"Christopher Stasheff - Wizard in Rhyme 01 - Her Majesty's Wizard" - читать интересную книгу автора (Stasheff Christopher)

"Yeah, but I feel it's a real tongue." Matt managed a tight smile. "The words just don't make
sense-yet."

"So you've been trying to translate it from root words for three months, without a bit of luck." Paul
sighed. "Give it up, man. June's next month. Your fellowship will be up, and none of your dissertation
done. There you'll be, without a degree, and not much chance of getting one, either."

He looked at the clock and got to his feet, clapping Matt on the shoulder. "Gotta run. Good luck,
man-and pull your head back to reality huh? Or as close as we can ever get."

Matt watched him shoulder his way out of the coffee shop. Paul was right, from the hard-headed,
practical point of view. But Matt knew he was, too. He just couldn't substantiate it. He sighed and pulled
out his silver ballpoint pen to have another try at playing acrostics with the speech sounds in his
manuscript.

He looked down at the parchment, and everything else dropped from his mind. He felt, illogically, that
if he just stared at the black brush strokes, just repeated those alien phonemes again and again, they'd
start making sense. Ridiculous, of course! He had to reason it out, starting with the root words and
locating their place in the family of human languages.

He caught himself repeating the syllables again and stared at the blank notebook page beside him.
Start with root words. Lalinga -- the first word of all. Well, lingua was Latin for tongue or language, and
la was the feminine article in the Romance languages. But the next words didn't seem to fit the pattern.
Lalinga wogreus marwold reigor ...

He leaned back, taking a very deep breath. He'd slipped into it again, chanting the meaningless
symbols ...

No, not meaningless! They would make sense! He was sure of it. If he could just find the key ...

Dangerous, some remote, monitoring part of his mind gibed. Very dangerous; that way lie dragons.
And insanity ...

Matt buried his face in his hands, thumbs massaging his temple. Maybe Paul was right; he had been
working this over too long. Maybe he should just drop it ...
 But not without one more try. He sat up straight again and took a firmer grip on the pen. Now, one
more time.

Lalinga wogreus marwold reigor

Athelstrigen marx alupta

Harleng krimorg barlow steigor ...

Pull back, the remote part of his mind warned. You're in too deep; you'll never get out...

But Matt couldn't let go-underneath it all, somehow, the weird words were beginning to make sense.
He head filled with roaring-and beneath it, like a, harmonic, the noise seemed to modulate into words:

You, betrayed by time and space,