"Charles de Lint - Pixel Pixies" - читать интересную книгу автора (De Lint Charles)

eyes and pointed ears.

This wasn't good at all, Dick thought, recognizing the pixies for what they were. Everybody knew how
you spelled "trouble". It was "P-I-X-Y".

And then they started to clamber out of the screen, which shouldn't have been possible at all, but Dick
was a hob and he understood that just because something shouldn't be able to happen, didn't mean it
couldn't. Or wouldn't.

"Oh, this is bad," he said mournfully. "Bad, bad, bad."

He gave a quick look up to the ceiling. He had to warn the mistress. But it was already too late. Between
one thought and the next, a dozen or more pixies had climbed out of the computer on to her desk, not
one of them taller than his own waist. They began riffling through her papers, using her pens and ruler as
swords to poke at each other. Two of them started a pushing match that resulted in a small stack of
books falling off the side of the desk. They landed with a bang on the floor.

The sound was so loud that Dick was sure the mistress would come down to investigate, she and her
fierce little dog. The pixies all stood like little statues until first one, then another, started to giggle again.
When they all began to shove at a bigger stack of books, Dick couldn't wait any longer.

Quick as a monkey, he scurried down to the floor.

"Stop!" he shouted as he ran to the front of the store.

And, "Here, you!"

And, "Don't!"

The pixies turned at the sound of his voice and Dick skidded to a stop.

"Oh, oh," he said.

The little men were still giggling and elbowing each other, but there was a wicked light in their eyes now,
and they were all looking at him with those dark, considering gazes. Poor Dick realized that he hadn't
thought any of this through in the least bit properly, for now that he had their attention, he had no idea
what to do with it. They might only be a third his size, individually, but there were at least twenty of them
and everybody knew just how mean a pixy could be, did he set his mind to it.

"Well, will you look at that," one of the pixies said. "It's a little hobberdy man." He looked at his
companions. "What shall we do with him?"

"Smash him!"

"Whack him!"

"Find a puddle and drown him!"

Dick turned and fled, back the way he'd come. The pixies streamed from the top of Mistress Holly's
desk, laughing wickedly and shouting threats as they chased him. Up the "Poetry" shelves Dick went, all