"Patricia C. Wrede - Enchanted Forest 4 - Calling on Dragons" - читать интересную книгу автора (Wrede Patricia C)

"The one you were grumbling about a minute ago-what's his name?"
"Arona Michaelear Grinogion Vamist," Morwen recited, putting the final gold line along the bottom of
the 'P' in "PLEAsE.."
"And it's a tempting thought. But someone worse would probably replace him."
"Turn them all into toads. I'll help."
"Toads?" purred a new voice. A small ginger cat slithered out the open window and arched her back,
then stretched out along the window ledge, where she could watch the entire front yard without turning
her head. "I'm tired of toads. Why don't you turn somebody into a mouse for a change?"
The ginger cat ran her tongue around her lips.
"Good morning, Jasmine," Morwen said. "I'm not planning to turn anyone into anything, at the moment,
but I'll keep it in mind."
"That means she won't do it," said Trouble. He looked at his right paw, decided it was clean enough for
the time being, and began washing his left.
"Won't do what?" said Fiddlesticks, poking his brown head out of the from door. "Who's not doing it?
Why shouldn't he-or is that she? And who says so?"
"Turn someone into a mouse; Morwen; I certainly don't see why not; and she does," Jasmine said in a
bored tone, and pointedly turned her head away.
"Mice are nice." Fiddlesticks shouldered the door open another inch and trotted out onto the porch.
"So are fish. I haven't had any fish in a long time." He paused underneath Morwen's broom and looked
up expectantly.
"You had fish for dinner yesterday," Morwen said without looking down.
"And you ate enough breakfast this morning to satisfy three ordinary cats, so don't try to pretend you're
starving. It won't work."
"Someone's coming," Jasmine observed from the window.
Trouble stood up and ambled to the edge of the porch. "It's the Chairwitch of the Deadly Nightshade
Gardening Club. Wasn't she just here last week?"
"It's Archaniz? Oh, bother," said Morwen, sticking her paintbrush into the can. "Has she got that idiot
cat Grendel with her? I told her not to bring him anymore, but nine times out of ten she doesn't listen."
Fiddlesticks joined Trouble at the top of the porch steps. "I don't see him. I don't see anyone but her. I
don't want to see her, either.
She doesn't like me."
"That's because you talk too much," Trouble told him.
"I'm going inside," Fiddlesticks announced. "Then I won't have to see her. Maybe someone's dropped
some fish on the floor," he added hopefully as he trotted into the house.
Morwen landed her broomstick and stood up, just as the Chairwitch reached the porch steps. The
Chairwitch looked exactly as a witch ought: tall, with a crooked black hat, stringy black hair, sharp black
eyes, a long, bony nose, and a wide, thin-lipped mouth. She hunched over as she walked, leaning on her
broom as if it were a cane.
Morwen put the paint can on the window ledge next to Jasmine, set her broom against the wall, and
said, "Good morning, Archaniz."
"Good morning, Morwen," Chairwitch Archaniz croaked. "What's this I hear about you growing lilacs
in your garden?"
"Since I don't know what you've heard, I can't answer you," Morwen replied. "Come in and have some
cider."
Archaniz pounded the end of her broom against the porch floor, breaking some of the twigs and
scattering bits of dust and bark in all directions.
"Don't be provoking, Morwen. You're a witch. You're supposed to grow poison oak and snakeroot
and wolfsbane, not lilacs. You'll get thrown out of the Deadly Nightshade Gardening Club if you aren't
careful."
"Nonsense. Where in the rules does it say that I can't grow what I please in my own garden?"