Мор - ученик смерти

           Shepushedhimbackgentlyandclimbedupbyherself.Binkyskitteredsideways,sensingMort’sfeverishexcitement,andsnortedandpawedatthesand.

           ’Isaid,whatareyoutalkingabout?’

           Mortturnedthehorsetofacethedistantglowofthesunset.

           ’Thespeedofnight,’hesaid.

           Gutwellpokedhisheadoverthepalacebattlementsandgroaned.Theinterfacewasonlyastreetaway,clearlyvisibleintheoctarine,andhedidn’thavetoimaginethesizzling.Hecouldhearit–anasty,saw-toothedbuzzasrandomparticlesofpossibilityhittheinterfaceandgaveuptheirenergyasnoise.Asitgrounditswayupthestreetthepearlywallswallowedthebunting,thetorchesandthewaitingcrowds,leavingonlydarkstreets.Somewhereoutthere,Cutwellthought,I’mfastasleepinmybedandnoneofthishashappened.Luckyme.

           Heduckeddown,skiddeddowntheladdertothecobblesandleggeditbacktothemainhallwiththeskirtsofhisrobeflappingaroundhisankles.Heslippedinthroughthesmallposterninthegreatdoorandorderedtheguardstolockit,thengrabbedhisskirtsagainandpoundedalongasidepassagesothattheguestswouldn’tnoticehim.

           ThehallwaslitwiththousandsofcandlesandcrowdedwithStoPlaindignitaries,nearlyallofthemslightlyunsurewhytheywerethere.And,ofcourse,therewastheelephant.