Calling on Dragons - Wrede Patricia Collins (читать книги полностью без сокращений TXT) 📗

By this time, Morwen had recognized the bad-tempered wooden gargoyle that occupied the upper corner of King Mendanbar's study. "Good morning, gargoyle. Do Mendanbar and Cimorene know how you answer their mirror?"

The gargoyle snorted. "It was her idea. She thought it might cut down on the stupid questions people ask."

"I might have guessed. Where are they? I've got some news they should hear right away."

"They've gone to the beach with Kazul," the gargoyle said in tones of disgust. "Work's piling up, but do they care? No! Do they even ask if it's a good idea? No! They just pack a bag of towels and take off.

Poof!"

"I see. In that case-" "He humors her too much," the gargoyle went on confidentially.

"She's healthy as a horse, but you wouldn't know it, the way he fusses over her. And I'm going to have to put up with it for another six or seven months, at least! What he'll be like when the baby actually arrives-well, all I can say is that I'm going to have a full-time job trying to see that the kid isn't spoiled rotten."

"I expect Cimorene will help," Morwen said. "How soon will they be back?"

"How should I know? I'm not a secretary."

"Well, as soon as they arrive-either of them-tell them that I've reason to think that there's a wizard running around in the forest."

The gargoyle's eyes widened, making him look even uglier than before.

"A wizard? Hoo boy?"

"I'm going to call Telemain next," Morwen went on. "If we're not here when they call back, tell them to come on out anyway. The cats can show them how to find us."

"I bet," the gargoyle muttered. "Anything else? 'Cause if there isn't, I'm going back to sleep."

"That's all," Morwen said, and the mirror clouded over. As soon as it cleared, she repeated the rhyme and snapped, "Telemain," in response to the mirror's polite question.

This time it took much longer for the glass to clear. When it did, Telemain's face scowled out of the mirror. His ferocious expression lightened only fractionally when he saw who was calling.

"Oh, hello, Morwen! Will this take long? I've just set up an exceedingly sensitive spell to test the stability quotient of-" "It's wizards," Morwen interrupted. "Well, one of them, at the very least, though in my experience whenever one turns up a half-dozen more are sure to follow. They're worse than cockroaches."

"You're in a poor humor this morning." Telemain ran a hand across his neat black beard, a sure sign that he was interested but didn't want to show it. "What about this wizard?"

"He appears to have been poking around near my home," Morwen said. "Or so I conclude from the splotches his staff left in the moss."

Telemain shook his head. "That is quite impossible. The warding enchantment that Mendanbar and I worked out keeps wizards from absorbing, manipulating, utilizing, or controlling any portion of the magical basis on which the Enchanted Forest is founded. So even if a wizard were unwise enough to enter the forest, his staff could not possibly leave, er, 'splotches in the moss."" "I know it's supposed to work that way," Morwen said. "But the splotches are there. So is a six-foot rabbit-this wizard is careless as well as nosy and impossible.

If you don't believe me, come and look at them yourself."

"I believe I shall," Telemain said. "It'll only take me a few minutes to set up the transportation spell, and firsthand observation is always superior to reports from even the most reliable of witnesses. Now, let me see; I had better bring the microdynometer, and some detection instruments, and-" He turned away, muttering to himself, and the mirror blanked abruptly. Morwen rolled her eyes.

"He's in rare form today," said Aunt Ophelia from behind her. "What was that about 'reliable witnesses'?"

Turning, Morwen saw the tortoiseshell cat standing just inside the open study door. "Since it came from Telemain, I'd have to say it was a compliment."

"Someone should take him in hand before he talks himself into a real mess."

"He can take care of himself," Morwen said. "If he couldn't, someone would have murdered him years ago. I've been tempted a time or two myself." Out of habit, she glanced around the study to see if there was anything she needed. Then she walked out to the kitchen and picked up the can of paint she'd abandoned there after Archaniz's visit. With a little luck, she could finish touching up the sign over the door before any of her visitors arrived.

4

In Which Morwen and Telemain Argue and Killer Discovers the Perils of Mixing Cosmetics and Magic

By the time Telemain appeared in the front yard, Morwen had finished the sign and was cleaning her brush. He did a tidy transportation spell, Morwen had to admit, even if her own taste ran more to flying.

The passage hadn't even ruffled his dark hair. He'd clearly come prepared: The many pockets of his open knee-length black vest were bulging, and so were the pouches that hung from his wide black belt.

Seven magic rings glittered on his fingers, three on his left hand, four on his right. His bright blue eyes were alight with anticipation.

"Well, it's about time," Aunt Ophelia said acidly as he walked up the porch steps.

"Hello to you, too," Telemain said, nodding far more politely than he would have if he'd understood her comment. "There you are, Morwen! Where are these hypothetical wizards of yours?"

"I bet he doesn't even know which one of us you are," Scorn said from the porch rail. "Hypothetical wizards, indeed!"

"What's that?" Fiddlesticks shouted from inside the house.

On the window ledge, Jasmine yawned, curling up her tongue and stretching her head back. Then she called back, "Telemain's here."

"Who's here?" Fiddlesticks poked his head around the edge of the door. "Telemain! Chaos, Murgatroyd, Trouble, Telemain's here!"

"Chaos and Trouble are watching that rabbit, "said Miss Eliza, in a tone that indicated clearly that she would have liked very much to call it something else but was far too polite to actually do so.

"If I knew where the wizards were, I wouldn't need your help," Morwen said to Telemain. "The dead spots in the moss are about twenty minutes' walk from my back garden, if the forest hasn't moved them."

"Twenty minutes! Morwen, I don't have time-" "I'd have told you to transport straight there, but I don't think you've been to the place before, and there's no sense in taking chances. Besides, it'll only take two minutes by broomstick, even riding double and with an extra load."

Telemain shook his head. "No. No. Absolutely not. I have no intention of riding on that uncomfortable contraption of yours ever again. Once was quite enough."

"Wimp," said Scorn.

"You only think broomsticks are uncomfortable because you insist on riding astride," Morwen said to Telemain. "If you'd sit sidesaddle, the way you're supposed to-" "No!"

"Well, if you really want to hand-carry a bucket of soapy water mixed with a little lemon juice on a twenty-minute walk-" "What? Morwen, you didn't say anything about buckets."

"Water?" Fiddlesticks sat up very straight, his nose twitching.

"Buckets of water? With soap? Maybe I won't come with you this time, either, Morwen."

"I thought the buckets were obvious," Morwen told Telemain. "If there are wizards around, I want to be able to get rid of them in a hurry."

And the only way to do that, so far as anyone knew, was to dump a bucket of soapy water mixed with a little lemon juice over the top of them. For some reason, this made them melt into a gooey puddle, and it usually took several days for them to put themselves together again.

Cimorene had discovered the method by accident, back when she was living with the dragon Kazul.

"Soapy water," Telemain muttered. "Buckets. I still say it's terribly inelegant."