Мор - ученик смерти

           ’Icouldhaveswornyoudid,’saidCutwell.’Wizardsnoticethesethings,youknow.’Hereachedintothepocketofhisrobe.

           Thenhaveyounoticedthemistdomearoundthecountry?’saidMort.

           Cutwellsqueaked.Thejarinhishanddroppedandsmashedonthetiles;therewasthesmellofslightlyrancidsaladdressing.

           ’Already?’

           ’Idon’tknowaboutalready,’saidMort,’butthere’sthissortofcracklingwallslidingoverthelandandno-oneelseseemstoworryaboutitand—’

           ’Howfastwasitmoving?’

           ’—itchangesthings!’

           ’Yousawit?Howfarawayisit?Howfastisitmoving?’

           ’OfcourseIsawit.Irodethroughittwice.Itwaslike—’

           ’Butyou’renotawizard,sowhy—’

           ’Whatareyoudoinghere,anyway—’

           Cutwelltookadeepbreath.’Everyoneshutup!’hescreamed.

           Therewassilence.ThenthewizardgrabbedMort’sarm.’Comeon,’hesaid,pullinghimbackalongthecorridor.’Idon’tknowwhoyouareexactlyandIhopeI’vegottimetofindoutonedaybutsomethingreallyhorribleisgoingtohappensoonandIthinkyou’reinvolved,somehow.’

           ’Somethinghorrible?When?’

           Thatdependsonhowfarawaytheinterfaceisandhowfastit’smoving,’saidCutwell,draggingMortdownasidepassage.Whentheywereoutsideasmalloakdoorheletgoofhisarmandfumbledinhispocketagain,removingasmallhardpieceofcheeseandanunpleasantlysquashytomato.

           ’Holdthese,willyou?Thankyou.’Hedelvedagain,producedakeyandunlockedthedoor.