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’
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
.
They
looked
at
each
other
,
their
eyes
widening
.
Then
Ysabell
said
,
’
We
passed
a
ladder
back
there
.
On
wheels
.
’
The
little
castors
on
the
bottom
squeaked
as
Mort
rolled
it
back
.
The
top
end
moved
too
,
as
if
it
was
fixed
to
another
set
of
wheels
somewhere
up
in
the
darkness
.
’
Right
,
’
he
said
.
’
Give
me
the
candle
,
and
—
’
’
If
the
candle
’
s
going
up
,
then
so
am
I
,
’
said
Ysabell
firmly
.
’
You
stop
down
here
and
move
the
ladder
when
I
say
.
And
don
’
t
argue
.
’
’
It
might
be
dangerous
up
there
,
’
said
Mort
gallantly
.
