"Anthony, Piers - Xanth 04 - Centaur Aisle" - читать интересную книгу автора (Anthony Piers)

"Surely a woman of your extraordinary talents has more interesting
things to do than peek at my stupid essay," he said. Then, grudgingly,
he added: "Your Majesty."

"Indeed I do," the picture agreed, its background clouding. She had of
course noted the pause before he gave her title; it was not technically
an insult, but the message was clear enough. The cloud *m the picture
had become a veritable thunderstorm, with jags of Ughtning shooting out
like sparks. She would get back at him somehow.

"But you would never get your homework done If not supervised."

Dor grimaced into the surface of the table. She was right on target
there!

Then he saw that ink had smeared all across his essay-paper, ruining it.
With an angry grunt he picked it up-and the ink slid off, pooled on the
surface of the table, bunched together, sprouted legs, and scurried
away. It leaped off the table like a gross bug and puffed into
momentary vapor. It had been an Musion. The Queen had gotten back at
him already. She could be extraordinarily clever in ugly Ettle ways.
Dor could not admit being angry about being fooled-and that made him
angrier than ever.

"I don't see why anyone has to be male to rule Xanth," the picture said.
That was of course a chronic sore point with the Queen. She was a
Sorceress fully as talented as any Magician, but by Xanth law/custom no
woman could be King.

"I live in the Land of Xanth," Dor said slowly, voicing his essay as he
wrote, ignoring the Queen with what he hoped was insulting politeness.
"Which is distinct from Mundania in that there is magic in Xanth and
none in Mundania." It was amazing how creative he became when there was
a negative aspect to it. He had twenty-three words already!

Dor cracked an eyelid, sneaking a peek at the picture. It had reverted
to neutral. Good; the Queen had tuned out. If she couldn't bug him
with crawling illusions, she wasn't interested.

But now his inspiration dehydrated. He had an impossible one hundred
whole words to dO, EiX times his present total. Maybe five times; he
was not particularly apt at higher mathematics either. Four more words,
if he counted the title. A significant fraction of the way through, but
only a fraction. What a dreary chore!

Irene wandered in. She was King Trent and Queen Iris's daughter, the
palace brat, often a nuisance-but sometimes not. It griped Dor to admit
it, but Irene was an extremely pretty girl, getting more so, and that
exerted an increasing leverage upon him. It made fighting with her
awkward. "Hi, Dor," she said, bouncing experimentally.