Мор - ученик смерти

           Hissearchinghandsreacheduptohiscroppedhair,anddowntosheetsofsomesmoothslipperymaterial.Itwasmuchfinerthanthewoolhewasusedtoathome,whichwascoarseandalwayssmelledofsheep;itfeltlikewarm,dryice.

           Heswungoutofthebedhastilyandstaredaroundtheroom.

           Firstofallitwaslarge,largerthantheentirehousebackhome,anddry,dryasoldtombsunderancientdeserts.Theairtastedasthoughithadbeencookedforhoursandthenallowedtocool.Thecarpetunderhisfeetwasdeepenoughtohideatribeofpygmiesandcrackledelectricallyashepaddedthroughit.Andeverythinghadbeendesignedinshadesofpurpleandblack.

           Helookeddownathisownbody,whichwaswearingalongwhitenightshirt.Hisclotheshadbeenneatlyfoldedonachairbythebed;thechair,hecouldn’thelpnoticing,wasdelicatelycarvedwithaskull-and-bonesmotif.

           Mortsatdownontheedgeofthebedandbegantodress,hismindracing.

           Heeasedopentheheavyoakdoor,andfeltoddlydisappointedwhenitfailedtocreakominously.

           Therewasabarewoodencorridoroutside,withbigyellowcandlessetinholdersonthefarwall.Mortcreptoutandsidledalongtheboardsuntilhereachedastaircase.Henegotiatedthatsuccessfullywithoutanythingghastlyhappening,arrivinginwhatlookedlikeanentrancehallfullofdoors.Therewerealotoffunerealdrapeshere,andagrandfatherclockwithatickliketheheartbeatofamountain.Therewasanumbrellastandbesideit.