Мор - ученик смерти

           Hereachedunderhisrobeagainandpulledoutanoblongshapeinexpertlywrappedandtiedwithstring.

           IT’SFORYOU,hesaid,PERSONALLY.YOUNEVERSHOWEDANYINTERESTINITBEFORE.DIDYOUTHINKITDIDN’TEXIST?

           Mortunwrappedthepacketandrealisedhewasholdingasmallleather-boundbook.Onthespinewasblocked,inshinygoldleaf,theoneword:Mort.

           Heleafedbackwardsthroughtheunfilledpagesuntilhefoundthelittletrailofink,windingpatientlydownthepage,andread:Mortshutthebookwithalittlesnapthatsounded,inthesilence,likethecrackofcreation,andsmileduneasily.

           There’salotofpagesstilltofill,’hesaid.’HowmuchsandhaveIgotleft?OnlyYsabellsaidthatsinceyouturnedtheglassoverthatmeansIshalldiewhenI’m—’

           YOUHAVESUFFICIENT,saidDeathcoldly.MATHEMATICSISNTALLIT’SCRACKEDUPTOBE.

           ’Howdoyoufeelaboutbeinginvitedtochristenings?’

           ITHINKNOT.IWASN’TCUTOUTTOBEAFATHER,ANDCERTAINLYNOTAGRANDAD.IHAVEN’TGOTTHERIGHTKINDOFKNEES.

           HeputdownhiswinegiassandnoddedatMort.

           MYREGARDSTOYOUBGOODLADY,hesaid.ANDNOWIREALLYMUSTBEOFF.

           ’Areyousure?You’rewelcometostay.’

           IT’SNICEOFYOUTOSAYSO,BUTDUTYCALLS.Heextendedabonyhand.YOUKNOWHOWITIS.

           Mortgrippedthehandandshookit,ignoringthechill.

           ’Look,’hesaid.’Ifeveryouwantafewdaysoff,youknow,ifyou’dlikeaholiday—’

           MANYTHANKSFORTHEOFFER,saidDeathgraciously.ISHALLTHINKABOUTITMOSTSERIOUSLY