"David Eddings. Pawn of prophecy queen of sorcery magician's gambit (The Belgariad, Part one)" - читать интересную книгу автора

"The trip is likely to be dry," the old man admitted pleasantly. "And
lonely, too. Ten leagues with no one to talk to is a long way."
"Talk to the birds," Aunt Pol suggested bluntly.
"Birds listen well enough," the old man said, "but their speech is
repetitious and quickly grows tiresome. Why don't I take the boy along for
company?"
Garion held his breath.
"He's picking up enough bad habits on his own," Aunt Pol said tartly.
"I'd prefer his not having expert instruction."
"Why, Mistress Pol," the old man objected, stealing a cruller almost
absently, "you do me an injustice. Besides, a change will do the boy good
- broaden his horizons, you might say."
"His horizons are quite broad enough, thank you," she said.
Garion's heart sank.
"Still," she continued, "at least I can count on him not to forget my
spices altogether or to become so fuddled with ale that he confuses
peppercorns with cloves or cinnamon with nutmeg. Very well, take the boy
along; but mind, I don't want you taking him into any low or disreputable
places."
"Mistress Pol!" the old man said, feigning shock. "Would I frequent
such places?"
"I know you too well, Old Wolf," she said dryly. "You take to vice and
corruption as naturally as a duck takes to a pond. If I hear that you've
taken the boy into any unsavory place, you and I will have words."
"Then I'll have to make sure that you don't hear of anything like that,
won't I?"
Aunt Pol gave him a hard look. "I'll see which spices I need," she said.
"And I'll borrow a horse and cart from Faldor," the old man said,
stealing another cruller.
In a surprisingly short time, Garion and the old man were bouncing
along the rutted road to Upper Gralt behind a fast-trotting horse. It was
a bright summer morning, and there were a few dandelion-puff' clouds in
the sky and deep blue shadows under the hedgerows. After a few hours,
however, the sun became hot, and the jolting ride became tiresome.
"Are we almost there?" Garion asked for the third time.
"Not for some time yet," the old man said. "Ten leagues is a goodly
distance."
"I was there once before," Garion told him, trying to sound casual. "Of
course I was only a child at the time, so I don't remember too much about
it. It seemed to be quite a fine place."
The old man shrugged. "It's a village," he said, "much like any other."
He seemed a bit preoccupied.
Garion, hoping to nudge the old man into a story to make the miles go
faster, began asking questions.
"Why is it that you have no name - if I'm not being impolite in asking?"
"I have many names," the old man said, scratching his white beard.
"Almost as many names as I have years."
"I've only got one," Garion said.
"So far."
"What?"