"Cornelia Funke - Inkheart" - читать интересную книгу автора (Funke Cornelia)

Her father was sitting at the kitchen table making sandwiches for the journey. When she came into the
kitchen he looked up briefly and smiled at her, but Meggie could see he was worried about something.
"Mo, we can't go away now!" she said. "The school holidays don't start for another week!"
"Well, it won't be the first time I've had to go away on business during the school term."
He was right about that. In fact, he went away quite often, whenever an antique dealer, a book collector,
or a library needed a bookbinder and commissioned Mo to restore a few valuable old books, freeing
them of dust and mold or dressing them in new clothes, as he put it. Meggie didn't think the word
bookbinder described Mo's work particularly well, and a few years ago she had made him a sign to hang
on his workshop door saying MORTIMER FOLCHART, BOOK DOCTOR. And the book doctor never
called on his patients without taking his daughter, too. They had always done that and they always
would, never mind what Meggie's teachers said.
"How about chicken pox? Have I used that excuse already?"
"Yes, last time. When we had to go and see that dreary man with the Bibles." Meggie scrutinized her
father's face. "Mo. Is it... is it because of last night we have to leave?"
For a moment she thought he was going to tell her everything тАФ whatever there was to tell. But then he


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 Inkheart

shook his head. "No, of course not," he said, putting the sandwiches he had made into a plastic bag.
"Your mother has an aunt called Elinor. We visited her once, when you were very small. She's been
wanting me to come and put her books in order for a long time. She lives beside a lake in the north of
Italy, I always forget which lake, but it's a lovely place, a day's drive away." He did not look at her as he
spoke.
Meggie wanted to ask: But why do we have to go now? But she didn't. Nor did she ask if he had
forgotten that he was meeting someone at midday. She was too afraid of the answers тАФ and she didn't
want Mo to lie to her again.
"Is this aunt as peculiar as the others?" was all she said. Mo had already taken her to visit various
relations. Both he and Meggie's mother had large families whose homes, so far as Meggie could see,
were scattered over half of Europe.
Mo smiled. "Yes, she is a bit peculiar, but you'll get along with her all right. She has some really
wonderful books."
"So how long are we going to be away?"
"It could be quite some time."
Meggie sipped her cocoa. It was so hot she burned her lips and had to quickly press the cold blade of a
knife to her mouth.
Mo pushed his chair back. "I have to pack a few more things from the workshop," he said. "It won't take
long. You must be very tired, but you can sleep once we're in the van."
Meggie just nodded and looked out of the kitchen window. It was a gray morning. Mist drifted over the
fields at the foot of the nearby hills, and Meggie felt as if the shadows of the night were still hiding
among the trees.
"Pack up the food and take plenty to read!" Mo called from the hall. As if she didn't always! Years ago
he had made her a box to hold her favorite books on all their journeys, short and long, near and far. "It's
a good idea to have your own books with you in a strange place," Mo always said. He himself always
took at least a dozen.
Mo had painted the box poppy red. Poppies were Meggie's favorite flower. They pressed well between
the pages of a book, and you could stamp a star-shaped pattern on your skin with their pepper-pot seed
capsules. He had decorated the box and painted Meggie's Treasure Chest in lovely curly lettering on the
lid. The box was lined with shiny black taffeta, but you could hardly see any of the fabric because