"Jones, Diana Wynne - Mixed Magics" - читать интересную книгу автора (Jones Diana Wynne)

He changed the front number plate to WW100 and the back one to XYZ123 and let the car return to its nice shiny gray color and drove soberly on till he found some back streets lined with quiet houses. By this time he was quite tired. He had never had much magic, and he was out of practice anyway. He was glad to stop and look for the knob that made the engine go.

There were rows of knobs, but none of them seemed to be the one he wanted. One knob squirted water all over the front window. Another opened the side windows and brought wet, windy air sighing in. Another flashed lights. Yet another made a loud hooting, which made the Willing Warlock jump. People would notice!

He became panicky and found his neck going hot and cold in gusts, with a specially cold, panicky spot in the middle, at the back, just above his collar. He tried another knob. That played music. The next knob made voices speak. "Over and out ... Yes. Pink. I don't know how he got a respray that quick, but it's definitely him..."

The Willing Warlock, in even more of a panic, realized he was listening to the police by magic, and that they were still hunting him. In his panic he pressed another knob, which made wipers start furiously waving across the windscreen, wiping off the water the first knob had squirted.

"Doh!" said the Willing Warlock, and put up his hand irritably to rub that panicky cold spot at the back of his neck. The cold place was connected to a long, warm, hairy muzzle. Whatever owned the muzzle objected to being wiped away. It let out a deep bass growl and a blast of warm, smelly air.

The Willing Warlock snatched his hand away. In his terror, he pressed another button, which caused the seat he was in to collapse gently backward until he was lying on his back. He found himself staring up into the face of the largest dog he had ever seen. It was a great pepper-colored brute, with white fangs to match the size of the rest of it. Evidently he had stolen a dog as well as a car.

"Grrrrr," repeated the dog. It bent its great head until the noise vibrated the Willing Warlock's skull like a road drill, and sniffed his face loudly.

"Get off," said the Willing Warlock tremulously.

Worse followed. Something surged in the backseat beside the huge dog. A small, shrill voice, sounding very sleepy, said, "Why have we stopped for, Daddy?"

"Oh, my gawdl" said the Willing Warlock. He turned his eyes gently sideways under the great dog's face. Sure enough, there was a child on the backseat beside the dog, a rather small child with reddish hair and a slobbery, sleepy face.

"You're not my daddy," this child said accusingly.

The Willing Warlock rather liked children on the whole, but he knew he would have to get rid of this one somehow. To steal a car and a dog and a child would probably put him in prison for life. People really did not like you stealing children.

Frantically he reached forward and pushed knobs. Lights lit, wipers swatted and unswatted, voices spoke, a hooter sounded, but at last he pushed the right one, and the seat rose gracefully upright again. He used his magic on the rear door, and it sprang open.

"Out," he said. "Both of you. Get out and wait, and your daddy will find you."

Dog and child turned and stared at the open door. Their faces, puzzled and slightly indignant, turned back to the Willing Warlock. It was their car, after all.

The Willing Warlock tried a bit of coaxing. "Get out. Nice dog. Good boy."

"Grrrr," said the dog, and the child said, "I'm not a boy."

"I meant the dog," the Willing Warlock said hastily. The dog's growl enlarged to a rumble that shook the car. Perhaps the dog was not a boy either. The Willing Warlock knew when he was beaten. It was a pity, when it was such a nice car, but this world was full of cars. Provided he made sure the next one was empty, he could steal one anytime he liked. He slammed the rear door shut and started to open his own.

The dog was too quick for him. Before he had reached the handle, its great teeth were fastened into the shoulder of his jacket, right through the cloth. He could feel them digging into his skin underneath. And it growled harder than ever. "Let go," the Willing Warlock said, without hope, and sat very still.

"Go on driving," commanded the child.

"Why?" said the Willing Warlock.

"Because I like driving in cars," said the child. "Towser will let you go when you drive."

"I don't know how to make the car go," the Willing Warlock said sullenly.

"Stupid," said the child. "Daddy uses those keys there, and he pushes on the pedals with his feet."

Towser backed this up with another growl and dug his teeth in a little. Towser clearly knew his job, and his job seemed to be to back up anything the child said. The Willing Warlock sighed, thinking of years in prison, but he found the keys and located the pedals. He turned the keys. He pushed on the pedals. The engine started with a roar.