"Diana Wynne Jones - Derkholm 1 - Dark Lord of Derkholm" - читать интересную книгу автора (Jones Diana Wynne)

she meant what she said. But two people went on talking, anyway.
Gloomy King Luther murmured from the end of the table, “Being a
snake might be a relief.” And when Querida’s eyes darted around at
him, he stared glumly back, daring her to do it.
And Wizard Barnabas, who was vice chancellor of the University,
simply went on talking. “… trying to say, Querida, that you don’t
understand what it’s like. You’re a woman. You only have to be the
Glamorous Enchantress. Mr. Chesney won’t let women do the Dark
Lord.” Querida’s eyes snapped around at him with no effect at all.
Barnabas gave her a cheerful smile and puffed a little. His face
seemed designed for good humor. His hair and beard romped
around his face in gray curls. He looked into Querida’s pouched eyes
with his blue, bloodshot ones and added, “We’re all worn out, the lot
of us.”
“Hear, hear!” a number of people around the table muttered
cautiously.
“I know that!” Querida snapped. “And if you’d listen, instead of
all complaining at once, you’d hear me saying that I’ve called this
meeting to discuss how to put a stop to Mr. Chesney’s Pilgrim
Parties for good.”
This produced an astonished silence.
A bitter little smile put folds in Querida’s cheeks. “‘Yes,” she said.
“I’m well aware that you elected me high chancellor because you
thought I was the only person ruthless enough to oppose Mr.
Chesney and that you’ve all been very disappointed when I didn’t
immediately leap at his throat. I have, of course, been studying the
situation. It is not easy to plan a campaign against a man who lives
in another world and organizes his tours from there.” Her small
green-white hands moved to the piles of paper, bark, and
parchment in front of her, and she began stacking them in new
heaps, with little dry, rustling movements. “But it is clear to me,”
she said, “that things have gone from bad, to intolerable, to crisis
point, and that something must be done. Here I have forty-six
petitions from all the male wizards attached to the University and
twenty-two from other male magic users, each pleading chronic
overwork. This pile is three letters signed by over a hundred female
wizards, who claim they are being denied equal rights. They are
accurate. Mr. Chesney does not think females can be wizards.” Her
hands moved on to a mighty stack of parchments with large red
seals dangling off them. “This,” she said, “is from the kings. Every
monarch in the world has written to me at least once protesting at
what the tours do to their kingdoms. It is probably only necessary
to quote from one. King Luther, perhaps you would care to give us
the gist of the letter I receive from you once a month?”
“Yes, I would,” said King Luther. He leaned forward and gripped
the table with powerful blue-knuckled hands. “My kingdom is being
ravaged,” he said. “I have been selected as Evil King fifteen times
in the last twenty years, with the result that I have a tour through
there once a week, invading my court and trying to kill me or my
courtiers. My wife has left me and taken the children with her for