpulledoutanhourglass,peeringcloselyatitinthedimlight.

           Itwasaparticularlyfineone,itsglasscutintointricatefacetsandimprisonedinanornateframeworkofwoodandbrass.Thewords’KingOlervetheBastard’wereengraveddeeplyintoit.

           Thesandinsidesparkledoddly.Therewasn’talotleft.

           Deathhummedtohimselfandstowedtheglassawayinwhatevermysteriousrecessithadoccupied.