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

But here was the smart red tracksuit of Mr. Towers loping along beside him. "Charles, what are you
doing running in walking shoes?"
The fat witch vanished. Charles should have been glad, but he was not. His thinking had been
interrupted, and he was not private anymore.
"I said why aren't you wearing your spikes?" Mr. Towers said.
Charles slowed down a little while he wondered what to reply. Mr. Towers trotted springily beside
him, waiting for an answer. Because he was not thinking anymore, Charles found his legs aching and his
chest sore. That annoyed him. He was even more annoyed about his spikes. He knew Dan Smith had
hidden them. That was why that group were laughing. Charles could see their faces craning over their
shoulders as they ran, to see what he was telling Mr. Towers. That annoyed him even more. Charles did
not usually have this kind of trouble, the way Brian Wentworth did. His double-barreled nasty look had kept
him safe up to now, if lonely. But he foresaw he was going to have to think of something more than just
looking in future. He felt very bitter.
"I couldn't find my spikes, sir."
"How hard did you look?"
"Everywhere," Charles said bitterly. Why don't I say it was them? he wondered. And knew the
answer. Life would not be worth living for the rest of the term.
"In my experience," said Mr. Towers, running and talking as easily as if he were sitting still, "when a
lazy boy like you says everywhere, it means nowhere. Report to me in the locker room after school and find
those spikes. You stay there until you find them. Right?"
"Yes," said Charles. Bitterly, he watched Mr. Towers surge away from him and run up beside the
next group to pester Nirupam Singh.
He hunted for his spikes again during break. But it was hopeless. Dan had hidden them somewhere
really cunning. At least, after break, Dan Smith had something else to laugh about besides Charles. Nan
Pilgrim soon found out what. As Nan came into the classroom for lessons, she was greeted by Nirupam.
"Hello," said Nirupam. "Will you do your rope trick for me too?"
Nan gave him a glare that was mostly astonishment and pushed past him without replying. How did
he know about the ropes? she thought. The girls just never talked to the boys! How did he know?
But next moment, Simon Silverson came up to Nan, barely able to stop laughing. "My dear Dulcinea!"
he said. "What a charming name you have! Were you called after the Archwitch?" After that, he doubled
up with laughter, and so did most of the people nearby.
"Her name really is Dulcinea, you know," Nirupam said to Charles.
This was true. Nan's face felt to her like a balloon on fire. Nothing else, she was sure, could be so
large and so hot. Dulcinea Wilkes had been the most famous witch of all time. No one was supposed to
know Nan's name was Dulcinea. She could not think how it had leaked out. She tried to stalk loftily away to
her desk, but she was caught by person after person, all laughingly calling out, "Hey, Dulcinea!" She did not
manage to sit down until Mr. Wentworth was already in the room.
6B usually paid attention during Mr. Wentworth's lessons. He was known to be absolutely merciless.
Besides, he had a knack of being interesting, which made his lessons seem shorter than other teachers'.
But today, no one could keep their mind on Mr. Wentworth. Nan was trying not to cry. When, a year ago,
Nan's aunts had brought her to Larwood House, even softer, plumper, and more timid than she was now,
Miss Cadwallader had promised that no one should know her name was Dulcinea. Miss Cadwallader had
prom-ised! So how had someone found out? The rest of 6B kept breaking into laughter and excited
whispers. Could Nan Pilgrim be a witch? Fancy anyone being called Dulcinea! It was as bad as being
called Guy Fawkes! Halfway through the lesson, Theresa Mullett was so overcome by the thought of Nan's
name that she was forced to bury her face in her knitting to laugh.
Mr. Wentworth promptly took the knitting away. He dumped the clean white bundle on the desk in
front of him and inspected it dubiously. "What is it about this that seems so funny?" He unrolled the towel-at
which Theresa gave a faint yell of dismay-and held up a very small fluffy thing with holes in it. "Just what is
this?" Everyone laughed. "It's a bootee!" Theresa said angrily. "Who for?" retorted Mr. Wentworth.