Мор - ученик смерти

           Thewomansaid:’Whydoesthedemonshowhisteeth,husbandofmylife?’

           Themansaid:’Itcouldbehunger,moonofmydesire.Pileonmorefish!’

           Andtheancestorgrumbled:’Iwaseatingthat,wretchedchild.Woeuntotheworldwhenthereisnorespectforage!’

           NowthefactisthatwhilethewordsenteredMort’searintheirspokenKlatchian,withallthecurlicuesandsubtlediphthongsofalanguagesoancientandsophisticatedthatithadfifteenwordsmeaning’assassination’beforetherestoftheworldhadcaughtontotheideaofbashingoneanotherovertheheadwithrocks,theyarrivedinhisbrainasclearandunderstandableashismothertongue.

           ’I’mnodemon!I’mahuman!’hesaid,andstoppedinshockashiswordsemergedinperfectKlatch.

           ’You’reathief?’saidthefather.’Amurderer?Tocreepinthus,areyouatax-gatherer?’Hishandslippedunderthetableandcameupholdingameatcleaverhonedtopaperthinness.Hiswifescreamedanddroppedtheplateandclutchedtheyoungestchildrentoher.

           Mortwatchedthebladeweavethroughtheair,andgavein.

           ’Ibringyougreetingsfromtheuttermostcirclesofhell,’hehazarded.

           Thechangewasremarkable.Thecleaverwasloweredandthefamilybrokeintobroadsmiles.

           ’Thereismuchlucktousifademonvisits,’beamedthefather.’Whatisyourwish,OfoulspawnofOffler’sloins?’