Мор - ученик смерти

           Albertcamebackdownoneoftheglass-linedalleyswithtwohourglasses,andsetthemdownwordlesslyonaledgeononeofthepillars.

           Onewasseveraltimesthesizeoftheordinaryglasses–black,thinanddecoratedwithacomplicatedskull-and-bonesmotif.

           Thatwasn’tthemostunpleasantthingaboutit.

           Mortgroanedinwardly.Hecouldn’tseeanysandinthere.

           Thesmallerglassbesideitwasquiteplainandunadorned.Mortreachedforit.

           ’MayI?’hesaid.

           BEMYGUEST.

           ThenameMortwasengravedonthetopbulb.Heheldituptothelight,notingwithoutanyrealsurprisethattherewashardlyanysandleft.Whenheheldittohisearhethoughthecouldhear,evenabovetheever-presentroarofthemillionsoflifetimersaroundhim,thesoundofhisownlifepouringaway.

           Heputitdownverycarefully.

           DeathturnedtoCutwell.

           MRWIZARD,SIR,YOUWILLBEGOODENOUGHTOGIVEUSACOUNTOFTHREE.

           Cutwellnoddedglumly.

           ’Areyousurethiscouldn’tallbesortedoutbygettingaroundatable—’hebegan.

           NO.

           ’No.’

           MortandDeathcircledoneanotherwarily,theirreflectionsflickeringacrossthebanksofhourglasses.

           ’One,’saidCutwell.

           Deathspunhisscythemenacingly.

           ’Two.’

           Thebladesmetinmid-airwithanoiselikeacatslidingdownapaneofglass.

           ’Theybothcheated!’saidKeli.Ysabellnodded.’Ofcourse,’shesaid.

           Mortjumpedback,bringingtheswordroundinatoo-slowarcthatDeatheasilydeflected,turningtheparryintoawickedlowsweepthatMortavoidedonlybyaclumsystandingjump.