"Peter David - Sir Apropos 03 - Tong Lashing" - читать интересную книгу автора (David Peter)

"I could bite you, in case there's any doubt," offered Mordant.

"Not necessary." I glanced once more at Sharee, who seemed irritatingly amused. "Are you doing this
somehow? Some sort of weaver's trick? Projecting your voice in some manner?"

"Would you be satisfied if I drank a mug of water while he spoke?" asked Sharee condescendingly
before turning her attention back to Mordant. "Most intriguing. Your voice is strangely accented."

"So is yours," retorted Mordant.

"Who cares about his accent? He's a blasted talking animal!"

"So are you," Mordant said.

I had no immediate response to that, which was annoying in and of itself. Bad enough to find oneself
lagging behind in an oral battle of wits with an accomplished human opponent. Being bested by a creature
who, for all I knew, hadn't truly began vocalizing until a minute or so earlier was a new low in personal
esteem.

Mordant's voice was thin and reedy, and without the sibilance that one would have expected from
such a creature, presuming one was fanciful enough to imagine him speaking at all. He also did indeed
have an unidentifiable accent, as Sharee had noted. She seemed to be adjusting to this revelation far
faster than was I, considering that the expression of astonishment she'd shared with me had melted into
simple amusement. I was annoyed by that. If I was going to be dumbfounded, it would have been nice to
have a companion in bewilderment.

"Why haven't you spoken before this? Openly, I mean?" I asked.

He didn't smile. I don't think he had the muscular ability to do so. His tongue flicked out quickly
several times, which I decided was what he did when giving an answer some thought. "Because you're
interesting," he said at last.

"I am?"

"He is?"

"Yes. You are. And you know he is," he said to Sharee with faint disapproval. "So don't pretend
otherwise." His triangular head shifted back to me. "You're a lost soul, Apropos of Nothing, and I think
you're only just now starting to realize it. But you're not sure yet what to do about it. It was entertaining
to hear you go on and on about whatever deep emotional conflicts were shredding you. But the only
reason you would vent your spleen in my presence was because you didn't really think I could
understand you. You might have suspected it at some level, but you did not truly believe it. So on and on
you would talk, and it was all rather riveting. You should think about writing it all down."

It was the very first time anyone (or anything, for that matter) had ever suggested that I chronicle my
adventures. My immediate reaction was to dismiss the concept out of hand. I thought, Who in hell would
be so foolish as to want to spend time involving themselves in the tortured, horrific joke that is my life?
And now, having set down my escapades in two volumes so far, with this being the third, I find that I've
come no closer to being able to answer that question than I ever had.