Мор - ученик смерти

           ’Isthereawizardinthecity?’shesaid.’Lookatme,atme.There’sawizard,isn’tthere?Yougirlsarealwaysskulkingofftotalktowizards!Wheredoeshelive?’

           Thewomanturnedatear-stainedfacetowardsher,fightingagainsteveryinstinctthattoldhertheprincessdidn’texist.

           ’Uh...wizard,yes...Cutwell,inWallStreet.

           Keli’slipscompressedintoathinsmile.Shewonderedwherehercloakswerekept,butcoldreasontoldheritwasgoingtobeadamnsighteasiertofindthemherselfthantrytomakeherpresencefelttothemaid.Shewaited,watchingclosely,asthewomanstoppedsobbing,lookedaroundherinvaguebewilderment,andhurriedoutoftheroom.

           She’sforgottenmealready,shethought.Shelookedatherhands.Sheseemedsolidenough.

           Ithadtobemagic.

           Shewanderedintoherrobingroomandexperimentallyopenedafewcupboardsuntilshefoundablackcloakandhood.Sheslippedthemonanddartedoutintothecorridoranddowntheservants’stairs.

           Shehadn’tbeenthiswaysinceshewaslittle.Thiswastheworldoflinencupboards,barefloorsanddumb-waiters.Itsmelledofslightlystalecrusts.

           Kelimovedthroughitlikeanearthboundspook.Shewasawareoftheservants’quarters,ofcourse,inthesamewaythatpeopleareawareatsomelevelintheirmindsofthedrainsortheguttering,andshewouldbequitepreparedtoconcedethatalthoughservantsalllookedprettymuchaliketheymusthavesomedistinguishingfeaturesbywhichtheirnearestanddearestcould,presumably,identifythem.