When he forced open his eyes he saw pale stars above him, and had once again the sensation that there was someone else present.
He turned his head, wincing at the stab of pain, and saw a small but brightly lit folding chair on the sand. A robed figure was reclining in it, reading a book. A scythe was stuck in the sand beside it.
A white skeletal hand turned a page.
`You'll be Death, then?' said Vimes, after a while.
AH, MISTER VIMES, ASTUTE AS EVER. GOT IT IN ONE, said Death,
shutting the book on his finger to keep the place. `I've seen you before.'
I HAVE WALKED WITH YOU MANY TIMES, MISTER VIMES.
`And this is it, is it?'
HAS IT NEVER STRUCK YOU THAT THE CONCEPT OF A WRITTEN NARRATIVE IS SOMEWHAT STRANGE? said Death.
Vimes could tell when people were trying to avoid something they really didn't want to say, and it was happening here. `Is it?' he insisted. `Is this it? This time I die?'
COULD BE.
`Could be? What sort of answer is that?' said Vimes.
A VERY ACCURATE ONE. YOU SEE, YOU ARE HAVING A NEAR DEATH EXPERIENCE, WHICH INESCAPABLY MEANS THAT I MUST UNDERGO A NEAR VIMES EXPERIENCE. DON'T MIND ME. CARRY ON WITH WHATEVER YOU WERE DOING. I HAVE A BOOK.
Ваша оценка
Graft11 января 2017
1 понравилось61
GoldyFoxik12 января 2016
Oliver_Grand28 октября 2011
sovka9 июля 2010
SagmaBooks10 мая 20267
CherryVamp12 апреля 202632
