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’
Doesn
’
t
anyone
know
?
’
ME
.
You
.
THE
GODS
.
GOOD
,
IS
IT
?
’
Gosh
!
’
Death
leaned
over
the
saddle
and
looked
down
at
the
kingdoms
of
the
world
.
I
DON
’
T
KNOW
ABOUT
YOU
,
he
Said
,
BUT
I
COULD
MURDER
A
CURRY
.
Although
it
was
well
after
midnight
the
twin
city
of
Ankh
-
Morpork
was
roaring
with
life
.
Mort
had
thought
Sheepridge
looked
busy
,
but
compared
to
the
turmoil
of
the
street
around
him
the
town
was
,
well
,
a
morgue
.
Poets
have
tried
to
describe
Ankh
-
Morpork
.
They
have
failed
.
Perhaps
it
’
s
the
sheer
zestful
vitality
of
the
place
,
or
maybe
it
’
s
just
that
a
city
with
a
million
inhabitants
and
no
sewers
is
rather
robust
for
poets
,
who
prefer
daffodils
and
no
wonder
.
So
let
’
s
just
say
that
Ankh
-
Morpork
is
as
full
of
life
as
an
old
cheese
on
a
hot
day
,
as
loud
as
a
curse
in
a
cathedral
,
as
bright
as
an
oil
slick
,
as
colourful
as
a
bruise
and
as
full
of
activity
,
industry
,
bustle
and
sheer
exuberant
busyness
as
a
dead
dog
on
a
termite
mound
.
There
were
temples
,
their
doors
wide
open
,
filling
the
streets
with
the
sounds
of
gongs
,
cymbals
and
,
in
the
case
of
some
of
the
more
conservative
fundamentalist
religions
,
the
brief
screams
of
the
victims
.
There
were
shops
whose
strange
wares
spilled
out
on
to
the
pavement
.
There
seemed
to
be
rather
a
lot
of
friendly
young
ladies
who
couldn
’
t
afford
many
clothes
.
There
were
flares
,
and
jugglers
,
and
assorted
sellers
of
instant
transcendence
.
And
Death
stalked
through
it
all
.
Mort
had
half
expected
him
to
pass
through
the
crowds
like
smoke
,
but
it
wasn
’
t
like
that
at
all
.
The
simple
truth
was
that
wherever
Death
walked
,
people
just
drifted
out
of
the
way
.
It
didn
’
t
work
like
that
for
Mort
.
