Mort

remained fixed woodenly on his, and let it go.

Mort watched her lips move and then realized that he, too, was counting under his breath.

Three, four —

There was a dull thump, a muffled cry, and silence.

'Do you think you've killed him?' said Mort, after a while.

'What, here? Anyway, I didn't notice any better ideas coming from you.'

'No, but — he is an old man, after all.'

'No, he's not,' said Ysabell sharply, starting down the ladder.

'Two thousand years?'

'Not a day over sixty-seven.'

'The books said —'

'I told you, time doesn't apply here. Not real time. Don't you listen, boy?'

'Mort,' said Mort.

'And stop treading on my fingers, I'm going as fast as I can.'

'Sorry.'

'And don't act so wet. Have you any idea how boring it is living here?'

'Probably not,' said Mort, adding with genuine longing, 'I've heard about boredom but I've never had a chance to try it.'

'It's dreadful.'

'If it comes to that, excitement isn't all it's cracked up to be.'

'Anything's got to be better than this.'

There was a groan from below, and then a stream of swearwords.

Ysabell peered into the gloom.

'Obviously I didn't damage his cursing muscles,' she said. 'I don't think I ought to listen to words like that. It could be bad for my moral fibre.'

They found Albert slumped against the foot of the bookshelf, muttering and holding his arm.

'There's no need to make that kind of fuss,' said Ysabell briskly. 'You're not hurt; father simply doesn't allow that kind of thing to happen.'

'What did you have to go and do that for?' he moaned. 'I didn't mean any harm.'

'You were going to push us off,' said Mort, trying to help him up. 'I read it. I'm surprised you didn't use magic.'

Albert glared at him.

'Oh, so you've found out, have you?' he said quietly. 'Then much good may it do you. You've no right to go prying.'

He struggled to his feet, shook off Mort's hand, and stumbled back along the hushed shelves.