Мор - ученик смерти

           Hefumbledinsidehisrobeandproducedanhourglassinwhichblacksandcoursedbetweenaspikedironlatticework.Hegaveitanexperimentalshake.ANDDUETOLIVEANOTHERTHIRTY,THIRTY-FIVEYEARS,hesaid,withasigh.

           ’Andhegoesaroundkillingpeople?’saidMort.Heshookhishead.There’snojustice.’

           Deathsighed.No,hesaid,handinghisdrinktoapagewhowassurprisedtofindhewassuddenlyholdinganemptyglass,THERE’SJUSTME.

           Hedrewhissword,whichhadthesameiceblue,shadow-thinbladeasthescytheofoffice,andsteppedforward.

           ’Ithoughtyouusedthescythe,’whisperedMort.

           KINGSGETTHESWORD,saidDeath.IT’SAROYALWHATSNAME,PREROGATIVE.

           HisfreehandthrustitsbonydigitsbeneathhisrobeagainandbroughtoutKingOlerve’sglass.Inthetophalfthelastfewgrainsofsandwerehuddlingtogether.

           PAYCAREFULATTENTION,saidDeath,YOUMAYBEASKEDQUESTIONSAFTERWARDS.

           ’Wait,’saidMort,wretchedly.’It’snotfair.Can’tyoustopit?’

           FAIR?saidDeath.WHOSAIDANYTHINGABOUTFAIR?

           ’Well,iftheothermanissucha—’