"Patrick Welch - Rock of Wages" - читать интересную книгу автора (Welch Patrick)

"50 gold crowns. Paid in advance, of course."

"That is outrageous!" screamed five voices at once. "We can buy an entire vat of oil for only
five," the innkeeper added.

"Fine." I turned and looked down the hill. "But you best hurry. Yon giant is rapidly
approaching."
They looked, then initiated a heated discussion. Finally the innkeeper approached. "30. We
can only offer you 30."

"You have it with you?" The small group looked at each other then nodded reluctantly. "Wait
here." Whistling, I entered my wagon. I returned with a cask of heated oil. "Just pour this
down the hill," I instructed after they gave me payment. "You should have no more
concerns."

The constable did as suggested. We watched as the oil flowed and spread down the hill,
quickly intersecting the approaching peril. The boulder began to slip, then spin as it became
covered with oil. My laboring friend held out admirably, but the spreading oil soon loosened
the soil under his feet. With a groan and a curse, the man fell back as he lost his grip. The
boulder rolled merrily down the hill and stopped with a resounding thump against the trees
below.
The townspeople let out a cheer and congratulated each other. I quickly returned to my
wagon and drove away. I was tired and it was nearing time to set my camp for the evening; I
had plenty of work planned for the following day.

"What ho, friend?" I called out. It was now morning; after a quick breakfast I had made my
way back to the giant and his burden.
"I am lost!" he greeted me.
"Why so morose, my colossal comrade?"

"Yonder hill," he pointed. "It has become befouled with some unknown substance. Even with
the sandals you graciously provided I can no longer move this rock more than a foot or two
without falling. I am lost!"
"Perhaps." I pretended to commiserate and contemplate this unfortunate turn of events. "Tell
me," I continued after a suitably long ponder, "what exactly is your obligation?"
"Why, to get this boulder upon the top of that hill. I told you that."

I nodded. "But do you have to push it?"

He frowned, the small gears inside his head struggling to turn. "I understand not."
"Those spiked shoes still provide you sufficient purchase, do they not?"

"Yes, but I cannot push the rock without losing my grip, now that it is covered with that foul
substance."
"So much the better. Perhaps you should pull it."
"How?" he asked, trying to grasp the concept.

"Most simple, really. I happen to have a very strong, very long rope in my possession. We
merely harness it to the boulder and you...pull it up the hill. Since the ground is now moist,
the rock should slide easily."