Мор - ученик смерти

           Theyfeemedinabitofahurry,ifyouaskme.’

           MortwasalreadyuponBinky’sback.

           ’Ifay!’shoutedtheknockerathisretreatingback.’Ifay!Couldyouunftickme,boy?’

           MorttuggedonBinky’sreinssohardthatthehorserearedanddancedcrazilybackwardsacrossthecobbles,thenreachedoutandgrabbedtheringoftheknocker.Thegargoylelookedupintohisfaceandsuddenlyfeltlikeaveryfrighteneddoorknockerindeed.Mort’seyesglowedlikecrucibles,hisexpressionwasafurnace,hisvoiceheldenoughheattomeltiron.Itdidn’tknowwhathecoulddo,butfeltthatitwouldprefernottofindout.

           ’Whatdidyoucallme?’Morthissed.

           Thedoorknockerthoughtquickly.’Fir?’itsaid.

           ’Whatdidyouaskmetodo?’

           ’Unftickme?’

           ’Idon’tintendto.’

           ’Fine,’saidthedoorknocker,’fine.That’sokaybyme.I’lljustftickaround,then.’

           ItwatchedMortcanteroffalongthestreetandshudderedwithrelief,knockingitselfgentlyinitsnervousness.

           ’Anaaaarrowsqeeeak,’saidoneofthehinges.

           ’Futup!’

           Mortpassednightwatchmen,whosejobnowappearedtoconsistofringingbellsandshoutingthenameofthePrincess,butalittleuncertainly,asiftheyhaddifficultyrememberingit.Heignoredthem,becausehewaslisteningtovoicesinsidehisheadwhichwent:

           She’sonlymetyouonce,youfool.Whyshouldshebotheraboutyou?

           Yes,butIdidsaveherlife.

           Thatmeansitbelongstoher.Nottoyou.Besides,he’sawizard.