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

"But I know it's there," Durnik said, still smoothing the metal. "If it
isn't done as well as I can do it, I'll be ashamed every time I see this
wagon go by-and I'll see the wagon every day."
And so it went. Without even intending to, Durnik instructed the small
boy in those solid Sendarian virtues of work, thrift, sobriety, good
manners, and practicality which formed the backbone of the society.
At first Aunt Pol worried about Garion's attraction to the smithy with
its obvious dangers; but after watching from her kitchen door for a while,
she realized that Durnik was almost as watchful of Garion's safety as she
was herself and she became less concerned.
"If the boy becomes pestersome, Goodman Durnik, send him away," she
told the smith on one occasion when she had brought a large copper kettle
to the smithy to be patched, "or tell me, and I'll keep him closer to the
kitchen."
"He's no bother, Mistress Pol," Durnik said, smiling. "He's a sensible
boy and knows enough to keep out of the way."
"You're too good-natured, friend Durnik," Aunt Pol said. "The boy is
full of questions. Answer one and a dozen more pour out."
"That's the way of boys," Durnik said, carefully pouring bubbling metal
into the small clay ring he'd placed around the tiny hole in the bottom of
the kettle. "I was questionsome myself when I was a boy. My father and old
Barl, the smith who taught me, were patient enough to answer what they
could. I'd repay them poorly if I didn't have the same patience with
Garion."
Garion, who was sitting nearby, had held his breath during this
conversation. He knew that one wrong word on either side would have
instantly banished him from the smithy. As Aunt Pol walked back across the
hard-packed dirt of the yard toward her kitchen with the new-mended
kettle, he noticed the way that Durnik watched her, and an idea began to
form in his mind. It was a simple idea, and the beauty of it was that it
provided something for everyone.
"Aunt Pol," he said that night, wincing as she washed one of his ears
with a rough cloth.
"Yes?" she said, turning her attention to his neck.
"Why don't you marry Durnik?"
She stopped washing. "What?" she asked.
"I think it would be an awfully good idea."
"Oh, do you?" Her voice had a slight edge to it, and Garion knew he was
on dangerous ground.
"He likes you," he said defensively.
"And I suppose you've already discussed this with him?"
"No," he said. "I thought I'd talk to you about it first."
"At least that was a good idea."
"I can tell him about it tomorrow morning, if you'd like."
His head was turned around quite firmly by one ear. Aunt Pol, Garion
felt, found his ears far too convenient.
"Don't you so much as breathe one word of this nonsense to Durnik or
anyone else," she said, her dark eyes burning into his with a fire he had
never seen there before.
"It was only a thought," he said quickly.