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- Стр. 185/357
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That
’
s
not
true
.
Let
’
s
suppose
you
went
out
of
here
and
prowled
around
the
palace
.
One
of
the
guards
would
probably
see
you
and
he
’
d
think
you
were
a
thief
and
he
’
d
fire
his
crossbow
.
I
mean
,
in
his
reality
you
’
d
be
a
thief
.
It
wouldn
’
t
actually
be
true
but
you
’
d
be
just
as
dead
as
if
it
was
.
Belief
is
powerful
stuff
.
I
’
m
a
wizard
.
We
know
about
these
things
.
Look
here
.
’
He
pulled
a
book
out
of
the
debris
in
front
of
him
and
opened
it
at
the
piece
of
bacon
he
’
d
used
as
a
bookmark
.
Mort
looked
over
his
shoulder
,
and
frowned
at
the
curly
magical
writing
.
It
moved
around
on
the
page
,
twisting
and
writhing
in
an
attempt
not
to
be
read
by
a
non
-
wizard
,
and
the
general
effect
was
unpleasant
.
’
What
’
s
this
?
’
he
said
.
’
It
’
s
the
Book
of
the
Magick
of
Alberto
Malich
the
Mage
,
’
said
the
wizard
,
’
a
sort
of
book
of
magical
theory
.
It
’
s
not
a
good
idea
to
look
too
hard
at
the
words
,
they
resent
it
.
Look
,
it
says
here
—
’
His
lips
moved
soundlessly
.
Little
beads
of
sweat
sprang
up
on
his
forehead
and
decided
to
get
together
and
go
down
and
see
what
his
nose
was
doing
.
His
eyes
watered
.
Some
people
like
to
settle
down
with
a
good
book
.
No
-
one
in
possession
of
a
complete
set
of
marbles
would
like
to
settle
down
with
a
book
of
magic
,
because
even
the
individual
words
have
a
private
and
vindictive
life
of
their
own
and
reading
them
,
in
short
,
is
a
kind
of
mental
Indian
wrestling
.
Many
a
young
wizard
has
tried
to
read
a
grimoire
that
is
too
strong
for
him
,
and
people
who
’
ve
heard
the
screams
have
found
only
his
pointy
shoes
with
the
classic
wisp
of
smoke
coming
out
of
them
and
a
book
which
is
,
perhaps
,
just
a
little
fatter
.
Things
can
happen
to
browsers
in
magical
libraries
that
make
having
your
face
pulled
off
by
tentacled
monstrosities
from
the
Dungeon
Dimensions
seem
a
mere
light
massage
by
comparison
.
Fortunately
Cutwell
had
an
expurgated
edition
,
with
some
of
the
more
distressing
pages
clamped
shut
(
although
on
quiet
nights
he
could
hear
the
imprisoned
words
scritching
irritably
inside
their
prison
,
like
a
spider
trapped
in
a
matchbox
;
anyone
who
has
ever
sat
next
to
someone
wearing
a
Walkman
will
be
able
to
imagine
exactly
what
they
sounded
like
)
.
’
This
is
the
bit
,
’
said
Cutwell
.
’
It
says
here
that
even
gods
—
’
