Мор - ученик смерти

           Concentrateonthehairbrush,man,thehairbrush.’Justabitofmagicalexperimenting,ma’am.Onlysuperficialburns.’

           ’Isitstillmoving?’

           ’Iamafraidso.’

           Keliturnedbacktothemirror.Herfacewasset.

           ’Havewegottime?’

           Thiswasthebithe’dbeendreading.He’ddoneeverythinghecould.TheRoyalAstrologerhadbeensobereduplongenoughtoinsistthattomorrowwastheonlypossibledaytheceremonycouldtakeplace,soCutwellhadarrangedforittobeginonesecondaftermidnight.He’druthlesslycutthescoreoftheroyaltrumpetfanfare.He’dtimedtheHighPriest’sinvocationtothegodsandthensubeditedheavily;therewasgoingtobearowwhenthegodsfoundout.Theceremonyoftheanointingwithsacredoilshadbeencuttoaquickdabbehindtheears.SkateboardswereanunknowninventionontheDisc;iftheyhadn’tbeen,Keli’stripuptheaislewouldhavebeenunconstitutionallyfast.Anditstillwasn’tenough.Henervedhimself.

           ’Ithinkpossiblynot,’hesaid.’Itcouldbeaveryclosething.’

           Hesawherglareathiminthemirror.

           ’Howclose?’

           ’Um.Very.’

           ’Areyoutryingtosayitmightreachusatthesametimeastheceremony?’

           ’Um.Moresortof,um,beforeit,’saidCutwellwretchedly.TherewasnosoundbutthedrummingofKeli’sfingersontheedgeofthetable.Cutwellwonderedifshewasgoingtobreakdown,orsmashthemirror.