"02 - An Excess of Enchantments" - читать интересную книгу автора (Gardner Craig Shaw)

"Granted!" the Brownie exclaimed.

There was a muffled sound from the direction of his belt, like someone hollering behind a closed door.

"Eh?" Wuntvor said, or a sound very much like that. He looked down, and noticed that there was a sword and scabbard hanging from his belt. The lad grabbed the hilt of the weapon and pulled it free.

"It's about time you let me back out!" the sword exclaimed. "Do you know how boring it can get in there?"

"Pardon?" Wuntvor asked, confused by the weapon's complaint. "About time for what? Have we met before? You are the sword I wished for as the first of my seven wishes. I don't understand what you are talking about."

"First of seven wishes?" the talking sword mused. "Oh, that means we're not still--we're in an entirely different--I see. Excuse me. When you're stuck in a scabbard day in and day out, you lose track of time. I didn't realize we had started another fairy tale."

"It's a Brownie tale!" the little fellow contradicted.

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"Wait a minute," Wuntvor interjected. He had been confused from the beginning of this whole thing, and somehow, anything that anybody said to him only seemed to make it worse. He stared at the sword. "You mean you were around here all along?"

"Hey," the Brownie said defensively, "I didn't say you had to wish for something you didn't already have!"

The lad looked open-mouthed at the Brownie. Had the little fellow tricked him?

'' You should be more careful with your wishes, you know.'' The sword chuckled softly to itself. "Before long, I'll bet you'll be wishing for puddings!"

Then he had been tricked, and had had the sword at his belt all along. But why hadn't he remembered the sword? He had felt awkward from the first about being in this fairy tale, or Brownie tale, as if he had done something like this before that he could not quite recall. And he hadn't been all that surprised to see the sword at his belt. So maybe he had remembered after all. Or maybe he was remembering that he had remembered it all before.

Wuntvor shook his head. It was very confusing. He simply couldn't remember.

"Well," the Brownie prompted, "we're waiting."

The lad decided he would not let the little fellow fluster him. He didn't know quite how he had gotten the sword, but he had it. This Brownie would cause him to squander his wishes if he wasn't careful.

Wuntvor decided to study his surroundings before he made another wish so as to avoid any more obvious mistakes. He stood at the edge of a bridge over a wide but slow-moving stream. The path wound away from him, up a grassy but steep hill. And on the summit of that hill stood a tower, with but a single window at the very top, a window from which, at this moment, poured thick, gray smoke.

What did this mean? Would his adventures lead him to the smoking tower, or should his fate lead him to the other side of the river? There was something about the bridge, too, that made him the slightest bit uncomfortable, although of course he could not remember exactly what it was, except he could

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swear it had something to do with poetry.

"Well," the Brownie prompted, "what's it going to be?"

Yes, Wuntvor thought, what was it going to be, the other side of the river or the tower on the hill? He looked again at the sinister gray turbulence roiling from the window above. Actually, if he were to have his preference, he would as soon have all his adventures in places other than smoking towers, thank you.

Well, he'd cross that bridge when he came to it. Or had he crossed it already? The lad glanced back at the river with a frown. If only he could remem--

Wuntvor shook his head sharply, as if he might dislodge any cobwebs that were growing between his ears. Whatever had happened before, it was time to make another wish.

This time he would wish for something a bit more difficult. And something perhaps that was not as dangerous as adventuring to the tower at the top of the hill. And--dare he hope?-- something of more lasting importance than any single adventure.