Мор - ученик смерти

           WHAT?

           ’MynameisMort.OrMortimer,’saidMortangrily,pushingforward.Thechillfellbehindhim.

           THERE.THATWASN’TsoHARD,WASIT?

           Mortlookedupanddownthelengthofthecorridor,andslappedthewallexperimentally.Hemusthavewalkedthroughit,butitfeltsolidenoughnow.Littlespecksofmicaglitteredathim.

           ’Howdoyoudothatstuff?’hesaid.’HowdoIdoit?Isitmagic?’

           MAGICISTHEONETHINGITISN’T,BOY.WHENYOUCANDOITBYYOURSELF,THEREWILLBENOTHINGMORETHATICANTEACHYOU.

           Theking,whowasconsiderablymorediffusenow,said,’It’simpressive,I’llgrantyou.Bytheway,Iseemtobefading.’

           IT’STHEMORPHOGENETICFIELDWEAKENING,saidDeath.

           Theking’svoicewasnolouderthanawhisper.’Isthatwhatitis?’

           ITHAPPENSTOEVERYONE.TRYTOENJOYIT.

           ’How?’Nowthevoicewasnomorethanashapeintheair.JUSTBEYOURSELF.

           Atthatmomentthekingcollapsed,growingsmallerandsmallerintheairasthefieldfinallycollapsedintoatiny,brilliantpinpoint.IthappenedsoquicklythatMortalmostmissedit.Fromghosttomoteinhalfasecond,withafaintsigh.