Мор - ученик смерти

           Heseemedtoactasthoughthehousereallybelongedtohimanditsownerwasjustapassingguest,somethingtobetoleratedlikepeelingpaintworkorspidersinthelavatory.Deathputupwithittoo,asthoughheandAlberthadsaideverythingthatneededtobesaidalongtimeagoandweresimplycontent,now,togetonwiththeirjobswiththeminimumofinconvenienceallround.ToMortitwasratherlikegoingforawalkafterareallybadthunderstorm–everythingwasquitefresh,nothingwasparticularlyunpleasant,buttherewasthesenseofvastenergiesjustexpended.

           FindingoutaboutAlberttaggeditselfontotheendofhislistofthingstodo.

           HOLDTHIS,saidDeath,andpushedascytheintohishandwhileheswunghimselfupontoBinky.Thescythelookednormalenough,exceptfortheblade:itwassothinthatMortcouldseethroughit,apaleblueshimmerintheairthatcouldsliceflameandchopsound.Hehelditverycarefully.

           RIGHT,BOY,saidDeath.COMEONUP.ALBERT.DON’TWAITUP.

           Thehorsetrottedoutofthecourtyardandintothesky.

           Thereshouldhavebeenaflashorrushofstars.Theairshouldhavespiralledandturnedintospeedingsparkssuchasnormallyhappensinthecommon,everydaytrans-dimensionalhyper-jumps.ButthiswasDeath,whohasmasteredtheartofgoingeverywherewithoutostentationandcouldslidebetweendimensionsaseasilyashecouldslipthroughalockeddoor,andtheymovedataneasygallopthroughcloudcanyons,pastgreatbillowingmountainsofcumulus,untilthewispspartedinfrontofthemandtheDisclaybelow,baskinginsunlight.

           THAT’SBECAUSETIMEISADJUSTABLE,saidDeath,henMortpointedthisout.IT’SNOTREALLYIMPORTANT.