Мор - ученик смерти

           Sowhat?Wizardsaren’tsupposedto–togooutwithgirls,they’recelebrate....

           Celebrate?

           They’renotsupposedtoyouknow....

           What,neveranyyouknowatall?saidtheinternalvoice,anditsoundedasifitwasgrinning.

           It’ssupposedtobebadforthemagic,thoughtMortbitterly.

           Funnyplacetokeepmagic.

           Mortwasshocked.Whoareyou?hedemanded.

           I’myou,Mort.Yourinnerself.

           Well,IwishI’dgetoutofmyhead,it’squitecrowdedenoughwithmeinhere.

           Fairenough,saidthevoice,Iwasonlytryingtohelp.Butremember,ifyoueverneedyou,you’realwaysaround.

           Thevoicefadedaway.

           Well,thoughtMortbitterly,thatmusthavebeenme.I’mtheonlyonethatcallsmeMort.

           Theshockoftherealisationquiteobscuredthefactthat,whileMorthadbeenlockedintothemonologue,hehadriddenrightthroughthegatesofthepalace.Ofcourse,peoplerodethroughthegatesofthepalaceeveryday,butmostofthemneededthethingstobeopenedfirst.

           Theguardsontheothersidewererigidwithfear,becausetheythoughttheyhadseenaghost.Theywouldhavebeenfarmorefrightenediftheyhadknownthataghostwasalmostexactlywhattheyhadn’tseen.

           Theguardoutsidethedoorsofthegreathallhadseenithappentoo,buthehadtimetogatherhiswits,orsuchthatremained,andraisehisspearasBinkytrottedacrossthecourtyard.

           ’Halt,’hecroaked.’Halt.Whatgoeswhere?’

           Mortsawhimforthefirsttime.

           ’What?’hesaid,stilllostinthought.

           Theguardranhistongueoverhisdrylips,andbackedaway.