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’
No
.
’
Mort
and
Death
circled
one
another
warily
,
their
reflections
flickering
across
the
banks
of
hourglasses
.
’
One
,
’
said
Cutwell
.
Death
spun
his
scythe
menacingly
.
’
Two
.
’
The
blades
met
in
mid
-
air
with
a
noise
like
a
cat
sliding
down
a
pane
of
glass
.
’
They
both
cheated
!
’
said
Keli
.
Ysabell
nodded
.
’
Of
course
,
’
she
said
.
Mort
jumped
back
,
bringing
the
sword
round
in
a
too
-
slow
arc
that
Death
easily
deflected
,
turning
the
parry
into
a
wicked
low
sweep
that
Mort
avoided
only
by
a
clumsy
standing
jump
.
Although
the
scythe
isn
’
t
pre
-
eminent
among
weapons
of
war
,
anyone
who
has
been
on
the
wrong
end
of
,
say
,
a
peasants
’
revolt
will
know
that
in
skilled
hands
it
is
fearsome
.
Once
its
owner
gets
it
weaving
and
spinning
no
-
one
–
including
the
wielder
–
is
quite
certain
where
the
blade
is
now
and
where
it
will
be
next
.
Death
advanced
,
grinning
.
Mort
ducked
a
cut
at
head
height
and
dived
sideways
,
hearing
a
tinkle
behind
him
as
the
tip
of
the
scythe
caught
a
glass
on
the
nearest
shelf
.
.
.
.
