"Brown,.Mary.-.Unicorn's.Ring.4.-.1999.-.Dragonne's.Eg" - читать интересную книгу автора (Brown Mary)

middle of a circle of six scaly others, dropping Ky-Lin unceremoniously to the
ground.
All the dragons were hissing. They were not amused. . . .
BAEN BOOKS by MARY BROWN
The Unlikely Ones
Pigs Don't Fly
Master of Many Treasures
Strange Deliverance
Dragonne's Eg
BOOK ONE
"Where there's a Will there's a Way"
—William Hazlitt
Chapter One
Birthday Girl
"Please, Miss! Ern's 'avin' a fit again . . ."
Birthdays shouldn't be like this, I thought savagely as I squeezed along the
narrow row between the desks to where Ernest was jerking uncontrollably. I held
him tight for a moment, glad to see that he hadn't bitten his tongue; as his
spasms lessened and he started to snore I scooped him up in my arms and carried
him out of the class, down the corridor and into the kitchen, where there was a
pallet in a corner for emergencies. I stripped off his soiled pants, chucked
them into a bucket and rinsed them out, my nose wrinkling as I draped them over
a fireguard to dry.
Ellen turned from the stove, where she was stirring the soup.
" 'Im again? Just cover 'im up, I'll keep an eye on 'im." The smell of the soup
made my mouth water. On the table the bread was already sliced. Ellen saw my
face.
"All counted out, miss—but come 'ere . . ." She took a knob of crust from the
side and dipped it into the soup. "Careful, it's 'ot!"
And absolutely delicious. I crammed it into my mouth all at once, in danger of
choking.
"Thanks, Ellen. Only an hour to go . . ."
"Thank God it's Sat'day!"
"Amen to that!"
As I made my way back to the classroom, making sure no crumbs would betray my
scrounging and wiping my mouth on one of my second-best handkerchiefs, one used
to mop up childish tears, snot or blood from cuts and grazes, I reflected that I
should have a full two hours extra this afternoon to celebrate my twenty-first
birthday.
School was from eight in the morning till six at night, Mondays to Friday, but
on Saturday we broke two hours earlier. Fine in summer, but in winter it made
little difference, the nights closing in early. Just two hours longer shut away
in my room, a smoky little fire in the grate; just two more hours mending or
trimming or studying. Once a week I would call at the local lending library, but
I read so fast and so voraciously that I had to ration my pleasure to an hour a
day. One penny a week was all I could afford, this being the going rate for
borrowing.
I preferred to save a penny or two here and there and browse through one of the
second-hand bookshops. This way I had built up my own little library: by now I
had some of the novels of Mr. Dickens, Miss Austen, the Misses Brontл, Mrs.