"Alexander, Lloyd - Westmark 02 - The Kestrel" - читать интересную книгу автора (Alexander Lloyd)

THE BEGGAR QUEEN





Spring in the Caria River valley was a matter of opinion. The day had begun gently. By dusk, when Theo reached the little inn at Mull, it was spitting hard, grainy snow.

He made sure his horse was decently stabled, then carried what little baggage he had into the public room. Near the fire, a traveler sat carefully scraping his boots. With his windburned face and patch of gray hair, he could have been any kind of steady, reliable journeyman who did his own work and minded his own business.

Theo stopped short. The steady, reliable journeyman, when Theo last saw him, had been galloping like a maniac on a stolen cavalry mount, his shirt in bloody tatters.

Theo dropped his traveling case. "Luther?"

The man recognized him at the same instant and in a couple of long-legged strides came to greet him, looking him up and down with easy familiarity.

"The latest fashion in Marianstat?" Luther's glance took in the stained cloak and scuffed boots.

"I wouldn't know." Theo grinned back at him. "I haven't been there for-it must be six months now."

"Alone? The future prince of Westmark without a dozen lackeys following?"

"I did have one," said Theo. "He worked very hard at stealing my clothes and selling them. Apart from that, he did nothing; so I finally sent him back to court."

"The right place for a lazy rascal. Now, lad, what brings you to Mull?"

"I'm on my way to the Caria Col. I want to see the mountains, and the Homgard. And you? I don't think you're here to admire the scenery."

"No."

"What then?"

"Business."

Theo knew better than to press for explanations. Instead, he asked, "How is Florian?"

"As always. Himself."

Theo nodded. They had been there, all of them, the day Florian raided the Nierkeeping arsenal; Mickle-he could never think of her now as Princess Augusta;

Count Las Bombas and Musket. And Zara, the russet divinity; Stock, the poet, roaring at the top of his voice. Florian's companions, those he called "my children," who would have followed him anywhere-as Theo might have done- He remembered himself that moming, pistol raised; and another of Florian's children, half his face slashed open.

He hesitated, then asked, "What about Justin?"

"With Florian. He's well. Remarkably well."

The room was filling with travelers driven in by the snow. Luther motioned with his head. "Talk in my room."

Theo shouldered his bag and followed, stopping at the foot of the stairs to ask the landlord if any packet had come for him from Marianstat. The landlord, with a kitchen cloth tied around his neck, was entertaining his cronies in an alcove behind the serving counter, trying to play a hand of cards and wait on his guests at the same time. He ducked into the alcove and came back to advise there was none.