"Diana Wynne Jones - Witch Week" - читать интересную книгу автора (Jones Diana Wynne)

EDITOR'S NOTE

Late one night in 1605, a soldier named Guy Fawkes was caught with some two tons of
gunpowder that he had smuggled into a cellar beneath the Houses of Parliament in London. Fawkes was
arrested, tried, and executed for his part in the Gunpowder Plot- a failed conspiracy to blow up King
James I and most of his government the very next day, November 5. Centuries later, English people still
set off fireworks, light bonfires, and burn "Guys" in effigy to celebrate November 5 as Guy Fawkes Day.

Chapter One
The note said: SOMEONE IN THIS CLASS IS A WITCH. It was written in capital letters in ordinary
blue ballpoint, and it had appeared between two of the geography books Mr. Crossley was marking.
Anyone could have written it. Mr. Crossley rubbed his ginger moustache unhappily. He looked out over
the bowed heads of Class 6B and wondered what to do about it.
He decided not to take the note to the headmistress. It was possibly just a joke, and Miss
Cadwallader had no sense of humor to speak of. The person to take it to was the deputy head, Mr.
Wentworth. But the difficulty there was that Mr. Wentworth's son was a member of 6B-the small boy near
the back who looked younger than the rest was Brian Wentworth. No. Mr. Crossley decided to ask the
writer of the note to own up. He would explain just what a serious accusation it was and leave the rest to
the person's con-science.
Mr. Crossiey cleared his throat to speak. Some of 6B looked up hopefully but Mr. Crossiey had
changed his mind then. It was journal time, and journal time was only to be interrupted for a serious
emergency. Larwood House was very strict about that rule. Larwood House was very strict about a lot of
things, because it was a boarding school run by the government for witch-orphans and children with other
problems. The journals were to help the children with their problems. They were supposed to be strictly
private. Every day, for half an hour, every pupil had to confide his or her private thoughts to their journals,
and nothing else was done until everyone had. Mr. Crossley admired the idea heartily.
But the real reason that Mr. Crossley changed his mind was the awful thought that the note might be
true. Someone in 6B could easily be a witch. Only Miss Cadwallader knew who exactly in 6B was a
witch-orphan, but Mr. Crossley suspected that a lot of them were. Other classes had given Mr. Crossley
feelings of pride and pleasure in being a schoolmaster; 6B never did. Only two of them gave him any pride
at all: Theresa Mullett and Simon Silverson. They were both model pupils. The rest of the girls tailed
dismally off until you came to empty chatterers like Estelle Green, or that dumpy girl, Nan Pilgrim, who was
definitely the odd one out. The boys were divided into groups. Some had the sense to follow Simon
Silverson's example, but quite as many clustered round that bad boy Dan Smith, and others again admired
that tall Indian boy Nirupam Singh. Or they were loners like Brian Wentworth and that unpleasant boy
Charles Morgan.
Here Mr. Crossley looked at Charles Morgan and Charles Morgan looked back, with one of the
blank, nasty looks he was famous for. Charles wore glasses, which enlarged the nasty look and trained it on
Mr. Crossley like a double laser beam. Mr. Crossley looked away hastily and went back to worrying about
the note. Everyone in 6B gave up hoping for anything interesting to happen and went back to their journals.
28 October 1981, Theresa Mullett wrote in round, angelic writing. Mr. Crossley has found a note
in our geography books. I thought it might be from Miss Hodge at first, because we all know Teddy
is dying for love of her, but he looks so worried that I think it must be from some silly girl like Estelle
Green. Nan Pilgrim couldn't get over the vaulting horse again today. She jumped and stuck halfway.
It made us all laugh.
Simon Silverson wrote: 28. 10. 81. I would like to know who put that note in the geography
books. It fell out when I was collecting them and I put it back in. If it was found lying about we
could all be blamed. This is strictly off the record of course.
I do not know, Nirupam Singh wrote musingly, how anyone manages to write much in their
journal, since everyone knows Miss Cadwallader reads them all during the holidays. I do not write