"Kerr,.Katharine.&.Martin.H.Greenberg.-.Enchanted.Forests.V2" - читать интересную книгу автора (Dragon Stories)

I went back to my quickly rebuilt cottage and stared at the as-
sorted lists. I refused to fail on my very first case. There had to
be another way to come up with the data I needed. But what?

No brilliant ideas had occurred during the night. They rarely
do, despite "common wisdom." I needed help, and there was
only one person I trusted on this sort of case.

Thomas was not just my favorite teacher at Investigators'
School, but he was also a private investigator himself. I took my
notes and went around The Corner to visit him.

I explained the situation, and he reminded me of the very first
lesson he'd tried to beat into our heads in class: never make as-
sumptions. Everyone assumes wizards stay in the Enchanted For-
est. What if he'd come around The Corner and was living in the
Real World?

So with Thomas' help, we checked the databases. These are
the lists of everyone in the Real World. It's amazing how much
one can leam about them- That's what made it so difficult for
me; until Thomas "adjusted" things, I wasn't on the lists.

Anyway, there he wasЧMagnus Mendip, right in the same
city, too. Like me, he must have stayed just around The Corner,
so he could get home if he wanted to. But if that's the case, why
didn't he?

I took the bus and found the Wizard's house. It looked like ev-
ery other house on the street, except for the boy on a skateboard
gliding down the front walk. I asked the lad if Mr. Mendip was
home, and the kid punched me and took off.

I'd taken the required self-defense classes, but I hadn't ex-
pected to be punched by a twelve-year-old. I ended up on my
rear end, on the grass.

A woman, whom I at first took to be the boy's mother, rushed
out of the house and helped me to my feet. She apologized pro-
fusely as she helped me brush myself off. Apparently Kevan was
going through "a stage" and was very difficult to deal with.

I kept my thoughts to myself, and asked if she was Mrs.
Mendip.

She tittered, a sound I'd only heard a mouse make before, and
one hand covered her mouth. Around the hand she informed me
she was Mrs. Hodgson, the baby-sitter, and Mrs. Mendip was at
work. Mrs. Mendip was expected to be home shortly, however.