Мор - ученик смерти

           BesidehimtherewasanoiselikeabathemptyingasBinkyalsotookadrink.

           ’Doesthatmeanwe’retoolate?’

           ’Yes.’

           ’I’msorry.IwishtherewassomethingIcoulddo.’

           Thereisn’t.’

           ’AtleastyoukeptyourpromisetoAlbert.’

           ’Yes,’saidMort,bitterly.’AtleastIdidthat.’

           NearlyallthewayfromonesideoftheDisctotheother....

           Thereshouldbeawordforthemicroscopicsparkofhopethatyoudarenotentertainincasethemereactofacknowledgingitwillcauseittovanish,liketryingtolookataphoton.Youcanonlysidleuptoit,lookingpastit,walkingpastit,waitingforittogetbigenoughtofacetheworld.

           Heraisedhisdrippingheadandlookedtowardsthesunsethorizon,tryingtorememberthebigmodeloftheDiscinDeath’sstudywithoutactuallylettingtheuniverseknowwhathewasentertaining.

           Attimeslikethisitcanseemthateventualityissofinelybalancedthatmerelythinkingtooloudcanspoileverything.

           HeorientatedhimselfbythethinstreamersofHublightdancingagainstthestars,andmadeaninspiredguessthatStoLatwas...overthere....

           ’Midnight,’hesaidaloud.

           ’Gonemidnightnow,’saidYsabell.

           Mortstoodup,tryingnottoletthedelightradiateoutfromhimlikeabeacon,andgrabbedBinky’sharness.

           ’Comeon,’hesaid.’Wehaven’tgotmuchtime.’

           ’Whatareyoutalkingabout?’

           Mortreacheddowntoswingherupbehindhim.Itwasaniceidea,butmerelymeantthathenearlypulledhimselfoutofthesaddle.