Мор - ученик смерти

           It’sgrownupabit,it’sbeenaround,itdoesn’tfeeltheneedtorusheverywhere.Itknowsthathoweverfastitgoesdarknessalwaysgetstherefirst,soittakesiteasy.

           Midnightglidedacrossthelandscapelikeavelvetbat.Andfasterthanmidnight,atinysparkagainstthedarkworldoftheDisc,Binkypoundedafterit.Flamesroaredbackfromhishooves.Musclesmovedunderhisglisteningskinlikesnakesinoil.

           Theymovedinsilence.YsabelltookonearmfromaroundMort’swaistandwatchedsparksglitteraroundherfingersinalleightcoloursoftherainbow.Littlecracklingserpentsoflightfloweddownherarmandflashedoffthetipsofherhair.

           Morttookthehorsedownlower,leavingaboilingwakeofcloudthatextendedformilesbehindthem.

           ’NowIknowI’mgoingmad,’hemuttered.

           ’Why?’

           ’Ijustsawanelephantdownthere.Whoa,boy.Look,youcanseeStoLatupahead.’

           Ysabellpeeredoverhisshoulderatthedistantgleamoflight.

           ’Howlonghavewegot?’shesaidnervously.

           ’Idon’tknow.Afewminutes,perhaps.’

           ’Mort,Ihadn’taskedyoubefore—’

           ’Well?’

           ’Whatareyougoingtodowhenwegetthere?’

           ’Idon’tknow,’hesaid.’Iwassortofhopingsomethingwouldsuggestitselfatthetime.’

           ’Hasit?’

           ’No.Butitisn’ttimeyet.Albert’sspellmayhelp.AndI—’

           Thedomeofrealitysquattedoverthepalacelikeacollapsingjellyfish.Mort’svoicetrailedintohorrifiedsilence.ThenYsabellsaid,’Well,Ithinkit’snearlytime.