"John Dechancie - Castle 07 - Castle Spellbound" - читать интересную книгу автора (Dechancie John)

Hadn't been entered in years. No dust spell, or the one that'd been laid on long ago had fizzled.
Consequently, the place is a mess. Have you heard of this?"
"Uh, yes, sir," Fetchen said. "They say there's many a curious artifact down there."
"Yes, possibly quite a number of historical value, once the Chamberlain can get in there to sort
things out. But he can't until the place is cleaned up."
"A dust-vanishing spell will do the trick, sir," Thorsby offered. "We can do those right well, sir."
"No vanishing spells!" Grosmond warned. "You might magick something of value into oblivion.
No, lads. Elbow grease will be your philtre, a broom your only talisman."
"Really, sir," Fetchen protested weakly.
Grosmond drew menacingly close to him. "Do I hear an objection?"
Fetchen swallowed. "None, Spellmaster Grosmond."
Grosmond smiled sweetly. "I thought not."
He turned and began walking out of the ready room. "Get down there now, and be quick about
it!" he growled over his shoulder.
"Yes, sir!" the two chorused.
When Grosmond's footsteps faded, Thorsby called out, "Ready-salute!"
Thumbs came up sharply to meet noses. They laughed.
"The old fart's losing it. He really didn't remember it was us this morning."
"And mostly every morning," Thorsby guffawed. He yawned and looked at the clock.
"Lunchtime, almost."
"Let's get down there and start," Fetchen said. "Or Grosmond'll roast our arses. We'll stop by the
kitchen and pick up grub."
"Capital idea. And a bottle of something, too."
They sauntered out of the room, leaving their gin hands to decorate the floorboards.
SHEILA'S WORLD

"TRENT? WAKE UP, DEAR."
He opened his eyes to a bright blue sky. The sun was low; it was late afternoon. A soft salt breeze
blew in from the ocean.
"Huh?"
Sheila, his wife, was bending over him, hand on his shoulder. "You were moaning. Having a bad
dream?"
He sat up on the chaise longue. Before him lay the aquamarine expanse of the hotel swimming
pool, placid in the declining tropical sun. The shadows of palm crossed its deep end.
He rubbed his eyes, then yawned.
"Are you okay?" she asked him.
"Yeah. sure. Just a dream."
"Bad one?"
"Don't quite remember. Weird . . . trees . . . just weird."
He looked at Sheila. She was tall, red-haired and beautiful, and he loved every inch of her. He
surveyed her up and down, as if for the first time. She was quite fetching, especially in this
colorful, delightfully translucent silk frock.
"Our guests are going to arrive any minute," she said.
"Guests?" He had a sense that he'd been away for some time. The dream . . .
"Our cocktail party for Incarnadine's birthday? He didn't want a fuss made, so we're throwing him
a little shindig by the pool. Remember?"
"Oh. Yeah. Sure, sure. Is Inky here yet?"
"Not yet," Sheila said, turning. "But here's Gene and Linda."
"Yo, dudes!" Gene called. "And dudesses."
"Hello?" Sheila went to greet the first of her guests.