Мор - ученик смерти

           ’Youdon’tneedit,youoldmiser.’

           ’Youdon’tfrightenme,boy—’

           LOOKINTOMYFACEANDTELLMETHAT.

           Mortsnappedhisfingersimperiously.Ysabellbentherheadoverthebookagain.

           ’"Albertlookedintotheblueglowofthoseeyesandthelastofhisdefiancedrainedaway",’sheread,’"forhesawnotjustDeathbutDeathwithallthehumanseasoningsofvengeanceandcrueltyanddistaste,andwithaterriblecertaintyheknewthatthiswasthelastchanceandMortwouldsendhimbackintoTimeandhunthimdownandtakehimanddeliverhimbodilyintothedarkDungeonDimensionswherecreaturesofhorrorwoulddotdotdotdotdot",’shefinished.’It’sjustdotsforhalfapage.’

           That’sbecausethebookdaren’tevenmentionthem,’whisperedAlbert.Hetriedtoshuthiseyesbutthepicturesinthedarknessbehindhiseyelidsweresovividthatheopenedthemagain.EvenMortwasbetterthanthat.

           ’Allright,’hesaid.Thereisonespell.Itslowsdowntimeoveralittlearea.I’llwriteitdown,butyou’llhavetofindawizardtosayit.’

           ’Icandothat.’

           Albertranatonguelikeanoldloofahoverhisdrylips.

           Thereisaprice,though,’headded.’YoumustcompletetheDutyfirst.’

           ’Ysabell?’saidMort.Shelookedatthepageinfrontofher.

           ’Hemeansit,’shesaid.’Ifyoudon’ttheneverythingwillgowrongandhe’lldropbackintoTimeanyway.’

           Allthreeofthemturnedtolookatthegreatclockthatdominatedthehallway.