"L. Sprague De Camp - The Clocks of Iraz" - читать интересную книгу автора (De Camp L Sprague)

"That's right," said the big man, across whose face a sword-cut had left a
scar and put a kink in his nose. "We move to Evrodium on the morrow. Our
orders are to make the aqueduct swing south, following the high ground, before
reaching Ir City."
"I should think you'd cut directly across to Ir," said Theudus, "to shorten
the total length."

"We would, but the Syndicate would have to pay for an arcade several leagues
long, and you know how they are with money; they give it out as a glacier
gives out heat. When the thing is built, they'll doubtless complain that the
grade is too low and the channel ciogs up. 1 warned 'em, but they wouldn't
listen. No matter what route we pick, we poor surveyors get blamed."

"They've been talking about this project for years," said the taverner.

"Aye. They should have built it years agone, but I suppose they hoped that
Zevatas would send enough rain to fill the old aqueducts. They did nought till
water got so scarce that they had to ration baths. You ought to smell the air
in that underground city! They could cut it up and sell it for fertilizer.
Well, what's tor dinner?"

As the men gave their orders, the slim young man approached the surveyors'
table. Standing behind the big man, he rapped the latter on the shoulder with
a peremptory forefinger. As the chief surveyor looked up, the younger man,
speaking Novarian with an accent, said:

"You, there! Are you not |onan of Ardamai?"

The big man's eyes narrowed, but his face remained blank and his voice level.
"Never heard of him. I'm Nikko of Kortoli, as my mates here will attest."

"But that is тАФ well, come over to my table, where we can talk."

"Certes, my unknown friend," said the surveyor in

THE CLOCKS OF IRAZ

no friendly tone. Carrying his ale, he rose and followed the other back to his
table. He sat down beside the younger one, while his hand strayed to the knife
at his belt. "Now, sir, what can I do for you?"

The other gave a high-pitched giggle. "Come, good my sir. Everyone has heard
of Jorian of Ardamai, once king of Xylar, who fled his official decapitation
and has been hidingтАФow!"

"Be quiet," murmured the big man, who had slid an arm around the younger man's
waist and then, with his other hand, had thrust his knife so that its point
gently pricked the skin of the other's belly.

"How тАФ how dare you!" cried the slim young man. "You cannot order me around!