"Brown,.Mary.-.Unicorn's.Ring.3.-.1995.-.Master.Of.Many.Treasures" - читать интересную книгу автора (Brown Mary)

Fiercely he concentrated on his real selfЧthough what was real anymore?Чand to
his relief he began the awkward pain of changing back. In the midst of his
discomfort he became aware of the children still watching him, their eyes
growing rounder and rounder with amazement, and the humor of the situation
struck him even as he took a running leap into the air, as clumsy as any heavy
water fowl.
"Good-bye," he called, but it sounded just like the rumble of thunder, and he
could see now the terrified children beneath him rush for the nearest hut and
safety. Never mind, they would have a tale to tell that would keep the village
buzzing for months.
After that the weather became more hostile, and not only was he battling against
his "changes," which took time to recognize and regularize, but also strong
easterlies, snow, and sleet, so it was well after the turn of the year before he
saw in the distance his objective, four thousand miles from the Place of Stones
of his transformation: a small conical hill set proud on a plain, a hill that
shone softly blue against the encircling mountains. . . .

Part One
Chapter One
Venice stank. For the loveliest city in the world (so I had been told), center
of Western trade, Queen of the Adriatic, she certainly needed a bath. One would
have thought with all that water around the smells would have been washed away,
but the reverse was true: it made it worse. The waters in the canals were moved
only by the water traffic, which stirred but did not dissipate, and all the
slops and garbage merely settled a few feet further on.
The city was certainly busy with trade and teeming with merchants and dripping
with gold, but she was only beautiful at a discreet distance. Pinch one's nose
and one could admire the tall towers, fine buildings, richly dressed gentry; one
could feel the sun-warmed stone, listen to the sweet dissonance of bells and the
calls of the gondoliers; watch the bustle at the quays as the laden barques and
caravels were rowed in the last few yards . . . but keep one's nostrils closed.
I moved restlessly from bed to window and back again: three paces and then
another three. It was hot and stuffy in this little attic room, but when I had
opened the window some time back the stench had made me gag, so it stayed
shuttered. Consequently it was not only stifling but also dark: I had trodden on
my dog twice, but couldn't keep still.
Mind you, I was lucky to have a room to myself. Apart from Master Adolpho, the
trading captain, all the othersЧhorse master, interpreter, accountant, guards,
cooks and servantsЧhad to share. And why was I so privileged? Because I bore
papers that proved I was under the personal protection of the wealthy merchant
who had financed the expedition, Master Matthew Spicer.
And I was the only one who knew the papers were forged. By me.
I had a couple of other secrets, too, and secrets they must remain, else this
whole journey would be jeopardized, and that mustn't happen. I had left too much
behind, risked too much, hurt too many people to fail now. This was the most
important journey of my life, and to justify what I had done, it must succeed.
A bad conscience and a real fear of pursuit had kept me glancing over my
shoulder during our journeying the last couple of months, but at least then we
had been moving, whereas for the last two weeks we had been stuck in this
stinking city. No wonder I couldn't keep still. IЧ