Мор - ученик смерти

           ’Thenyougoandlearnatrade,’saidLezek. 

           ’Whattradeinparticular?’ 

           ’Well...carpentryisagoodone,’Lezekhazarded.’Orthievery.Someone’sgottodoit.’ 

           Mortlookedathisfeet.Hewasadutifulson,whenheremembered,andifbeinganapprenticewaswhatwasexpectedofhimthenhewasdeterminedtobeagoodone. Carpentrydidn’tsoundverypromising,though–woodhadastubbornlifeofitsown,andatendencytosplit.AndofficialthieveswererareintheRamtops,wherepeopleweren’trichenoughtoaffordthem. 

           ’Allright,’hesaideventually,’I’llgoandgiveitatry.ButwhathappensifIdon’tgetprenticed?’ 

           Lezekscratchedhishead. 

           ’Idon’tknow,’hesaid.’Iexpectyoujustwaituntiltheendofthefair.Atmidnight.Isuppose.’ 

           *** 

           Andnowmidnightapproached. 

           Alightfrostbegantocrispthecobblestones.Intheornamentalclocktowerthatoverlookedthesquareacoupleofdelicately-carvedlittleautomatonswhirredoutoftrapdoorsintheclockfaceandstruckthequarterhour. 

           Fifteenminutestomidnight.Mortshivered,butthecrimsonfiresofshameandstubbornnessflaredupinsidehim,hotterthantheslopesofHell.