"03 - A Disagreement with Death" - читать интересную книгу автора (Gardner Craig Shaw)

Snarks nodded triumphantly. "There's no way to tell if Death wears shoes. There's no way to tell if Death even has feet."

Oddly, the dismay seemed to vanish from the Brownie's countenance, replaced by a faraway look in his eyes. "Then Death may have spent millennia wandering the cosmos shoeless?" Tap spoke in a voice barely above a whisper. "Then--could it be--the first pair of shoes Death wears might be made by me?''

"Indeed," I interjected, for the conversation seemed to have wandered a good distance from our original topic. "Perhaps, before we consider Death's footwear, we should give a little more thought to the predicament of my master--"

"Exactly what I was going to do." Snarks interrupted, "before this shoe fanatic butted in."

"Shoe fanatic!" Tap blurted. "Well, if caring passionately about one's footwear makes one a fanatic--if it makes a difference to you about the proper heel size, and the quality of the leather, and the aesthetic roundness of the toe, and the elasticity of the laces, and the color of the leather, using of course only true browns from nature, and the correct eyelet placement, taking into account the proper mathematical proportions, and the absolute best angle for stitching the seams, and--well, ten or twelve other factors equally important, then I guess you could call me--"

I tugged on Snarks's sleeve, drawing him a bit farther away from the declaiming Brownie.

"My master," I repeated.

Norei walked up behind us. "We must find out what Death has done with him. If the creature will tell us."

I smiled back at my beloved. Discussing my predica-

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ment with her and Snarks seemed to be restoring both my confidence and powers of thought.

"Why not?" I replied. "Death feels above us. I am sure we can get it to boast of my master's capture with no bother at all."

A green, scaly hand patted me briskly on the back. "Thinking worthy of the Netherhells!" Snarks exclaimed. "If you keep up this clever planning for--say--another three or four weeks, I may have to revise my opinion of humankind."

"But to make Death's shoes!" Tap shouted behind us. "I'd go down in the Brownie Hall of Fame! I can see the plaque now, made of that fine silver we use for our very best buckles: 'First footwear for Lord of the Dead, with heels designed to walk upon a billion souls. Designed by the humble--ME!' " Tap applauded his conjecture. "His Brownieship would have to forgive me then!"

Snarks looked back at the Brownie with some distaste. "Perhaps we should move even farther aside," he remarked, "say, to an entirely different clearing?"

I chided Snarks for his remark. After all, our tiny Brownie ally had been through a lot lately, what with his somewhat impetuous actions coming under criticism by his Brownie superiors, simply because he forgot he was supposed to wait for one of those superiors, and rushed to my aid instead. Now the head Brownie of them all, His Brownieship, was making noises about disbarring Tap from all future Brownie activity, which meant no more making shoes. In a situation like this, Tap was bound to be distraught. He deserved a little understanding.

Snarks nodded grimly when I was done. "Oh, I understand him all too well. But do I have to listen to him, too?"

The Brownie walked petulantly toward us. "You may scoff, but my whole future is at stake. I can't wait to meet Death and discuss footwear!"

In that instant, the sun disappeared behind a cloud. A wind sprang up from nowhere to remind us that summer was almost gone. And then the wind, too, was gone,

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replaced by a chuckle drier than a stone in a desert after a thirty-year drought.

"Somebody called?" the newcomer's voice rasped.

Tap began to tremble as he looked up at the newcomer's rotting robes. "On second thought, I might want a little more time to prepare for my discussion--" He paused as he backed hastily away. "Say, forty or fifty years?"

Death nodded at the Brownie. "Ah, yes. But we will talk, my little friend. Sooner or later."

The specter turned to me, the skull-like face beneath its hood showing all its teeth in a perpetual smile. "Ah, but there is no reason to be upset. This is naught but a courtesy call. As I recall, we have business to discuss. Something to do with an exchange of souls?"