"(ebook) Anthony Piers - Xanth 10 - Vale Of The Vole" - читать интересную книгу автора (Anthony Piers)

But there was no use worrying about that; there was purple bouillon to be eaten!

Two days later, being bored, Esk returned to his hideout. He entered and checked the pillows. They all looked normal. "Which one of you is the live one?" he inquired, but had no answer.

He shrugged. He picked up the whole mass of them and took them out to the pillow bush, unceremoniously dumping them beside it. Then he picked several new ones. He had to do this periodically anyway, so they didn't get dirty and stale. He carried these to his tree and plopped them down inside.

He hesitated, then eased himself down on them. Contrary to what the living pillow had said, his posterior was not fat; in retrospect he wished he had corrected the pillow about that matter. But he always thought up the smart responses way too late. That, again, was part of his heritage: neither ogres nor nymphs were known for their quickness of wit.

He was hungry, so he brought out a pie he had picked some time ago. It was a humble pie, and they were always best when properly seasoned. This one was decked with sodden raisins, and had a crust that was rock-like, while its main body seemed to be decomposing. It was definitely ready for consumption.

He brought it to his mouth and took an ogreish bite. His teeth came down, dug inЧand the pie erupted in his face. Raisins popped out and flew at his eyes, and the crust writhed against his lips. "Get your ugly cat out of here!" the pie exclaimed.

"My ugly what?" Esk asked, startled.

"Your ugly kitten, feline, grimalkin, tabbyЧ"

"Oh, you mean my ugly puss?" he inquired, catching on.

4 Vale of the Vole

"Your ugly whatever," the pie agreed, forming a wide mouth. "Just what did you think you were doing, ogreface?"

"Ogreface?" Esk repeated, appreciating the compliment. Then he realized that the pie probably hadn't meant it that way. "I was trying toЧ"

"Oh you were, were you! Well, don't do it aga'n!"

"ButЧ"

"You never asked the pie whether it wanted to be chewed on, did you?"

"But it's humble pie! It's meant to be eaten!"

"A likely story. Now get your dim-witted face out of here so I can rest."

"Listen, pieface, this is my hideout!" Esk said, developing a smidgeon of heat. "I just tossed out an obnoxious pillow, and I'll do the same with you! You sure aren't very humble!"

"You just try to toss this cookie, and you'll be sorry, bean-brainl"

That did it. Esk carried the pie to the door, pushed the door open, and skated the disk out into the forest. Then he plumped down on his bed of pillows for a snooze.

It was a moderately cool day, and while true ogres loved cold weather, Esk didn't. He cast about until he found the tattered old blanket he had salvaged for this purpose, and drew it over him.

The blanket writhed and wrapped itself around his feet. Then it squeezed his legs, and inched up his torso, constricting as it did.

"Hey!" Esk exclaimed.

"Hay yourself, moo-brain!" the blanket said, forming a mouth on its surface. But it did not pause in its squeezing; Esk's legs were getting uncomfortable.

Abruptly concerned, he thrust his legs apart, the ogre strength coming to him. The blanket toreЧbut then it fogged and rose up as a flying thing, hovering before him. "Listen, dung-head," its mouth said, "now I'm really going to make you sorry!"