Albrek's Tomb - Forman Mark L (читать книги без регистрации полные txt) 📗

The silence remained, but Alex’s magic had found something. There was a small creature standing behind the books on the far side of the room. Alex had no idea what the creature was, but he didn’t think it was dangerous.

“Very well, if you will not show yourself, I will have to use magic to force you into the open,” said Alex.

Another loud humph,which Alex took to mean, “I don’t believe you will succeed, but feel free to try.”

“You asked for it,” Alex muttered.

Alex remained still and silent, letting the magic he had used to find the creature form into a magical rope around the creature’s legs. As the rope took shape, Alex added a little more magic to the spell, but the creature must have noticed what was happening because there was a gasp, followed by the sound of running feet. Alex was ready. The magic rope pulled tight, lifting the creature into the air and whisking it toward a large empty table in the middle of the room. Alex watched as his captive floated upside down above the tabletop; it looked like a nine-inch-tall dwarf.

“Gear offva me! Let go!” the creature shouted. “I’ve done nothing wrong. I claim the right of sanctuary in this bag!”

“The right of sanctuary? Who are you, and what are you doing here?” Alex questioned.

“I might ask you the same thing,” answered the creature. “I’ll answer to Master Joshua and none other.”

“Joshua?”

“The master of the bag, Joshua Taylor,” said the creature, looking at Alex suspiciously. “I demand to see the master of the bag.”

“I’m the master of the bag,” said Alex. “I’m Alexander Taylor, Joshua Taylor’s heir.”

“If you’re the heir, then you should know who and what I am,” said the creature hotly. “Master Joshua wouldn’t have given his bag to an heir and not told him about us.”

“My father didn’t tell me anything about his bag,” said Alex. “He died when I was just a baby.”

“Died? What do you mean died? I don’t believe it, not one word of it,” shouted the creature.

“It’s true—” said Alex.

“Prove it,” the creature interrupted.

“Prove what?”

“I want proof that Master Joshua is dead and that you are, in fact, his heir.”

“I can give you my word.”

“Ha! A likely story. Just what a bag thief would say. ‘Give you my word,’ indeed. What’s the word of a bag thief worth?”

“I’m no thief,” said Alex angrily. “I give you my word that what I’ve said is true, and if you are foolish enough to doubt the word of a wizard then I’ll have to expel you from my bag.”

“A wizard you say? Ha! Oh, you’ve got some magic in you that’s plain enough to see, but you’re no wizard. You’re far too young; you’ve no staff and no familiar. You’re not even wearing one of those funny robes that so many wizards like to wear.”

“Silence,” Alex demanded. “I am Alexander Taylor, wizard and adventurer. I am the son and heir of Joshua Taylor, and I do have a staff.”

“Oh, do you now? Well then, Mr. Wizard, be so good as to show me your staff.”

“All right, I’ll go and get it.”

“Go and get it, he says,” the creature sneered. “As if a wizard needs to go and get his staff. Ha!”

Alex frowned at the insult. He’d only been a wizard for a couple of months, and he didn’t need his staff very often. Especially when he was home and not on an adventure.

He closed his eyes for a moment, remembering the spell that would summon his staff to his hand. Opening his eyes, he held out his right hand, releasing the magic at the same moment. There was a sound like a rushing wind, and Alex’s staff appeared in his open hand.

The creature gasped, and Alex almost burst out laughing as its eyes grew large and its mouth tried to fall open but failed because he was still upside down.

“Oh, sir, a thousand apologies,” the creature stammered as Alex finally turned him right side up and released him. “I had no idea, I mean, Master Joshua never said—”

“Yes, I’m sure my father didn’t get a chance to say a lot of things,” said Alex. “Now, will you tell me who and what you are?”

“I’m Bobkin,” said the creature, snapping to attention. “Master smitty and keeper of the sanctuary.”

“Master smitty?” Alex questioned.

“Yes, sir.” Bobkin smiled with pride. “We’re magical folk that work in smithies. I’m not surprised you’ve never heard of us—not many people have. You may have heard of our cousins, though, the cobblers.”

“Cobblers? Oh, the little people who help make shoes,” said Alex.

“Shoes are what they are most known for, but they do all kinds of leather work. None better in the known lands,” said Bobkin.

“So you do the same kind of thing, only with smithing work,” said Alex.

“We do.”

“And you live here in this bag?”

“As keeper of the sanctuary, I have to stay,” answered Bobkin. “Of course, that could change now, what with Master Joshua gone.”

“Why would that change?”

“Your father was a kind man, sir, and he allowed us to set up a sanctuary here in his magic bag,” said Bobkin. “Smittys won’t work just anywhere; we have to be invited. And the smith doin’ the inviting has to have some talent for the work. He has to see the work as something more than just a job. It takes the right attitude to be a great smith, and if a smith doesn’t have it, we won’t stay. There are times when we have no place at all to live.”

“They have to see smith work as an art,” said Alex in a thoughtful tone.

“Yes, an art,” Bobkin agreed. “Smith work can be one of the greatest arts, but so few smiths see it that way.”

“I think I understand,” said Alex. “So you had nowhere else to go and my father let you stay in his bag.”

“Yes, sir, he did,” said Bobkin. “Only now he’s not here, and since the bag is yours, it’s up to you if we stay or go.”

“We?”Alex questioned. “How many of you are there?”

“There are only three of us here now, but there have been as many as twenty in the past. We live in the room behind the secret door,” said Bobkin, pointing to the far side of the room.

“What secret door?”

“The bookshelf in the far corner,” said Bobkin. “I can show you if you wish.”

“Maybe later,” said Alex, not wanting to be distracted from the conversation.

“And the sanctuary?” Bobkin questioned.

“I suppose you’d better keep it,” said Alex. “I’m sure my father had good reasons for letting you stay, and I won’t go against his wishes.”

“Oh, thank you, sir, thank you,” said Bobkin. “We are forever in your debt, and . . .”

“And?”

“Well, beggin’ your pardon, sir, but if you’d like some instruction or help with your smithing work, we’d be only too happy to assist you,” Bobkin said in a slightly nervous tone.

“I could use some help,” Alex said, glancing toward the true silver on the table.

“Not many know how to work the true silver,” said Bobkin. “The trick is to heat it slowly. If you put too much heat on it too fast, it hardens even more than it was to start with.”

“Really? That’s not what the book said.”

“I suspect that whoever wrote that book knew more about writing then they did about smithing,” said Bobkin with a snort. “Let me introduce you to my cousins and then we can discuss the art of working true silver.”

Alex nodded, and Bobkin puffed up and let out a long, loud whistle. A moment later, the bookshelf at the back of the smithy moved slightly, and two small figures came hurrying out of the hidden room, one leading the other. They both stopped abruptly at the sight of Alex.

“It’s all right,” Bobkin said, gesturing them forward. “This is Master Joshua’s son and heir. He said we can keep the sanctuary.”

“Thank goodness for that,” said the smitty in the lead.

“Master Alexander Taylor,” said Bobkin. “Let me introduce you to my cousins, Belkin and Dobkin.”

“A great honor,” said Belkin with a bow.

“Dobkin!” Dobkin shouted at the wall.

“Um, well, don’t mind Dobkin,” Bobkin said quickly. “He had a bit of an accident and hasn’t been himself for some time. ’Course, he’s getting better. He remembers his name now.”