Death -forty miles

Mort glanced out of the window. The street outside already had a twilight look to it.

“I’ll be back,” he muttered, and made for the door. He heard the wizard call out something, but
Mort was heading down the street at a dead run.

He started to panic. Death would be waiting for him forty miles away. There would be a row.
There would be a terrible—

AH, BOY.

A familiar figure stepped out from the flare around a jellied eel stall, holding a plate of winkles.
THE VINEGAR IS PARTICULARLY PIQUANT. HELP YOURSELF, I HAVE AN EXTRA PIN.

But, of course, just because he was forty miles away didn’t mean he wasn’t here as well….

***

Mort p55