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

"She'll not take charity from cityfolks."

For a moment the diminutive storyteller swelled to twice his normal appearance.
"Then you give it to her," he hissed, "or give it to those who are supporting
her ... or rub it in a fish barrel until it reeks-" He caught himself, suddenly
aware of the curious stares from the neighboring tables. In a flash the humble
storyteller had returned. "Omat, my friend," he said quietly, "you know me. I am
no more of the city than I am a fisherman or a soldier. Don't let an old woman's
pride stand between her and a few honest coppers. They'll spend as well as any
other when pushed across the board of a fishstall."

Slowly the fisherman picked up the pouch, then locked eyes with Hakiem. "Why?"

The storyteller shrugged. "The tale of the Old Man and the giant crab has paid
me well. I would not like the taste of wine bought with that money while his
woman was without."

Omat nodded and the purse disappeared from view.

It was dusk when Hakiem emerged from the Wine Barrel. Lengthening shadows hid
the decay he had noticed earlier, though it was also true that his outlook had
improved after his gift had been accepted. On an impulse, the storyteller
decided to walk along the piers before returning to the Maze.

The rich smells of the ocean filled his nostrils and a slight breeze snatched at
his robes as he digested Omat's story. The disappearance of the Old Man and his
son was but the latest in a series of unusual occurrences: the war brewing to
the north; the raid on Jubal's estate; and the disappearance and later
reappearance of both Tempus and One-Thumb-all were like the rumble of distant
thunder heralding a tempest of monumental proportions.

Omat had said the storm season was months off, but not all storms were forged by
nature. Something was coming, the storyteller could feel it in the air and see
it in the faces of the people on the streets-though he could no more have put a
name to it than they could have.

For a few moments he debated making one of his rare visits to a temple, but as
always the sheer number of deities to be worshipped, or appeased, daunted him.
With petty jealousies rampant among gods and priests it was better to abstain
completely than risk choosing wrong.

The same coins he could have given as an offering might also buy a glimpse of
the future from a bazaar-seer. Of course, their ramblings were often so obscure
that one didn't recognize the truth until after it had happened. With a smug
grin, Hakiem made up his mind. Instead of investing in gods or seers he would
quest for insight and omen in his own way-staring into a cup of wine.

Quickening his step, the storyteller set his course for the Vulgar Unicorn.