Mort (Discworld 4)

He eventually dismounted and led the horse along Wall Street, searching in vain for Cutwell's house. He found it only because a lump on the nearest poster was making muffled swearing noises.

He reached out gingerly and pulled aside a strip of paper.

Tanks very much,' said the gargoyle doorknocker. 'You wouldn't credit it, would you? One minute life as normal, nexft minute a mouthful of glue.'

'Where's Cutwell?'

'He's gone off to the palace.' The knocker leered at him and winked a cast-iron eye. 'Some men came and took all his fstuff away. Then some ovver men started pasting pictures of his girlfriend all over the place. Barftuds,' it added.

Mort coloured.

'His girlfriend?'

The doorknocker, being of the demonic persuasion, sniggered at his tone. It sounded like fingernails being dragged over a file.

the mist! Can't you hear it sizzling?'

'A sizzling mist, is it?' The landlord looked at the wall, which was quite empty and unmysterious except for a few cobwebs. The urgency in Mort's voice unsettled him. He would have preferred the normal scaly monsters. A man knew where he stood with them.

'It's coming right across the room! Can't you feel it?'

The customers looked at one another. Mort was making them uneasy. One or two of them admitted later that they did feel something, rather like an icy tingle, but it could have been indigestion.

Mort backed away, and then gripped the bar. He shivered for a moment.

'Look,' said the landlord, 'a joke's a joke, but —'

'You had a green shirt on before!'

The landlord looked down. There was an edge of terror in his voice.

'Before what?' he quavered. To his astonishment, and before his hand could complete its surreptitious journey towards the blackthorn stick, Mort lunged across the bar and grabbed him by the apron.

'You've got a green shirt, haven't you?' he said. 'I saw it, it had little yellow buttons!'

'Well, yes. I've got two shirts.' The landlord tried to draw himself up a little. 'I'm a man of means,' he added. 'I just didn't wear it today.' He didn't want to know how Mort knew about the buttons.

Mort let him go and spun round.

'They're all sitting in different places! Where's the man who was sitting by the fire? It's all changed!'

He ran out through the door and there was a muffled cry from outside. He dashed back, wild-eyed, and confronted the horrified crowd.

'Who changed the sign? Someone changed the sign!'

The landlord nervously ran his tongue across his lips.

'After the old king died, you mean?' he said.

Mort's look chilled him, the boy's eyes were two black pools of terror.

'It's the name I mean!'

'We've – it's always been the same name,' said the man, looking desperately at his customers for support. 'Isn't that so, lads? The Duke's Head.'

There was a murmured chorus of agreement.

Mort stared at everyone, visibly shaking. Then he turned and ran outside again.