"Esther M. Friesner - Homework" - читать интересную книгу автора (Friesner Esther M)

chamber was covered with a thick carpet in summery tints with a pattern of jolly hamsters in sunbonnets.
"IтАФI suppose that would be to prevent any blood fromтАФfrom stainingтАФ" He faltered. It was difficult to
speak of any means of preserving a carpet that so obviously could only be improved by bloodstains.
"Huh?" the boy said. Then: "Naaaah. That'd akshally be fun. For a change. Uncle Morby doesn't
know about fun or else he doesn't care. He says I'm not ready to really kill anything yet, except in my
stupid textbooks." He shooed the demonling from his shoulder, then clasped his hands primly before him
and in a nasal singsong recited: "If you have fifty elves chained in Dungeon A and twenty dwarves
shackled in Dungeon B and it takes 0.5 seconds to slit the throat of each elf and 2.5 seconds to saw
through the throat of each dwarf and the Armies of the Ineffable Effulgent Light are battering down your
stronghold's oak door (which is five inches thick and reinforced with bands of steel) and you have
dispatched seven of your elite trollish bodyguards to execute the prisoners using standard issue military
daggers, how many elves and dwarves can die before the Armies of the Ineffable Effulgent Light burst in
and spoil it all? Include standard battering-ram-to-door-resistance ratios in your calculations. Be sure to
allow for the fact that the trolls will need to fetch step stools in order to reach the elves' throats and that it
takes four trolls to hold one shackled dwarf still for long enough to have his throat cut. Show all work."
Prince Gallantine realized that his mouth had dropped open somewhere around the point where the
boy had described the dimensions and specifics of the stronghold door. He scarcely noticed when the
demonling decided to alight on his head. "That's what he has you do?" he demanded, incredulous. "
Examples?"
Andy nodded. "All day. It's boring."
"You're not just whistling Suntoo Parade," the prince replied, in full agreement. The demonling gave
his scalp a vicious peck, but took flight again when the prince jangled his shackles at it. This time it landed
on top of an armoire painted with maypole-dancing gremlins.
"Yeah. That's because he thinks I'm still just a baby."
"Clearly." Prince Gallantine's glance swept the sunny room once more. When he blinked, he could
have sworn he felt sugar crystals crunching between his eyelids.
"So anyhow, I figure that if I had you drugged and brought to my chambers and I killed youтАФafter I
tortured you some and all; you know, the usualтАФmaybe Uncle Morby would see that I'm good enough
to move on to something a lot more interesting in my studies, you know?" He clapped his hands and two
debauched eunuchs came waddling out of the shadows. (For there were some shadows in the boy's
room; they just happened to be a lovely pale indigo rather than the traditional murky black.)
Prince Gallantine eyed the debauched eunuchs askance. They were of first quality, being not only
enormously fat but so greasy that their bald pates reminded the hero of a formal dinner where the butter
was rolled into little balls. He felt certain that if he could press a finger down upon the top of the nearest
debauched eunuch's head it would sink in with absolutely no resistance.
For their part, the debauched eunuchs were living up to the worst said about them, for they were
cackling with unholy glee as they spread a black velvet cloth at the prince's feet and proceeded to lay out
a series of metal implements upon it. Serrated edges glittered as nastily by sunlight as by smoky
torchlight, as did cruelly pointed tines and keen-edged devices forтАж scooping things. The prince felt his
throat go dry as the full horrific meaning of this display engulfed him.
"The gods defend me!" he gasped. "That's tableware!"
Andy squatted down at one edge of the velvet cloth and poked a grapefruit spoon until it flipped
over. "Well, duh," he replied. "Like Uncle Morby'd ever let me get my hands on the good torture stuff."
He selected a fish fork, his gaze shifting between the puny utensil and Prince Gallantine's massive iron
thews. He bit his lip, put down the fish fork, and opted for a salad fork instead. The cackling of the
debauched eunuchs reached a pitch commonly associated with psychotic poultry as the boy approached
his helpless captive. The salad fork gleamed with the promise of pain.
"Look here, young man," the prince began, trying to sound reasonable. "Those are not torture
devices. They're utensils. They might make an oyster on the half shell squirm, but that's about it. If you try
to use them on me, you'll only be wasting your time and mine. This isn't the first time I've been a prisoner.