Мор - ученик смерти

           ’Idon’tknowwhatIhavesaved,actually.Istheresomelightaroundhere?’

           Themaidsometimesleavesmatchesonthemantelpiece,’saidKeli.Shefeltthepresencebesidehermoveaway.Therewereafewhesitantfootsteps,acoupleofthumps,andfinallyaclang,althoughthewordisn’tsufficienttodescribetherealripecacophonyoffallingmetalthatfilledtheroom.Itwasevenfollowedbythetraditionallittletinkleacoupleofsecondsafteryouthoughtitwasallover.

           Thevoicesaid,ratherindistinctly,’I’munderasuitofarmour.WhereshouldIbe?’

           Kelislidquietlyoutofbed,feltherwaytowardsthefireplace,locatedthebundleofmatchesbythefaintlightfromthedyingfire,struckoneinaburstofsulphuroussmoke,litacandle,foundthepileofdismemberedarmour,pulleditsswordfromitsscabbardandthennearlyswallowedhertongue.

           Someonehadjustblownhotandwetlyinherear.

           That’sBinky,’saidtheheap.’He’sjusttryingtobefriendly.Iexpecthe’dlikesomehay,ifyou’vegotany.’

           Withroyalself-control,Kelisaid,Thisisthefourthfloor.It’salady’sbedroom.You’dbeamazedathowmanyhorseswedon’tgetuphere.’

           ’Oh.Couldyouhelpmeup,please?’

           Sheputthesworddownandpulledasideabreastplate.Athinwhitefacestaredbackather.

           ’First,you’dbettertellmewhyIshouldn’tsendfortheguardsanyway,’shesaid.’Evenbeinginmybedroomcouldgetyoutorturedtodeath.’