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.
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