Мор - ученик смерти

           ’Isitsomethingtodowithallthesepictures?’

           ’Goodidea,wasn’tit?’beamedCutwell.’I’mratherproudofitmyself.’

           ’Excuseme,’saidMortweakly.’I’vehadabusyday.IthinkI’dliketositdownsomewhere.’

           ’There’stheThroneRoom,’saidCutwell.’There’sno-oneinthereatthistimeofnight.Everyone’sasleep.’

           Mortnodded,andthenlookedsuspiciouslyattheyoungwizard.

           ’Whatareyoudoingup,then?’hesaid.

           ’Um,’saidCutwell,’um,IjustthoughtI’dseeiftherewasanythinginthepantry.’

           Heshrugged.

           NowisthetimetoreportthatCutwelltoonoticesthatMort,evenaMortwearywithridingandlackofsleep,issomehowglowingfromwithinandinsomestrangewayunconnectedwithsizeisneverthelesslargerthanlife.ThedifferenceisthatCutwellis,bytraining,abetterguesserthanotherpeopleandknowsthatinoccultmatterstheobviousanswerisusuallythewrongone.

           Mortcanmoveabsentmindedlythroughwallsanddrinkneatwidowmakersoberlynotbecauseheisturningintoaghost,butbecauseheisbecomingdangerouslyreal.

           Infact,astheboystumbleswhiletheywalkalongthesilentcorridorsandstepsthroughamarblepillarwithoutnoticing,it’sobviousthattheworldisbecomingaprettyinsubstantialplacefromhispointofview.

           ’Youjustwalkedthroughamarblepillar,’observedCutwell.’Howdidyoudoit?’

           ’DidI?’Mortlookedaround.Thepillarlookedsoundenough.Hepokedanarmtowardsit,andslightlybruisedhiselbow.