"Robert Weinberg - Logical Magician 02 - A Calculated Magician" - читать интересную книгу автора (Weinberg Robert)

created with the ability to read and speak.”
“But why indulge in fantasy fiction?” asked Jack. “Why not history? Or perhaps westerns?”
“Use your brain, Johnnie,” said Hugo. “How many times did you come home from school and
find one of your books on the floor with the pages open? Or have a volume disappear for a week or
two, then turn up again as if it had never been gone?”
Jack’s face turned bright red. “The two of you? Borrowing my books? My valuable,
first-edition books!”
“Calm down,” said Mongo. “We tried to be careful with them.”
“Sure we were,” said Hugo. “Though turning the pages on those old pulp magazines put a hell of
a crimp in my neck. The paper kept crumbling into shreds.”
“My pulps?” said Jack, growing more and more agitated. “You turned the pages of my pulps
with your beaks? Some of those magazines are sixty years old. They’re irreplaceable!”
“Tasted like it, too,” said Hugo. Then, seeing the expression on Jack’s face, the raven quickly
added, “The shreds, that is. The tiny bits of paper that fell off the edges.”
Freda Collins chose that moment, as her son started reaching out with both hands to wring the
life out of the bird in front of him, to open the door to Merlin’s office. “Good to see you’re getting
acquainted,” she declared cheerfully.
“Mother,” said Jack, dropping his hands to his sides, “your ravens have been secretly reading my
fantasy books for years,” His voice trembled with the anger of a true collector. “They put beak marks in
my pulps.”
“Blame me, Johnnie,” said his mother, calmly. “I gave them permission. The birds were bored.
There wasn’t a lot for them to do the past few decades, now that warfare’s changed so much. Reading
was their only escape from monotony. Besides, they liked your taste in literature.”
“Yeah,” said Hugo. “You never heard us complain. Including when you got hooked for a year on
those dreadful H. P. Lovecraft Cthulhu Mythos pastiches.”
“Besides,” said Mongo, “flying around one day we found a used bookstore in the Bronx where
there’s a complete set of Weird Tales in fine condition for sale---cheap. The owner doesn’t know a thing
about pulp magazines. He’d probably let them go for a song. We couldn’t tell you about them before.
But now Hugo and me can work as your book scouts. We’ll find plenty of bargains. Discovering hidden
items is a talent we possess.”
“Well,” said Jack, taking a deep breath. “I guess I forgive you. But, in the future, inform me what
you want to read. That way, at least, I can take the magazines out of the plastic bags for you.”
“Deal,” said Hugo.
Things quieted down after that. Freda updated Jack on family matters, including the latest
scandals, marriages, and deaths. The two ravens provided the embarrassing details. Jack soon realized
the birds hadn’t exaggerated their skill as spies. They knew the dirt on everyone.
Afterward, Jack was forced to recap in detail his adventures fighting Dietrich von Bern, the Wild
Huntsman. His mother and the ravens had heard some of the story from Merlin. But the magician and
Megan had been in enchanted sleep for most of the exploit. Jack, with Cassandra’s promptings, filled in
the rest.
About halfway through the story, Merlin supplied lunch via a teleportation spell to the nearest
restaurant. A BLT and a Coke did wonders soothing Jack’s temper. As did the admiring comments from
both his parent and her blackbirds.
“My son, the world-saver,” said Freda Collins, when Jack finished his tale. “Not that I’m
surprised. The blood of heroes flows in your veins. Too bad you never learned the identity of the
demigod pulling the Huntsman’s strings. Hidden enemies are the most dangerous kind.”
“So far, even Merlin’s magic has proven useless,” said Jack. “The demigod stays far enough in
the background to be untraceable. It’s a mystery that has to be solved sooner or later. But that’s the least
of my problems. The events of this morning present a much more immediate dilemma. One that has to be
dealt with right away.”