Мор - ученик смерти

           ’Sorry?’saidMort.

           ’Ademonbringsblessingandgoodfortuneonthemanthathelpsit,’saidtheman.’Howmaywebeofassistance,Oevildogsbreathofthenetherpit?’

           ’Well,I’mnotveryhungry,’saidMort,’butifyouknowwhereIcangetafasthorse,IcouldbeinStoLatbeforesunset.’

           Themanbeamedandbowed.’Iknowtheveryplace,noxiousextrusionofthebowels,ifyouwouldbesogoodastofollowme.’

           Morthurriedoutafterhim.Theancientancestorwatchedthemgowithacriticalexpression,itsjowlsrhythmicallychewing.

           ’Thatwaswhattheycallademonaroundhere?’itsaid.’Offlerrotthiscountryofdampness,eventheirdemonsarethird-rate,notapatchonthedemonswehadintheOldCountry.’

           ThewifeplacedasmallbowlofriceinthefoldedmiddlepairofhandsoftheOfflerstatue(itwouldbegoneinthemorning)andstoodback.

           ’HusbanddidsaythatlastmonthattheCurryGardensheservedacreaturewhowasnotthere,’shesaid.’Hewasimpressed.’

           Tenminuteslaterthemanreturnedand,insolemnsilence,placedasmallheapofgoldcoinsonthetable.Theyrepresentedenoughwealthtopurchasequitealargepartofthecity.

           ’Hehadabagofthem,’hesaid.

           Thefamilystaredatthemoneyforsometime.Thewifesighed.