"Gordon R. Dickson - Dragon Knight 03 - The Dragon on the Border" - читать интересную книгу автора (Dickson Gordon R)

that it had been a private chamber for his father and mother, when his mother had been alive. A wooden
frame with some half-finished needlework on it still stood in one corner. Clearly, Herrac had vacated it
for his guests.

“You will stay at least the month, will you not?” said Giles eagerly, as he showed them to this room. He
was asking them all; but his eyes were on Jim. “There’ll be fine hunting as soon as the weather warms a
little; and fishing, if you’re interested, such as you never encountered. There’s a thousand things I’d wish
to show you. You will stay?”

Jim winced internally.

“I’m sorry, Giles,” he said, “but business requires a stay of only a week; and then, I, at least, must start
home again.”

He winced again internally at Giles’s suddenly unhappy face.

“You must remember,” Jim said, “we thought you dead, or lost forever as a seal in the waters of the
English Channel. We hoped to do no more here than tell your family the manner of your death, and then
make our decent withdrawal. Had we known differently, possibly we could have planned differently.”

“Oh-oh, I understand,” said Giles, with an effortful attempt at a smile. “Of course, you wouldn’t have
expected much more of a stay than was necessary to a family which had lost a son. I was foolish to think
of a longer stay; and wrapped in affairs, both magical and ordinary, as you yourself must be, James... It’s
quite all right. We’ll simply make the most of the week.”

Jim stood, feeling terrible. It hurt him deeply to see Giles’s disappointment. But he could not delay his
return, or Angie would immediately begin to assume that something had happened to him. He hesitated,
hoping that Brian would speak up and say something to back him up. But Brian stayed silent.

To someone such as Brian, a duty like the trip here to the Castle de Mer could never be thought of as
anything that could be put off simply because of wifely fears. It was a custom of the time; and customs of
the time were iron laws in many respects.

“I’m sorry, Giles,” said Jim, again.

“That’s all right, as I say,” said Giles.

“Well, well,” said Giles, trying to smile. “Still, it will be a week to remember. Now the bed here, though
large, may be a little small for the three of you-“

“That’s all right,” interrupted Jim. “I sleep on the floor. Part of the rules of my magic, you know.”

“Oh. Of course!” said Giles, completely satisfied.

Jim’s original excuse, that he had made a vow that kept him from sleeping in any bed (which would be
invariably populated with vermin), which had worked so well the previous year on their way to France,
had become a little worn. Instead, he had come up with an excuse that his apprenticeship in magic
required him to sleep on a floor rather than a bed.

This excuse served perfectly well; and it had only been afterwards that Jim realized that almost any