Мор - ученик смерти

           Theinterfacebobbeduncertainly,emptyasapauper’spocket,andcarriedonshrinking.

           Thefrontdooropened.Ysabellpokedherheadout.

           ’There’sno-oneathome,’shesaid.’You’dbettercomein.’

           Theotherthreefiledintothehallway.Cutwellconscientiouslywipedhisfeet.

           ’It’sabitsmall,’saidKeli,critically.

           ’It’salotbiggerinside,’saidMort,andturnedtoYsabell.’Haveyoulookedeverywhere?’

           ’Ican’tevenfindAlbert,’shesaid.’Ican’trememberhimevernotbeinghere.’

           Shecoughed,rememberingherdutiesashostess.

           ’Wouldanyonelikeadrink?’shesaid.Keliignoredher.

           ’Iwasexpectingacastleatleast,’shesaid.’Bigandblack,withgreatdarktowers.Notanumbrellastand.’

           ’Ithasgotascytheinit,’Cutwellpointedout.

           ’Let’sallgointothestudyandsitdownandI’msurewe’llallfeelbetter,’saidYsabellhurriedly,andpushedopentheblackbaizedoor.

           CutwellandKelisteppedthrough,bickering.YsabelltookMort’sarm.

           ’Whatarewegoingtodonow?’shesaid.’Fatherwillbeveryangryifhefindsthemhere.’

           ’I’llthinkofsomething,’saidMort.’I’llrewritetheautobiographiesorsomething.’Hesmiledweakly.’Don’tworry.I’llthinkofsomething.’

           Thedoorslammedbehindhim.MortturnedtolookintoAlbert’sgrinningface.

           Thebigleatherarmchairbehindthedeskrevolvedslowly.DeathlookedatMortoversteepledfingers.Whenhewasquitecertainhehadtheirfull,horrifiedattention,hesaid:

           YOUHADBETTERSTARTNOW.