Мор - ученик смерти

           Theysatdownonastoneseatbetweensomeneatlyclippedboxhedges.Deathhadmadeapondinthiscornerofthegarden,fedbyanicyspringthatappearedtobevomitedintothepoolbyastonelion.Fatwhitecarplurkedinthedepths,ornosedonthesurfaceamongthevelvetyblackwaterlilies.

           ’Weshouldhavebroughtsomebreadcrumbs,’saidMortgallantly,optingforatotallynon-controversialsubject.

           ’Henevercomesouthere,youknow,’saidYsabell,watchingthefish.’Hemadeittokeepmeamused.’

           ’Itdidn’twork?’

           ’It’snotreal,’shesaid.’Nothing’srealhere.Notreallyreal.Hejustlikestoactlikeahumanbeing.He’stryingreallyhardatthemoment,haveyounoticed.Ithinkyou’rehavinganeffectonhim.Didyouknowhetriedtolearnthebanjoonce?’

           ’Iseehimasmoretheorgantype.’

           ’Hecouldn’tgetthehangofit,’saidYsabell,ignoringhim.’Hecan’tcreate,yousee.’

           ’Yousaidhecreatedthispool.’

           ’It’sacopyofonehesawsomewhere.Everything’sacopy.’

           Mortshifteduneasily.Somesmallinsecthadcrawleduphisleg.

           ’It’srathersad,’hesaid,hopingthatthiswasapproximatelytherighttonetoadopt.

           ’Yes.’

           Shescoopedahandfulofgravelfromthepathandbegantoflickitabsent-mindedlyintothepool.

           ’Aremyeyebrowsthatbad?’shesaid.

           ’Um,’saidMort,’afraidso.’

           ’Oh.’Flick,flick.Thecarpwerewatchingherdisdainfully.

           ’Andmylegs?’hesaid.

           ’Yes.Sorry.’