"David,.Peter.-.Sir.Apropos.3.-.Tong.Lashing" - читать интересную книгу автора (David Peter)

I forced a smile. "Yes, I get it," I said.
"But really, they've no place on a ship. Just cause trouble. Once you're at sea,
mark my words, you're better off without them. We'll have a much smoother
crossing with just the blokes running the show."
I marked his words. And some time later, when I was floating in the ocean,
fighting what I was certain was imminent drowning, I would have cause to curse
them as well.



Chapter 2
The World According to Larp

It was some hours later that I brought my meager belongings, in a sling over my
shoulder, down to the Grand Jetty. There was an impressive number of ships
docked there of varying size and quality. The sky was clear and blue, and the
salt of the sea air stung my lungs, but in a refreshing way. I should have felt
a sense of exhilaration.
Instead all I had was a distant emptiness.
All the way to the gangplank of the ship on which I'd booked passage, I kept
glancing over my shoulder. I thought she would come. I thought she would come
dashing down the Grand Jetty, waving and calling my name, and Mordant would be
flapping behind her, like the romantic end of some great novel.
There were so many people, hustling and bustling about, and a few times I
actually thought I did see her. But it was always someone else.
I shrugged.
"She was a pain in the ass," I said to no one except myself, and even I didn't
entirely believe me as I turned and made my way up the gangplank. I knew it was
the right ship because I saw the name of the vessel, Larp, painted proudly on
the side. When the captain told me the ship's name, I asked him from where it
derived. He looked at me knowingly, as if waiting for my reaction to his next
words:
"Say it backwards."
I paused. "Pral?" When he grinned broadly, clearly expecting me to say something
more, I forced an expression of comprehension and said, "Oh! Pral! Of course!"
He leaned back in his chair and smiled in triumph, and I never got any more
explanation than that.
I boarded the vessel and headed down to the passenger level. There I encountered
my fellow travelers. Two of them were traveling together, and they seemed rather
chummy with one another in a way that I considered, frankly, a bit unsettling.
The one was a barrel-chested, red-haired barbarian named Farfell. His companion
was smaller and rat-faced, dressed in shades of gray, and wore his hair long
with some sort of thick gel in it that kept it elaborately wavy. He went by the
curious name of Gay Mousser. I'd never met a man named Gay. It certainly seemed
a convivial moniker.
Still, as I noted, the camaraderie between them... disturbed me. When I was but
a lad still living in Stroker's tavern, the sinkhole in which I spent my
formative years, I once heard mention of men who preferred to be with other men.
In my childish voice, I had piped up, "As well they should. Girls are stupid."
This had prompted a round of raucous laughter, which pleased me greatly until