Мор - ученик смерти

           Theyturnedacornerandhitawallofsound.Therewasahallfullofpeoplethere,underacloudofsmokeandchatterthatroseallthewayupintothebanner-hauntedshadowsintheroof.Upinagalleryatrioofminstrelsweredoingtheirbesttobeheardandnotsucceeding.

           TheappearanceofDeathdidn’tcausemuchofastir.Afootmanbythedoorturnedtohim,openedhismouthandthenfrownedinadistractedwayandthoughtofsomethingelse.Afewcourtiersglancedintheirdirection,theireyesinstantlyunfocusingascommonsenseoverruledtheotherfive.

           WE’VEGOTAFEWMINUTES,saidDeath,takingadrinkfromapassingtray,LET’SMINGLE.

           ’Theycan’tseemeeither!’saidMort.’ButI’mreal!’

           REALITYisNOTALWAYSWHATITSEEMS,saidDeath.ANYWAY,IFTHEYDON’TWANTTOSEEME,THEYCERTAINLYDON’TWANTTOSEEYOU.THESEAREARISTOCRATS,BOY.THEY’REGOODATNOTSEEINGTHINGS.WHYISTHEREACHERRYONASTICKINTHISDRINK?

           ’Mort,’saidMortautomatically.

           IT’SNOTASIFITDOESANYTHINGFORTHEFLAVOUR.WHYDOESANYONETAKEAPERFECTLYGOODDRINKANDTHENPUTINACHERRYONAPOLE?

           ’What’sgoingtohappennext?’saidMort.Anelderlyearlbumpedintohiselbow,lookedeverywherebutdirectlyathim,shruggedandwalkedaway.