"Simon Hawke - Sorcerer 2 - The Inadequate Adept" - читать интересную книгу автора (Hawke Simon)

So with even his pet bush in attendance to watch the inauguration of the soap, Brewster stripped down
awkwardly as the others watched curiously. He turned away, blushing, as he took off his boxer shorts
with the little red lips on them. The shorts had been a gift from Pamela, who had thought that they were
"cute," but none of the brigands snickered when they saw them. They knew that adepts often went in for
all sorts of cabalistic symbols on their clothing, each of which had a sorcerous purpose, and when they
saw the shorts, they merely looked at one another significantly. Though Brewster wouldn't be aware of it,
the women of Brigand's Roost would soon be busy sewing boxer shorts with little red lips on them, the
better to improve their menfolk's potency.

Brewster stepped into the shower. He turned on the tap, and as the warm water flowed through the
perforated copper showerhead Mick had constructed, he began to soap himself. The brigands gasped
and drew back when they saw the soap begin to lather up.

" Tis the foam of madness!" Pikestaff Pat cried out.

"No, no," protested Brewster, looking back over his shoulder at them. "It's supposed to do this. The
lather... the foam is what gets you clean, you see."

With a rustling sound, the little peregrine bush reacted to the sound of water dripping. It shuffled forward
quickly on its roots and jumped into the shower with Brewster, so it could get under the spray.

"Thorny! No!" shouted Brewster, crying out as the bush's thorny branches scratched him. He hopped
about in the shower stall as the confused bush scuttled about beneath the spray with him, its sharp little
thorns pricking his skin.

Unable to help themselves, the brigands burst out laughing uncontrollably as the dejected little bush
hopped out of the shower stall and went to huddle, quaking, in a corner, water dripping from its drooping
leaves. Facing them, naked, wet, and foamy, Brewster saw Black Shannon standing in their forefront, her
hands on her hips and a mocking little smile on her face.

She had come in while his back was turned, intent on not missing the demonstration, and now her gaze
traveled appreciatively up and down his body. As the laughter died down, Brewster blushed furiously
and covered himself up with his hands.

Shannon merely smiled and held out a cloth towel for him to dry himself off with.

Brewster stepped out of the shower, hunched over, took the towel from her, and hastily wrapped it
around his middle. "Th-thank you," he stammered. "Well... anyway ..." he added, clearing his throat
awkwardly, "that's how it works."

"We shall all try this magic soap," Shannon said, with a glance around at the others, who looked rather
uncertain about this new development.

Pikestaff Pat shook his head. "If you ask me, 'tis not seemly for a man to be all lathered up, like some
bloody horse run half to death."

"I didn't ask you," Shannon snapped. Her blade scraped free of its scabbard and she put its point to
Pikestaff Pat's throat. "I said that we shall all try it. Any questions!"

"Uh ... no," replied Pikestaff Pat, with a nervous swallow, his gaze focused on the sword 'point at his