"Robin McKinley - Rose Daughter" - читать интересную книгу автора (McKinley Robin)

break her of. was that of escaping into the garden the moment the nurseтАЩs eye was diverted, where she
would later be found, digging little holes and planting thingsтАФdiscarded toys (especially dolls), half-eaten
biscuits, dead leaves, and dry twigsтАФsinging to herself, and covering her white pinafores and stockings
with dirt. None of the nurses ever noticed that the twigs, were they left where she planted them, against
all probability, grew. One old gardener noticed, and because he was old and considered rather silly, he
had the time to spend making the little girlтАЩs acquaintance.
Nurses never lasted long. Despite the care taken and the warnings given to keep the nurses in the
nurseries, eventually some accident of meeting occurred with the merchantтАЩs wife, and the latest nurse,
immediately found to be too slow or too dowdy or too easily bewildered to suit, was fired. When Pansy
came to say good-bye, she said, тАЬ1 have to go away. DonтАЩt cry, lovey, itтАЩs just the way it is. But I
wanted to tell you: itтАЩs roses your mumтАЩs perfume smells of. Roses. No, you donтАЩt have тАШem here. ItтАЩs
generally only sorcerers who can get тАШem lo grow much. The village I was born in, we had a specially
clever greenwitch, and she had one. just one, but it was heaven when it bloomed. ThatтАЩs how I know.
But it takes barrels of petals to make perfume enough to fill a bottle the size of your littlest
fingertipтАФthatтАЩs why the sorcerers are interested, see, I never knew a sorcerer wasnтАЩt chiefly out to
make moneyтАФyour paтАЩs paying a queenтАЩs ransom for it, I can tell you that.тАЭ
When the youngest daughter was five years old, her mother died. She had bet one of her hunting
friends she could leap a half-broken colt over a farm cart. She had lost the bet and broken her neck. The
colt broke both forelegs and had to be shot.
The whole city mourned, her husband and two elder daughters most of all. The youngest one
embarrassed her family at the funeral by repeating, over and over, тАШтАШWhere is my mamma? Where is my
mamma?тАЭ
тАЬShe is too young to understand,тАЭ said the grieving friends and acquaintances, and patted her head,
and embraced the husband and the elder girls.
A well-meaning greenwitch offered the father a charm for his youngest daughter. тАЬSheтАЩll work herself
into a fever, poor little thing,тАЭ the woman said, holding the little bag on its thin ribbon out to him. тАЬYou
just hang it round her neckтАФIтАЩd do it myself, but itтАЩll work better coming from your handsтАФand sheтАЩll
know her mammaтАЩs gone, but it wonтАЩt hurl till sheтАЩs a little more ready for it. ItтАЩll last three, four months if
you donтАЩt let it get wet.тАЭ
But the merchant knocked the small bundle out of the womanтАЩs hand with a cry of rage, and might
have struck the greenwitch herselfтАФdespite the bad luck invariably attendant on any violence offered any
magic practitionerтАФif those standing nearest had not held him back. The startled greenwitch was hustled
away, someone explaining to her in an undertone that the merchant was a little beside himself, that grief
had made him so unreasonable that he blamed his wifeтАЩs soothsayers for not having warned her against
her last, fatal recklessness, and had for the moment turned against all magic. Even her pet dragon had
been given away.
The greenwitch allowed herself to be hustled. She was a kindly woman, but not at all
grandтАФgreenwitches rarely wereтАФand had known the family at all only because she had twice or three
times found the youngest daughter in a flowerbed in one of the cityтАЩs municipal parks and returned her to
her distracted nurse. She gave one little backward glance to that youngest daughter, who was still running
from one mourner to the next and saying, тАЬWhere is my mamma? Where is my mamma?тАЭ
тАЬI donтАЩt like to think of the little thingтАЩs dreams,тАЭ murmured the green witch, but her escort had
brought her to the cemetery gate and turned her loose, with some propelling force, and the greenwitch
shook her head sadly but went her own way.
The night of her motherтАЩs funeral her youngest daughter had the dream for the second time. She was
older in the dream just as she was in life; older and taller, she spoke in complete sentences and could run
without falling down. None of this was of any use to her in the dream. The candles were still too high
overhead to cast anything but shadows; she was still all alone, and the unseen monster waited, just for
her.
After that she had the dream often.