Книга только для ознакомления
. Thinking fast, he bolted by them and shouted, "There's been a
terrible accident! The mayor struck his head. Keep an eye on him while
I get help!"
Phineas rushed out the door, knowing full well that they'd do no
such thing; waiting patiently was not one of their better skills.
Before long, they'd decide the mayor needed to be submerged, or
perhaps needed a slice of wumpaberry pie, and they'd hustle him off.
Metwinger would be all right. Phineas flew out the door and down the
stairs.
He was going to find Trapspringer after all.
"Gee, an ocean?" Tas repeated Woodrow's words. "Are you sure,
Woodrow?" He scrambled down from the wagon and headed for the dense
screen of shrubs and trees.
"I wouldn't bet my last silver piece that it was an ocean,"
Woodrow conceded. "It might be a sea," he continued seriously,
following on the heels of the kender. "How do you know, unless you
have a map?"
Gisella pushed her way past Woodrow to dog Tasslehoff through
the brush. "Ouch! These damned branches are tearing my sleeves!" she
complained bitterly, swatting foliage from her path. "The last few
miles have almost wiped out my wardrobe!"
Tasslehoff burst through the last of the shrubs. He stood on a
flat, dirt-caked, cracked expanse of slate, which met the horizon
about thirty feet away. Waves crashed far below in the distance.
The kender hastened to the brink of the barren, rocky cliff and
looked over the edge. Below was the shoreline of a vast body of
gray-green water
|
