Мор - ученик смерти

           Ashasalreadybeenrevealed,theHolyListenershavesuchwelldevelopedhearingthattheycanbedeafenedbyagoodsunset.JustforafewsecondsitseemedtoMortthattheskinonthebackofhisneckwasdevelopingsimilarstrangepowers,becausehecouldseeYsabellfreezeinmid-stitch.Healsoheardthelittleintakeofbreaththathe’dheardbefore,amongtheshelves.Herememberedthelacehandkerchief.

           Hesaid,’Yes,sir.Itwon’thappenagain,sir.’

           Theskinonthebackofhisneckstartedtoitchlikefury.

           SPLENDID.Now,YOUTWOCANRUNALONG.GETALBERTTODOYOUAPICNICLUNCHORSOMETHING.GETSOMEFRESHAIR.I’VENOTICEDTHEWAYYOUTWOALWAYSAVOIDEACHOTHER.HegaveMortaconspiratorialnudge–itwaslikebeingpokedwithastick–andadded,ALBERT’STOLDMEWHATTHATMEANS.

           ’Hashe?’saidMortgloomily.He’dbeenwrong,therewasalightattheendofthetunnel,anditwasaflamethrower.

           Deathgavehimanotherofhissupernovawinks.

           Mortdidn’treturnit.Insteadheturnedandploddedtowardsthedoor,atageneralspeedandgaitthatmadeGreatA’Tuinlooklikeaspringlamb.

           Hewashalfwayalongthecorridorbeforeheheardthesoftrushoffootstepsbehindhimandahandcaughthisarm.

           ’Mort?’

           HeturnedandgazedatYsabellthroughafogofdepression.

           ’Whydidyoulethimthinkitwasyouinthelibrary?’

           ’Don’tknow.’

           ’Itwas...very...kindofyou,’shesaidcautiously.

           ’Wasit?Ican’tthinkwhatcameoverme.’Hefeltinhispocketandproducedthehandkerchief.