Мор - ученик смерти

           Duststormswhirledfromthedeadearthashefoughttoreleasehisowngrip,buttheswordburnedicycoldinhishand,dragginghimoninadancethatwouldnotenduntiltherewasnothingleftalive.

           Andthattimecame,andMortstoodaloneexceptforDeath,whosaid,’Afinejob,boy.’

           AndMortsaid,MORT.

           ’Mort!Mort!Wakeup!’

           Mortsurfacedslowly,likeacorpseinapond.Hefoughtagainstit,clingingtohispillowandthehorrorsofsleep,butsomeonewastuggingurgentlyathisear.

           ’Mmmph?’hesaid.

           ’Mort!’

           ’Wsst?’

           ’Mort,it’sfather!’

           HeopenedhiseyesandstaredupblanklyintoYsabell’sface.Thentheeventsofthepreviousnighthithimlikeasockfullofdampsand.

           Mortswunghislegsoutofbed,stillwreathedintheremainsofhisdream.

           ’Yeah,okay,’hesaid.’I’’goandseehimdirectly.’

           ’He’snothere!Albert’sgoingcrazy!’Ysabellstoodbythebed,tuggingahandkerchiefbetweenherhands.’Mort,doyouthinksomethingbadhashappenedtohim?’

           Hegaveherablanklook.’Don’tbebloodystupid,’hesaid,’he’sDeath.’Hescratchedhisskin.Hefelthotanddryanditchy.

           ’Buthe’sneverbeenawaythislong!NotevenwhentherewasthatbigplagueinPseudopolis!Imean,hehastobehereinthemorningstodothebooksandworkoutthenodesand—’

           Mortgrabbedherarms.’Allright,allright,’hesaid,assoothinglyashecouldmanage.’I’msureeverything’sokay.Justsettledown,I’llgoandcheck...