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There
was
a
sudden
worried
silence
.
’
Pardon
?
’
’
Which
constellations
would
these
be
?
’
said
Mort
.
’
Beneficent
ones
,
’
said
the
figure
,
uncertainly
.
It
rallied
.
’
Why
do
you
trouble
Igneous
Cutwell
,
Holder
of
the
Eight
Keys
,
Traveller
in
the
Dungeon
Dimensions
,
Supreme
Mage
of
—
’
’
Excuse
me
,
’
said
Mort
,
’
are
you
really
?
’
’
Really
what
?
’
’
Master
of
the
thingy
,
Lord
High
Wossname
of
the
Sacred
Dungeons
?
’
Cutwell
pushed
back
his
hood
with
an
annoyed
flourish
.
Instead
of
the
grey
-
bearded
mystic
Mort
had
expected
he
saw
a
round
,
rather
plump
face
,
pink
and
white
like
a
pork
pie
,
which
it
somewhat
resembled
in
other
respects
.
For
example
,
like
most
pork
pies
,
it
didn
’
t
have
a
beard
and
,
like
most
pork
pies
,
it
looked
basically
good
-
humoured
.
’
In
a
figurative
sense
,
’
he
said
.
’
What
does
that
mean
?
’
