Мор - ученик смерти

           ThestallholderregardedMortcritically,notingthepaleface,well-cutclothesandstrangepresence,asortofcoiledspringeffect.

           ’Look,I’llbefrank,’hesaid.’Icouldpointyouinthedirectionofagreatbrothel.’

           ’I’vealreadyhadlunch,’saidMort,vaguely.’Butyoucantellmeifwe’reanywherenear,Ithinkit’scalledStoLat?’

           ’AbouttwentymilesHubwards,butthere’snothingthereforayoungmanofyourkidney,’saidthetraderhurriedly.’Iknow,you’reoutbyyourself,youwantnewexperiences,youwantexcitement,romance—’

           Mort,meanwhile,hadopenedthebagDeathhadgivenhim.Itwasfullofsmallgoldcoins,aboutthesizeofsequins.

           Animageformedagaininhismind,ofapaleyoungfaceunderaheadofredhairwhohadsomehowknownhewasthere.Theunfocusedfeelingsthathadhauntedhismindforthelastfewdayssuddenlysharpenedtoapoint.

           ’Iwant,’hesaidfirmly,’averyfasthorse.’

           Fiveminuteslater,Mortwaslost.

           ThispartofAnkh-MorporkwasknownasTheShades,aninner-cityareasorelyinneedeitherofgovernmentalhelpor,forpreference,aflamethrower.Itcouldn’tbecalledsqualidbecausethatwouldbestretchingthewordtobreakingpoint.Itwasbeyondsqualorandouttheotherside,wherebyasortofEinsteinianreversalitachievedamagnificenthorriblenessthatitworelikeanarchitecturalaward.Itwasnoisyandsultryandsmelledlikeacowshedfloor.