Death - written

They looked up. They wandered down a couple of side alleys. They pulled a few books off the lowest shelves at random, raising pillows of dust.

“This is silly,” said Mort at last. “There’s millions of lives here. The chances of finding his are worse than—”

Ysabell laid her hand against his mouth.

“Listen!”

Mort mumbled a bit through her fingers and then got the message. He strained his ears, striving to hear anything above the heavy hiss of absolute silence.

And then he found it. A faint, irritable scratching. High, high overhead, somewhere in the impenetrable darkness on the cliff of shelves, a life was still being written.

***

Mort p131-132