"04 - Storm Season (a)" - читать интересную книгу автора (Asprin Robert)

room to check for eavesdroppers. "Only this," he murmured. "I saw a ship out
there-a ship that shouldn't have been there... shouldn't have been anywhere."

"Smugglers?"

"I've seen smuggler ships before, storyteller," the fisherman snarled. "We know
them and they know us-and we give each other wide berth. If the Old Man were
fool enough to close with a smuggler ship I'd have found him dead in his boat or
floating in the water beside it. What use would a smuggler have for extra
bodies?"

"Then, who?" the storyteller frowned.

"That's the mystery," Omat scowled. "The ship was far off, but from what I could
make out it was unlike any ship I've ever seen, or heard of. What's more-it
wasn't following the coast or making for the smuggler's island. It was putting
out straight into the open sea."

"Did you tell this to the authorities?" Hakiem asked.

"The authorities," snorted the fisherman. "Tell them what? That my friends were
stolen away by a ghost ship out of legend that sailed off over the horizon into
uncharted waters? They would have thought I was drunk, or worse- added me to the
collection of crazies that Kitty-cat's been gathering. I've told them too much
as it is, though I've told you even more. Beware, storyteller, I'd not like
losing another day's fishing because you put my name to one of your yarns and
stirred the curiosity of those do-nothing guards."

Hakiem would have liked to inquire further about the "ghost ship out of legend,"
but it was apparent he was on the verge of overstaying his welcome. "I tell no
story before I know its end," he assured his glaring host. "And what you've told
me is barely the beginning of a tale. I'll hold my tongue until I've learned
more, and even then I'll give you the first telling for free in payment for what
you've given me now."

"Very well," Omat grumbled, "though I'd rather you skipped the tale and bought a
round of drinks instead."

"A poor man must guard his coinage," Hakiem laughed, rising to go, then he
hesitated. "The Old Man's wife... ?" he asked.

Omat's eyelids dropped to half-mast, and there was a wall, suddenly, between the
two men. "She'll be taken care of. In the Fisherman's Quarter, we look after our
own."

Feeling awkward, the storyteller fished a small pouch of coins from within his
robes. "Here," he said, setting it on the table. "It isn't much, but I'd like to
help with what little I can afford."

The pouch sat untouched.