JК
The Colour of Magic :: Пратчетт Терри
Страница: 12 из 150He tried to fit the image around the word “quaint”, or rather the nearest Trob equivalent, which was “that pleasant oddity of design found in the little coral houses of the sponge-eating pigmies on the Orohai peninsular”.
His mind reeled back from the effort. The visitor went on, “My name is Twoflower,” and extended his hand. Instinctively, the other three looked down to see if there was a coin in it.
“Pleased to meet you,” said Rincewind. “I’m Rincewind. Look, I wasn’t joking. This is a tough place.”
“Good! Exactly what I wanted!”
“Eh?”
“What is this stuff in the mugs?”
“This? Beer. Thanks, Broadman. Yes. Beer. You know. Beer.”
“Ah, the so-typical drink. A small gold piece will be sufficient payment, do you think? I do not want to cause offense.”
It was already half out of his purse.
“Yarrt,” croaked Rincewind. “I mean, no, it won’t cause Offense.”
“Good. You say this is a tough place. Frequented, you mean, by heroes and men of adventure?”
Rincewind considered this. “Yes?” he managed.
“Excellent. I would like to meet some.”
An explanation occurred to the wizard. “Ah,” he said. “You’ve come to hire mercenaries (“warriors who fight for the tribe with most milknut-meal”)?”
“Oh no. I just want to meet them. So that when I get home I can say that I did it.”
Rincewind thought that a meeting with most of the Drum’s clientele would mean that Twoflower never went home again, unless he lived downriver and happened to float past.
“Where is your home?” he inquired.
Broadman had slipped away into some back room, he noticed. Hugh was watching them suspiciously from a nearby table.
“Have you heard of the city of Des Palargic?”
“Well, I didn’t spend much time in Trob. I was just passing through, you know—”
“Oh, it’s not in Trob. I speak Trob because there are many beTrobi sailors in our ports. Des Palargic is the major seaport of the Agatean Empire.”
“Never heard of it, I’m afraid.”
Twoflower raised his eyebrows. “No? It is quite big. You sail turnwise from the Brown Islands for about a week and there it is. Are you all right?” He hurried around the table and patted the wizard on the back. Rincewind choked on his beer-The Counterweight Continent!
Three streets away an old man dropped a coin into a saucer of acid and swirled it gently.
His mind reeled back from the effort. The visitor went on, “My name is Twoflower,” and extended his hand. Instinctively, the other three looked down to see if there was a coin in it.
“Pleased to meet you,” said Rincewind. “I’m Rincewind. Look, I wasn’t joking. This is a tough place.”
“Good! Exactly what I wanted!”
“Eh?”
“What is this stuff in the mugs?”
“This? Beer. Thanks, Broadman. Yes. Beer. You know. Beer.”
“Ah, the so-typical drink. A small gold piece will be sufficient payment, do you think? I do not want to cause offense.”
It was already half out of his purse.
“Yarrt,” croaked Rincewind. “I mean, no, it won’t cause Offense.”
“Good. You say this is a tough place. Frequented, you mean, by heroes and men of adventure?”
Rincewind considered this. “Yes?” he managed.
“Excellent. I would like to meet some.”
An explanation occurred to the wizard. “Ah,” he said. “You’ve come to hire mercenaries (“warriors who fight for the tribe with most milknut-meal”)?”
“Oh no. I just want to meet them. So that when I get home I can say that I did it.”
Rincewind thought that a meeting with most of the Drum’s clientele would mean that Twoflower never went home again, unless he lived downriver and happened to float past.
“Where is your home?” he inquired.
Broadman had slipped away into some back room, he noticed. Hugh was watching them suspiciously from a nearby table.
“Have you heard of the city of Des Palargic?”
“Well, I didn’t spend much time in Trob. I was just passing through, you know—”
“Oh, it’s not in Trob. I speak Trob because there are many beTrobi sailors in our ports. Des Palargic is the major seaport of the Agatean Empire.”
“Never heard of it, I’m afraid.”
Twoflower raised his eyebrows. “No? It is quite big. You sail turnwise from the Brown Islands for about a week and there it is. Are you all right?” He hurried around the table and patted the wizard on the back. Rincewind choked on his beer-The Counterweight Continent!
Three streets away an old man dropped a coin into a saucer of acid and swirled it gently.