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’
You
’
re
a
wizard
,
’
he
hissed
.
’
You
don
’
t
have
to
do
what
he
says
!
’
’
How
old
are
you
,
lad
?
’
said
Albert
,
kindly
.
’
Twenty
.
’
’
When
you
’
re
my
age
you
’
ll
see
your
choices
differently
.
’
He
turned
to
Mort
.
’
Sorry
.
’
Mort
drew
his
sword
,
its
blade
almost
invisible
in
the
light
from
the
candles
.
Death
turned
and
stood
facing
him
,
a
thin
silhouette
against
a
towering
rack
of
hourglasses
.
He
held
out
his
arms
.
The
scythe
appeared
in
them
with
a
tiny
thunderclap
.
Albert
came
back
down
one
of
the
glass
-
lined
alleys
with
two
hourglasses
,
and
set
them
down
wordlessly
on
a
ledge
on
one
of
the
pillars
.
One
was
several
times
the
size
of
the
ordinary
glasses
–
black
,
thin
and
decorated
with
a
complicated
skull
-
and
-
bones
motif
.
That
wasn
’
t
the
most
unpleasant
thing
about
it
.
Mort
groaned
inwardly
.
He
couldn
’
t
see
any
sand
in
there
.
