"Foster, Alan Dean - Spellsinger 03 - The Day of the Dissonance 1.0" - читать интересную книгу автора (Foster Alan Dean)

"Evil forces always go afoot. They're lousy fliers."

"That's not what I meant."

"Doesn't matter what you meant, my boy. You have to run this errand for me. That's all it is, a little errand."

"Last time you asked me to help you run an errand we ended up with the fate of civilization at stake."

"Well, this time it's only my fate that hangs in the balance." His voice shrank to a pitiful whisper. "You wouldn't want me to die, would you?"

"No," Jon-Tom admitted. "I wouldn't."

"Of course you wouldn't. Because if I die it means the end of your chances to return to your own world. Because only I know the necessary, complicated, dangerous spell that can send you back. It is in your own interest to see that I remain alive and well."

"I know, I know. Don't rub it in."

"Furthermore," the wizard went on, pressing his advantage, "you are partly to blame for my present discomfort."

"What!" Jon-Tom whirled on the bed. "I don't know what the hell you've got, Clothahump, but I certainly didn't give it to you."

"My illness is compounded of many factors, not the least of which are my current awkward living conditions."

Jon-Tom frowned and leaned on his long ramwood staff. "What are you talking about?"

"Ever since we returned from the great battle at the Jo-Troom Gate my daily life has been one unending litany of misery and frustration. All because you had to go and turn my rude but dutiful famulus Pog into a phoenix. Whereupon he promptly departed my service for the dubious pleasures his falcon ladylove could bestow on him."

"Is it my fault you've had a hard time replacing him? That's hardly a surprise, considering the reputation you got for mistreating Pog."

"I did not mistreat Pog," the wizard insisted. "I treated him exactly as an apprentice should be treated. It's true that I had to discipline him from time to time. That was due to his own laziness and incompetence. All part of the learning process." Clothahump straightened his new glasses.

"Pog spread the details of your teaching methods all over the Betlwoods. But 1 thought the new famulus you finally settled on was working out okay."

"Ha! It just goes to show what can happen when you don't read the fine print on someone's resume. It's too late now. I've made him my assistant and am bound to him, as he is to me."

"What's wrong? I thought he was brilliant."

"He can be. He can be studious, efficient, and eager to learn."

"Sounds good to me."

"Unfortunately, he has one little problem."

"What kind of problem?"

Clothahump's reply was interrupted by a loud, slurred curse from the room off to the left. The wizard gestured with his head toward the doorway, looked regretful.

"Go see for yourself, my boy, and understand then what a constant upset my life has become."

Jon-Tom considered, then shrugged and headed under the arched passageway toward the next chamber, bending low to clear the sill. He was so much taller than most of the inhabitants of this world that his height was an everpresent problem.