Книга только для ознакомления
. "I'm still feeling a little drained from the loss of
blood." He flexed his fingers into fists so that the muscles
in his arms wrippled under his blood-stained shirt.
"Sure, whatever you like," Phineas said quickly,
stifling the impulse to bow as he backed out of the room.
He would simply wait in the outer office for Trapspringer
to arrive; by then this Denzil would probably be ready to
leave.
What was such a man -- obviously a vicious fighter --
doing in Kendermore anyway, he wondered? Probably
just a mercenary passing through. Looking out the small
window, Phineas decided Trapspringer was already late.
Though he expected it of kender, he wished the fellow
would hurry up. He didn't want the trail of the mayor's
daughter, Damaris, to get any colder. And he especially
didn't want to sit around with Denzil.
A short time passed, spent shooing away curious pa-
tients, before Trapspringer Furrfoot arrived. The kender
strolled in the shop's door with a flourish, twirling
around to set his new crimson cape spinning in a colorful
circle.
"Don't you think you're a bit overdressed for a trip to
a place called 'the Ruins'?" Phineas asked.
"Hello to you, too. I always begin each adventure with
new garb," Trapspringer explained. "Actually, the prac-
tice of dressing up for military maneuvers began in
Tarsalonia -- some place like that -- long ago --"
"This is not an adventure," Phineas said firmly. "We're
simply going to find Damaris Metwinger and bring her
back so that your nephew Tasslehoff's bounty hunter will
not be notified that he need not return to Kendermore
from someplace named Solace with the other half of my
map," he finished, out of breath
|
