Мор - ученик смерти

           ENTER.

           Thehandleturnedofitsownaccord.Thedoorswunginward.

           Deathwasseatedbehindadesk,peeringintentlyintoavastleatherbookalmostbiggerthanthedeskitself.HelookedupasMortcamein,keepingonecalcareousfingermarkinghisplace,andgrinned.Therewasn’tmuchofanalternative.

           AH,hesaid,andthenpaused.Thenhescratchedhischin,withanoiselikeafingernailbeingpulledacrossacomb.

           WHOAREYOU,BOY?

           ’Mort,sir,’saidMort.’Yourapprentice.Youremember?’

           Deathstaredathimforsometime.Thenthepinpointblueeyesturnedbackatthebook.

           OHYES,hesaid,MORT.WELL,BOY,DOYOUSINCERELYWISHTOLEARNTHEUTTERMOSTSECRETSOFTIMEANDSPACE?

           ’Yes,sir.Ithinkso,sir.’

           GOOD.THESTABLESAREAROUNDTHEBACK.THESHOVELHANGSJUSTINSIDETHEDOOR.

           Helookeddown.Helookedup.Morthadn’tmoved.

           ISITBYANYCHANCEPOSSIBLETHATYOUFAILTOUNDERSTANDME?

           ’Notfully,sir,’saidMort.