"John Morressy - The game is a foot (2)" - читать интересную книгу автора (Morressy John)

JOHN MORRESSY

THE GAME IS A FOOT

THE WIZARD KEDRIGERN would have conceded, reluctantly and grudgingly, that an
inn had one advantage over a campsite in the woods: it was more likely to be
warm. In a good humor, he might even admit possible superiority in a second
area: an inn might conceivably be dry as well. That was as far as he would go
in praise of inns. Aside from those two undeniable but unpredictable comforts,
he considered a stay at an inn a poor second to a night spent by a brook, with
a good fire to keep away the wildlife large and small and a solid protective
spell to discourage human intruders.
Home, of course, was his first preference, and he left it with reluctance.
Home meant the company of Princess, the efficiency of Spot, and the comfort of
his fireside and his books. Inns offered misery at exorbitant prices. Inns
were dirty, noisy, crowded, smoky, and smelly. The food was awful, the wine
corrosive, the service unspeakable, and the rooms small. The beds were full of
lice and the building was full of people, all of whom chattered while awake
and snored when asleep. Dogs barked and cats yowled through the night.
The animals could be silenced and the lice kept at bay by a spell, but coping
with the people was difficult without calling attention to oneself, and that
was not Kedrigern's way. He had learned long ago that a sensible wizard does
not call attention to himself without good cause.
But when the rain is falling and the wind is rising and wolves are howling in
the moonless night and a man is far from home and weary in mind and body and
low on magical reserves from working a difficult disenchantment, prejudices
melt away and reason yields. When he glimpsed the light ahead, and coming
closer saw through the shifting curtain of rain the unmistakable outlines of
an inn and its stable and outbuildings, Kedrigern felt a warm glow of
benevolence toward all inns and innkeepers. Surely this establishment, so
fortunately found, would prove to be the One Good Inn, the exception to the
unhappy rule. A master chef. A connoisseur's cellar. A punctilious
housekeeper. Amiable company. He fervently hoped so.
For a time, it seemed that this might be the case. The place looked uncommonly
clean. He obtained a room and a bed all to himself, a rare boon. A fragrant
stew was bubbling in the cooking pot, and when he sat down to dine he found
the bread almost fresh, and the wine drinkable. Having eaten, he settled
himself before the fire for warming and drying. The only other guests were a
middle-aged couple and a husky young man with a firm jaw and a stern
expression. They were seated on benches, the couple sleeping soundly. Their
snoring was all but inaudible.
Kedrigern nodded to the young man, who returned the nod but said nothing. That
was fine with Kedrigern. He was not a man given to small talk and idle chat.
This inn was turning out to be all he could wish, short of being in his own
cottage.
After a time the innkeeper, a slow-moving man named Corgin, drew up a stool
and joined them. The company sat for a time in silence, listening to the wind
complain around the corners of the inn while the fire crackled and the
sleepers snored. Kedrigern felt pleasantly drowsy, and began to nod off.
Corgin, his voice lowered out of concern for the sleeping couple, leaned to