"Peter David - Sir Apropos 01 - Sir Apropos Of Nothing" - читать интересную книгу автора (David Peter)

"bastard," and "bloody bastard." Stroker was massively built, with thighs the size of ham hocks and a
mind as sharp as...well...ham hocks. Deucedly two-faced, Stroker was generally attentive and caring to
his customers, and a total cretin when it came to his staff. However, much to Madelyne's "luck" (if such a
word can be applied to the circumstance), Stroker was in need of help since another serving wench of his
had been inconsiderate enough to die of food poisoning...generated, naturally, by Stroker's kitchen,
although he denied it utterly.

So when Madelyne came to him, looking for a place to stay and for gainful employment, Stroker was
happy to accommodate her. She knew from his loutish jaw, his unshaven face, his squinting left eye, his
multiple chins, and the raspy cough which he had had for years (which I could only hope signaled the
presence of some lethal illness)--she knew from all this that he was going to be a problem.

Which, of course, he was.

Before you get the wrong idea, no: Stroker didn't endeavor to have his way with her. You'd have
thought he was exactly the type who would engage in such practices, but the opposite was true. He had
no desire for or interest in assailing the questionable virtue of any of the women in his employ. He liked to
claim that he was not interested in taking any risks of either contracting diseases or putting more brats
into the world. A few suggested under their breaths, and far from his hearing, that perhaps he preferred
his meat from the other side of the cow. In retrospect, knowing what I know of him and recalling his
overall brutality and nastiness, my suspicion is that he simply wasn't capable. Couldn't quite get his sword
out of the sheath, as they say. It would certainly explain his overall frustration with women in general. To
have something so near and yet so far, the distance measured by...inches...

I think I've made my point.

But Stroker was hard on my mother in other ways. Harder than he was on the other girls, because
they simply worked there, but had somewhere else to go when their workday was done. Husbands or
parents, or even a simple hovel of their own. But not Madelyne, not my mother. She had none to care for
her and nowhere to go. So Stroker gave her a small room that no one ever used because it was so far
from the hearth that it was beyond freezing much of the time, even in the summer. My mother, though,
was a veteran of nights in the forest, and so such extremes of temperature didn't daunt her. At least she
could curl up upon a mattress, thin and pathetic as it might be, and she didn't have to worry about rain or
snow upon her head. It was still a consideration since the roof leaked, but she was able to position
herself so that none of it fell upon her.

Stroker endeavored to "push" my mother in other directions as well during her stay there. Particularly
he urged her to provide..."company"...for the men who came by, for my mother was a comely wench and
men asked after her. But she declined, politely but firmly. Stroker was the sort of brute who was
perfectly capable of forcing her to bend to his will, but first and foremost he was concerned about his
customers, and he was worried that an unwilling woman could claw up a patron's face, or worse, slip a
knife between his ribs. So he did nothing to press the matter. She thought he'd forgotten about it.
Actually, he was simply biding his time.

So Madelyne remained there, having found her niche, and becoming something of a fixture at the bar
and inn. One day was pretty much like the next.

That is not to say that nothing changed in Isteria. King DeVane, as many suspected would happen,
was forced out. Runcible came into power and, displaying mercy, exiled the fallen DeVane. Runcible's
mercy was greeted with anger from DeVane, who--as he passed into banishment--swore a terrible oath