Мор - ученик смерти

           ’DoIlookit?’

           ’Youlookabitflustered.Howdoesshefeelaboutyou?’

           ’Don’tknow.’

           ’Ah,’saidYsabellknowingly,inthetonesofanexpert.’Unrequitedloveistheworstkind.It’sprobablynotagoodideatogotakingpoisonorkillingyourself,though,’sheaddedthoughtfully.’Whatarewedoinghere?Doyouwanttofindherbooktoseeifshemarriesyou?’

           ’I’vereadit,andshe’sdead,’saidMort.’Butonlytechnically.Imean,notreallydead.’

           ’Good,otherwisethatwouldbenecromancy.Whatarewelookingfor?’

           ’Albert’sbiography.’

           ’Whatfor?Idon’tthinkhe’sgotone.’

           ’Everyone’sgotone.’

           ’Well,hedoesn’tlikepeopleaskingpersonalquestions.IlookedforitonceandIcouldn’tfindit.Albertbyitselfisn’tmuchtogoon.Whyishesointeresting?’Ysabelllitacoupleofcandlesfromtheoneinherhandandfilledthelibrarywithdancingshadows.

           ’IneedapowerfulwizardandIthinkhe’sone.’

           ’What,Albert?’

           ’Yes.Onlywe’relookingforAlbertoMalich.He’smorethantwothousandyearsold,Ithink.’

           ’What,Albert?’

           ’Yes.Albert.’

           ’Heneverwearsawizard’shat,’saidYsabelldoubtfully.

           ’Helostit.Anyway,thehatisn’tcompulsory.Wheredowestartlooking?’

           ’Well,ifyou’resure...theStack,Isuppose.That’swherefatherputsallthebiographiesthataremorethanfivehundredyearsold.It’sthisway.’

           Sheledthewaypastthewhisperingshelvestoadoorsetinacul-de-sac.