Мор - ученик смерти

           ’ButIonly—’Mortbegan,andrememberedthedamplacehandkerchiefinhispocket,andshutup.

           HeleftAlbertgrumblingtohimselfanddoingthewashingup,andslippedintothelibrary.Palesunlightlanceddownfromthehighwindows,gentlyfadingthecoversonthepatient,ancientvolumes.Occasionallyaspeckofdustwouldcatchthelightasitfloatedthroughthegoldenshafts,andflarelikeaminiaturesupernova.

           Mortknewthatifhelistenedhardenoughhecouldheartheinsect-likescritchingofthebooksastheywrotethemselves.

           OnceuponatimeMortwouldhavefounditeerie.Nowitwas–reassuring.Itdemonstratedthattheuniversewasrunningsmoothly.Hisconscience,whichhadbeenlookingfortheopening,gleefullyremindedhimthat,allright,itmightberunningsmoothlybutitcertainlywasn’theadingintherightdirection.

           Hemadehiswaythroughthemazeofshelvestothemysteriouspileofbooks,andfounditwasgone.Alberthadbeeninthekitchen,andMorthadneverseenDeathhimselfenterthelibrary.WhatwasYsabelllookingfor,then?

           Heglancedupatthecliffofshelvesabovehim,andhisstomachwentcoldwhenhethoughtofwhatwasstartingtohappen....

           Therewasnothingforit.He’dhavetotellsomeone.

           Keli,meanwhile,wasalsofindinglifedifficult.

           Thiswasbecausecausalityhadanincredibleamountofinertia.Mort’smisplacedthrust,drivenbyangeranddesperationandnascentlove,hadsentitdownanewtrackbutithadn’tnoticedyet.