Мор - ученик смерти

           Imean,you’dthinkthere’dbeareignofterrororsomething,butapparentlyhistoryneedsthiskindofpersonsometimesandtheprincesswouldjustbeanothermonarch.Imean,notbad,quitegoodreally,butjustnotrightandnowit’snotgoingtohappenandhistoryisflappingaroundlooseandit’sallmyfault.’

           Hesubsided,anxiouslyawaitingherreply.

           ’Youwereright,youknow.’

           ’Iwas?’

           ’Weoughttohavebroughtsomebreadcrumbs,’shesaid.’Isupposetheyfindthingstoeatinthewater.Beetlesandsoon.’

           ’DidyouhearwhatIsaid?’

           ’Whatabout?’

           ’Oh.Nothing.Nothingmuch,really.Sorry.’

           Ysabellsighedandstoodup.

           ’Iexpectyou’llbewantingtogetoff,’shesaid.’I’mgladwegotthismarriagebusinesssortedout.Itwasquitenicetalkingtoyou.’

           ’Wecouldhaveasortofhate-haterelationship,’saidMort.

           ’Idon’tnormallygettotalkwiththepeoplefatherworkswith.’Sheappearedtobeunabletodrawherselfaway,asthoughshewaswaitingforMorttosaysomethingelse.

           ’Well,youwouldn’t,’wasallhecouldthinkof.

           ’Iexpectyou’vegottogoofftoworknow.’

           ’Moreorless.’Morthesitated,awarethatinsomeindefinablewaytheconversationhaddriftedoutoftheshallowsandwasnowfloatingoversomedeepbitshedidn’tquiteunderstand.

           Therewasanoiselike—

           ItmadeMortrecalltheoldyardathome,withapangofhomesickness.DuringtheharshRamtopwintersthefamilykepthardymountainthargabeastsintheyard,chuckinginstrawasnecessary.