Мор - ученик смерти

           ’WillIneedmyshawl?ShallIneedashawl,d’youthink?No,Isupposenot.Iimagineit’squitewarmwhereI’mgoing.’ShepeeredcloselyatMort,andfrowned.

           ’You’reratheryoungerthanIimagined,’shesaid.Mortsaidnothing.ThenGoodieHamstringsaid,quietly,’Youknow,Idon’tthinkyou’rewhoIwasexpectingatall.’

           Mortclearedhisthroat.

           ’Whowereyouexpecting,precisely?’hesaid.

           ’Death,’saidthewitch,simply.’It’spartofthearrangement,yousee.Onegetstoknowthetimeofone’sdeathinadvance,andoneisguaranteed–personalattention.’

           ’I’mit,’saidMort.

           ’It?’

           ’Thepersonalattention.Hesentme.Iworkforhim.No-oneelsewouldhaveme.’Mortpaused.Thiswasallwrong.He’dbesenthomeagainindisgrace.Hisfirstbitofresponsibility,andhe’druinedit.Hecouldalreadyhearpeoplelaughingathim.

           Thewailstartedinthedepthsofhisembarrassmentandblaredoutlikeafoghorn.’Onlythisismyfirstrealjobandit’sallgonewrong!’

           Thescythefelltothefloorwithaclatter,slicingapieceoffthetablelegandcuttingaflagstoneinhalf.