"Patricia A. McKillip - In the Forests of Serre" - читать интересную книгу автора (McKillip Patricia A)

road.
He froze, his eyes on the parchment, not daring to look up. тАЬThis one,тАЭ he
heard the wizard beside him say. тАЬWhat is your name?тАЭ
Still rigid, he managed to remember. тАЬEuan.тАЭ How, he wondered wildly,
were wizards addressed? He cleared his throat, gave up. тАЬEuan Ash.тАЭ
тАЬMy name is Unciel. Come to me when you are finished here.тАЭ
The scribe glanced up finally, incredulously. But the wizard had gone.
Everyone stared at Euan now, even Proctor Verel. If he could, Euan would have
stared at himself. He scratched his head instead. So did the proctor, riffling at
his bald head and looking mystified.
тАЬTo work,тАЭ he said briskly, then wandered among the desks to see the paper
touched by magic.
Euan, still stunned, asked warily, тАЬWhat does he want with me, Proctor?тАЭ
Proctor Verel shrugged his plump shoulders and shifted EuanтАЩs inkstand
farther from his elbow. тАЬHe needs a scribe.тАЭ He studied the scribeтАЩs neat,
graceful writing, no more or less neat and graceful than that of a dozen others.
тАЬWhy you, I have no idea. Especially since you chose that moment to spill ink
all over everything.тАЭ He tapped the paper where EuanтАЩs last word trailed down
the page. тАЬAnd you fell asleep,тАЭ he added reproachfully. тАЬIn the middle of one
of LaidleyтАЩs poems.тАЭ
тАЬIt was not the poem,тАЭ Euan assured him. тАЬMy head was full of bees.тАЭ
The young man at the next desk snorted. The proctor said dourly, тАЬStart
over.тАЭ
тАЬHow did he do that?тАЭ Euan wondered suddenly, intently. тАЬHow did he
separate the spilled ink from the words? How did the ink recognize the words?тАЭ
тАЬOne was liquid; one was dry,тАЭ the scribe beside him suggested, too
intrigued by the question to observe the rule of silence. тАЬOne had form; the other
was chaos.тАЭ
тАЬBut how,тАЭ Euan persisted, тАЬdid he speak to the ink? What language did he
use to make it listen?тАЭ
Proctor Verel raised his voice irritably. тАЬAnother word in any language, and
youтАЩll all be seeing midnight in the scriptorium.тАЭ He added to Euan as he
returned to his desk, тАЬAsk him.тАЭ
An hour or two later the scribe found the wizard, not in a tower as he had
expected, nor in a secret chamber beneath the palace, but down a busy side
street beyond the palace gates. COME IN, said a wooden sign hanging on the
door. The cottage looked much larger within than it should have. Worn
flagstones led to more closed doors than seemed possible. Herbs and flowers
hung drying on smoke-blackened rafters. A one-eyed cat slunk around a corner
and disappeared at the sight of Euan. A raven perched on a small, cluttered
table near the door. Stuffed, Euan thought, until it fluttered abruptly, raggedly,
like black flame to a stand in front of a line of open casements. The windows,
diamonds of thick glass framed in brass, overlooked a garden. Like the house,
the garden seemed to wander beyond possibility; the far wall might have
crossed the next street. The wizardтАЩs gardener knelt in the late light, a torn
straw hat on his head, picking seeds slowly, painstakingly out of one trembling
hand with the other, and dropping them into a crumbled patch of earth. Some
ancient, beloved retainer, Euan thought. Then the raven squawked hoarsely
beside him, and the gardener straightened, glancing toward the windows. Euan,
recognizing that seared gaze, gave a hiccup of surprise.