JК
The Floodgate :: Каннингем Элейн
Страница: 31 из 212Tzigone came over to the window and leaned out, watching as inkbottleand quills dived into the garden pool far below. The water took on a soft shade of lavender as it bubbled from the fountain.
She drew her head back into the room and turned, muttering oaths learned over the years from various street sharps and traveling performers. Her voice died in the midst of a particularly pungent phrase. Her new master stood in the doorway, his black eyes bulging with astonishment.
Basel Indoulur stood silent and still. Tzigone found this disconcerting. The wizard was ever in motion: his beaded braids swinging about his shoulders, his pair of chins wobbling in counterpoint to his frequent laugh. He was not laughing now.
Tzigone followed his gaze as it swept over the ruined room. The extent of the damage surprised her, now that she had time to consider it. She placed small value on wealth and the fine things it could buy, but she knew few people were of this mind.
Basel walked slowly through the room. He stopped before the defiled portrait. His shoulders went rigid.
Tzigone sighed resignedly. Few things offended Halruaans more than a slight upon their ancestors. "You don't need to say it. I'll get my things together."
The conjurer cleared his throat and turned to face her. "You gave my grandma’s sister a mustache."
She conceded with a little shrug.
"Well, that is a shame, considering all the trouble she went through to have the original one removed."
There was a slightly strangled note to the wizard's voice, and suddenly Tzigone suspected that he was repressing not rage but mirth.
"The ink should clean off, and I could probably put the peacock feathers back into the portrait," she suggested.
"By no means! As a boy I was always compelled kiss Great-aunt Aganzard goodnight, though she always wore at least a bird's worth of feathers. My nose itches just from thinking about it. It does my heart good to see the old boot without her fripperies for once. So," he concluded briskly, with the air of one ready to move on. "The scrolls are finished? Seven and twenty copies?"
"At least."
"Fine, fine," he said, beaming. "Since you've completed your day's work, you have time for a bit of a treat."
This bewildered her. Although grateful that the wizard was not angry, she didn't expect to be rewarded for destroying his study.
"We're taking up Avariel," he continued, naming the skyship that Tzigone had been admiring since her first day in the conjurer's tower. "I intend to visit Procopio Septus, lord mayor of Halarahh, and present you as my new apprentice.
She drew her head back into the room and turned, muttering oaths learned over the years from various street sharps and traveling performers. Her voice died in the midst of a particularly pungent phrase. Her new master stood in the doorway, his black eyes bulging with astonishment.
Basel Indoulur stood silent and still. Tzigone found this disconcerting. The wizard was ever in motion: his beaded braids swinging about his shoulders, his pair of chins wobbling in counterpoint to his frequent laugh. He was not laughing now.
Tzigone followed his gaze as it swept over the ruined room. The extent of the damage surprised her, now that she had time to consider it. She placed small value on wealth and the fine things it could buy, but she knew few people were of this mind.
Basel walked slowly through the room. He stopped before the defiled portrait. His shoulders went rigid.
Tzigone sighed resignedly. Few things offended Halruaans more than a slight upon their ancestors. "You don't need to say it. I'll get my things together."
The conjurer cleared his throat and turned to face her. "You gave my grandma’s sister a mustache."
She conceded with a little shrug.
"Well, that is a shame, considering all the trouble she went through to have the original one removed."
There was a slightly strangled note to the wizard's voice, and suddenly Tzigone suspected that he was repressing not rage but mirth.
"The ink should clean off, and I could probably put the peacock feathers back into the portrait," she suggested.
"By no means! As a boy I was always compelled kiss Great-aunt Aganzard goodnight, though she always wore at least a bird's worth of feathers. My nose itches just from thinking about it. It does my heart good to see the old boot without her fripperies for once. So," he concluded briskly, with the air of one ready to move on. "The scrolls are finished? Seven and twenty copies?"
"At least."
"Fine, fine," he said, beaming. "Since you've completed your day's work, you have time for a bit of a treat."
This bewildered her. Although grateful that the wizard was not angry, she didn't expect to be rewarded for destroying his study.
"We're taking up Avariel," he continued, naming the skyship that Tzigone had been admiring since her first day in the conjurer's tower. "I intend to visit Procopio Septus, lord mayor of Halarahh, and present you as my new apprentice.