Мор - ученик смерти

           It’snotfair!’

           Deathbowedhisskullforamoment,thenlookedupwithhiseyesblazing.

           YOUWILLDOASYOUABETOLD.

           ’Iwillnot.’

           YOU’REMAKINGTHISVERYDIFFICULT.

           ’Good.’

           Death’sfingersdrummedimpatientlyonthescytheblade,likeamousetapdancingonatin.Heseemedtobethinking.HelookedatYsabellstandingoverMort,andthenturnedandlookedattheotherscrouchingagainstashelf.

           No,hesaideventually.No.ICANNOTBEBIDDEN.

           ICANNOTBEFORCED.IWILLDOONLYTHATWHICHIKNOWTOBERIGHT.

           Hewavedahand,andtheswordwhirredoutofYsabell’sgrasp.Hemadeanothercomplicatedgestureandthegirlherselfwaspickedupandpressedgentlybutfirmlyagainstthenearestpillar.

           Mortsawthedarkreaperadvanceonhimagain,bladeswingingbackforthefinalstroke.Hestoodovertheboy.

           YOUDON’TKNOWHOWSORRYTHISMAKESME,heaid.

           Mortpulledhimselfontohiselbows.

           ’Imight,’hesaid.

           Deathgavehimasurprisedlookforseveralseconds,andthenstartedtolaugh.Thesoundbouncedeerilyaroundtheroom,ringingofftheshelvesasDeath,stilllaughinglikeanearthquakeinagraveyard,heldMort’sownglassinfrontofitsowner’seyes.

           Morttriedtofocus.Hesawthelastgrainofsandskiddowntheglossysurface,teeterontheedgeandthendrop,tumblinginslowmotion,towardsthebottom.Candlelightflickeredoffitstinysilicafacetsasitspungentlydownward.Itlandedsoundlessly,throwingupatinycrater.