"Dave Luckett - The Girl The Dragon And The Wild Magic" - читать интересную книгу автора (Luckett Dave)

Mr. Spellwright was standing at the shop door, his thumbs in his waistcoat pockets. Rhianna's mother
had always told her to be very polite to Mr. Spellwright because he was an important man, and well-off,
and had the only spell shop in the village. He was tall and portly, with a long face like a hound's, but his
eyes were a lizard's eyes, sharp and glittery.

"Good day, Mr. Spellwright," said Rhianna.

Mr. Spellwright looked straight through her and sniffed. His thumbs remained in his waistcoat pockets.
Mr. Spellwright didn't like people who were new to the village, like the Wildwoods. And he liked to
think of himself as a wizard and a person far superior to Rhianna's father, who was the village
blacksmith.

"I need to get ten grains of amber for Mother," Rhianna went on.

Mr. Spellwright grunted and turned his back, retreating into the darkness of the little shop. Rhianna
followed him in.

It was darker and cooler inside, with odd shadows in the corners. They formed shapes that melted when
you looked straight at them, but came back when you looked away. Magical ingredients of all sorts were
stacked in rows on shelves, or filled big glass jars. Many of them looked or smelled odd--sharp or
pungent or spicy or musky.

All sorts of strange ingredients were needed for spellcasting. Alum and peat, to make spells of shrinking
and drying, for the clothmakers. Mermaids' purses, to make spells to call fish, for the fisherfolk.
Lodestone and pelligorny, to make spells to find or hold, soapwort and rue and balsam, to repair or
clean. Spells to make things grow, spells to work small changes, and spells to preserve, all with their own
ingredients. Most people used some magic every day, and Mr. Spellwright supplied all the things they
needed. He had a good business. It seemed that people needed more and more magic.

But that wasn't all there was in the shop. There were oddly shaped dusty glass bottles that never seemed
to be used. There were pigeonhole racks at the back of the shop with small colored jars and even smaller
vials that were never opened. It was difficult to see what was in them. People said that they contained
weirder things yet, ingredients for greater spells than most folk could manage. Spells that needed the
bones of strange animals, or leaves of the deadly upas tree, or even troll hide and dragon blood, serpent
venom and elf-shot. There was a preserved snake floating in clear liquid in a large jar. Rhianna could
never make out its tail. Both ends seemed to have heads--or were there two snakes? The colors of the
scales seemed to come and go as she watched, and she thought the little black eyes followed her.

Mr. Spellwright slid behind his counter and took down a jar of amber dust from a shelf. He weighed out
ten grains of it, poured it into a small paper bag, twisted the bag shut, and put it on the counter. Without
saying anything, he held out a hand.

Rhianna gave him a coin. She picked up the bag and said, "Thank you, Mr. Spellwright," then turned and
walked out of the shop, feeling his eyes on her back all the way. To reach the sunshine outside was a
relief.

She trailed on up the street towards home. It wasn't a long enough walk, between the little houses and
beyond the village green, but she made it last as long as she could. That note from Mrs. Greenapple
would have beaten her home. What on earth was she going to say to her mother?
Chapter 2