Мор - ученик смерти

           ’Whichconstellationswouldthesebe?’saidMort.

           ’Beneficentones,’saidthefigure,uncertainly.Itrallied.’WhydoyoutroubleIgneousCutwell,HolderoftheEightKeys,TravellerintheDungeonDimensions,SupremeMageof—’

           ’Excuseme,’saidMort,’areyoureally?’

           ’Reallywhat?’

           ’Masterofthethingy,LordHighWossnameoftheSacredDungeons?’

           Cutwellpushedbackhishoodwithanannoyedflourish.Insteadofthegrey-beardedmysticMorthadexpectedhesawaround,ratherplumpface,pinkandwhitelikeaporkpie,whichitsomewhatresembledinotherrespects.Forexample,likemostporkpies,itdidn’thaveabeardand,likemostporkpies,itlookedbasicallygood-humoured.

           ’Inafigurativesense,’hesaid.

           ’Whatdoesthatmean?’

           ’Well,itmeansno,’saidCutwell.

           ’Butyousaid—’

           ’Thatwasadvertising,’saidthewizard.’It’sakindofmagicI’vebeenworkingon.Whatwasityouwerewanting,anyway?’Heleeredsuggestively.’Alovephiltre,yes?Somethingtoencouragetheyoungladies?’

           ’Isitpossibletowalkthroughwalls?’saidMortdesperately.Cutwellpausedwithhishandalreadyhalfwaytoalargebottlefullofstickyliquid.