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There
was
,
however
,
a
bundle
of
hay
in
a
net
by
the
door
.
It
had
a
note
attached
,
written
in
big
,
slightly
shaky
capitals
:
FOR
THEE
HORS
.
It
would
have
worried
Mort
if
he
’
d
let
it
.
Someone
was
expecting
him
.
He
’
d
learned
in
recent
days
,
though
,
that
rather
than
drown
in
uncertainty
it
was
best
to
surf
right
over
the
top
of
it
.
Anyway
,
Binky
wasn
’
t
worried
by
moral
scruples
and
bit
straight
in
.
It
did
leave
the
problem
of
whether
to
knock
.
Somehow
,
it
didn
’
t
seem
appropriate
.
Supposing
no
-
one
answered
,
or
told
him
to
go
away
?
So
he
lifted
the
thumb
latch
and
pushed
at
the
door
.
It
swung
inwards
quite
easily
,
without
a
creak
.
There
was
a
low
-
ceilinged
kitchen
,
its
beams
at
trepanning
height
for
Mort
.
The
light
from
the
solitary
candle
glinted
off
crockery
on
a
long
dresser
and
flagstones
that
had
been
scrubbed
and
polished
into
iridescence
.
The
fire
in
the
cave
-
like
inglenook
didn
’
t
add
much
light
,
because
it
was
no
more
than
a
heap
of
white
ash
under
the
remains
of
a
log
.
Mort
knew
,
without
being
told
,
that
it
was
the
last
log
.
An
elderly
lady
was
sitting
at
the
kitchen
table
,
writing
furiously
with
her
hooked
nose
only
a
few
inches
from
the
paper
.
A
grey
cat
curled
on
the
table
beside
her
blinked
calmly
at
Mort
.
The
scythe
bumped
off
a
beam
.
The
woman
looked
up
.
’
Be
with
you
in
a
minute
,
’
she
said
.
She
frowned
at
the
paper
.
’
I
haven
’
t
put
in
the
bit
about
being
of
sound
mind
and
body
yet
,
lot
of
foolishness
anyway
,
no
-
one
sound
in
mind
and
body
would
be
dead
.
Would
you
like
a
drink
?
’
’
Pardon
?
’
said
Mort
.
He
recalled
himself
,
and
repeated
’
PARDON
?
’
’
If
you
drink
,
that
is
.
It
’
s
raspberry
port
.
On
the
dresser
.
You
might
as
well
finish
the
bottle
.
’
