I SHALL CALL IT – DEATH'S GLORY. Death gave the thing a final admiring glance and stuck it into the hood of his robe. I FEEL INCLINED TO SEE A LITTLE BIT OF LIFE THIS EVENING, he Said. YOU CAN TAKE THE DUTY, NOWTHATYOU'VEGOTTHEHANGOFIT.AS IT WERE.
'Yes. Sir,' said Mort, mournfully. He saw his life stretching out in front of him like a nasty black tunnel with no light at the end of it.
Death drummed his finger on the desk, muttered to himself.
AH YES, he said. ALBERT TELLS ME SOMEONE'S BEEN MEDDLING IN THE LIBRARY.
'Pardon, sir?'
TAKING BOOKS our, LEAVING THEM LYING AROUND.
BOOKS ABOUT YOUNG WOMEN. HE SEEMS TO THINK IT IS AMUSING.
As has already been revealed, the Holy Listeners have such well developed hearing that they can be deafened by a good sunset. Just for a few seconds it seemed to Mort that the skin on the back of his neck was developing similar strange powers, because he could see Ysabell freeze in mid-stitch. He also heard the little intake of breath that he'd heard before, among the shelves. He remembered the lace handkerchief.
He said, 'Yes, sir. It won't happen again, sir.'
The skin on the back of his neck started to itch like fury.
SPLENDID. Now, YOU TWO CAN RUN ALONG. GET ALBERT TO DO YOU A PICNIC LUNCH OR SOMETHING. GET SOME FRESH AIR. I'VE NOTICED THE WAY YOU TWO ALWAYS AVOID EACH OTHER. He gave Mort a conspiratorial nudge – it was like being poked with a stick – and added, ALBERT'S TOLD ME WHAT THAT MEANS.
'Has he?' said Mort gloomily. He'd been wrong, there was a light at the end of the tunnel, and it was a flamethrower.
Death gave him another of his supernova winks.
Mort didn't return it. Instead he turned and plodded towards the door, at a general speed and gait that made Great A'Tuin look like a spring lamb.
He was halfway along the corridor before he heard the soft rush of footsteps behind him and a hand caught his arm.
'Mort?'
He turned and gazed at Ysabell through a fog of depression.
'Why did you let him think it was you in the library?'
'Don't know.'
'It was . . . very . . . kind of you,' she said cautiously.
'Was it? I can't think what came over me.' He felt in his pocket and produced the handkerchief. This belongs to you, I think.'
'Thank you.' She blew her nose noisily.
Mort was already well down the corridor, his shoulders hunched like vulture's wings. She ran after him.
'I say,' she said.
'What?'
'I wanted to say thank you.'
'It doesn't matter,' he muttered. 'It'd just be best if you don't take books away again. It upsets them, or something.' He gave what he considered to be a mirthless laugh. 'Ha!'
'Ha what?'
'Just ha!'
He'd reached the end of the corridor. There was the door into the kitchen, where Albert would be leering knowingly, and Mort decided he couldn't face that. He stopped.