"McKenna,.Juliet.E.-.Einarinn.03.-.Gambler's.Fortune" - читать интересную книгу автора (Dragon Stories)

His words were lost in a carillon of bells from every side of the city. We hurried out to the broad front steps of the inn and found the flagway packed tight with people. Watchmen burnished for the festival were clearing stragglers out of the way. Standing on my toes, I could just see the first of the huge guild symbols being carried high by journeymen of the trade. Then a heavily built man with a lavishly plumed hat blocked my view entirely. I tugged at Usara's arm. 'Let's find somewhere better to stand.'
Not much taller than me and scant measures heavier, he was similarly struggling to get a sight of the procession. Judicious use of elbows and brooch pin helped us to an alley entry where the jutting foundation stones of a Tormalin-built hall gave us a vantage point. I gave Usara a hand up and we saw a massive pair of scissors bobbing down the high road. Made of wood painted and gilded to look like metal, they incidentally demonstrated the wealth of the Tailors' Guild, of course. Liverymen bowing and waving in fur-trimmed robes followed the journeymen sweating under the honour of their burden. Finally the warden of the guild appeared, carried aloft in his padded chair on the shoulders of apprentices, presumably chosen for even height and stout muscles. Louder cheers identified loyal craftsmen keen to show allegiance and have their fealty noticed by the masters of their trade.
Fullers and dyers followed with an unexciting display of cloth on tenterhooks teased and harried by rising breezes. The skinners and furriers came next, garnering far more approval from the masses with journeymen wearing monstrous heads: wolves with mad silver eyes and crimson tongues lolling over
bloodstained teeth, bears with snarling, foam-flecked jaws. One lithe figure dressed as a cunning marten, complete with mask and tail, dodged among them, while another in the long leather apron of his trade pursued him with a knife as long as my arm mocked up out of wood and paint. I laughed along with everyone else.
'This makes festivals in Hadrumal look a bit staid.' Usara bent close to my ear to make himself heard.
'Selerima puts on nearly as good a show as Vanam,' I shouted appreciatively.
Tanners followed next, then leather workers. The procession wore on, each guild's standard raised above the Great Gate before they dispersed to feasting at their own audit hall. The banners proclaimed the myriad skills and trades earning coin for the cities of Ensaimin strung along the rivers, bringing valuables from mountains and forests and dotted the length of the Great West Road that carries all manner of staples and luxuries to the ancient Kingdom of Solura in the west, to the diminished Tormalin Empire in the east and for anyone in between with silver to spend. Saddlers, fusters and lorriners gave way to coopers and joiners; pewterers and cutlers were followed by blacksmiths who disdained the counterfeits of the other guilds. Journeymen carried a massive hammer wrought of polished wood and gleaming steel between them, muscles rippling.
The goldsmiths alone of the crafts allowed women in their procession, prosperous wives and haughty daughters on the arms of the liverymen, decked out with rings by the handful, necklaces and earrings jingling, brooches and pins securing dark blue gowns and head-dresses. To my mind the effect was rather spoiled by the glowering of heavy-set apprentices marching alongside, before and behind, each swinging a hefty cudgel. I don't suppose it was any coincidence that the bladesmiths followed, daggers, swords and steels bright in the sunshine as apprentices brandished their trial-pieces in flourishes threatening to take off any greedy hands. I wondered idly if the ladies would be still wearing their finery at the
guild feast and how hard it might be to find a maidservant's dowdy dress.
Finally the fitful breeze brought a tempting scent over the heads of the throng. Silversmiths and copper workers got scant attention as the crowd turned expectantly to the bakers and brewers, the butchers and grocers. A massive loaf carried high above the heads of the throng was an impressive sight and the heady smell of yeast from vats of ale being wheeled along even managed to outdo the sweaty odours of unwashed bodies. Links of cooked sausage joined buns and sweetmeats tossed out on either side, and cheap earthenware beakers of beer were handed around. The crowds began to move again, people filling the road as the last craft passed, eager to get a share of the largesse and save the price of a meal. Peddlers and pie men appeared with jugglers and entertainers. All were looking for a share in the festival pennies hoarded through the latter half of winter and the first half of spring. Some canny minstrel raised a boastful song proclaiming Selerima's might and bright pennies pattered into his upturned hat.
It was pleasant to stand aloof, no need to scramble for bread and meat, the days long past when I would salvage a meal from the gutters, brushing off the soiled straw and nameless filth. 'Come on,' I caught at Usara's sleeve as he stared, rapt, after the parade. 'Let's get down to the fairground and see the fun there.'
Selerima, Western Ensaimin, First Day of the Spring Fair, Afternoon
Where do we go next, Jeirran?'
'You've tried every assay house, every tinsmith?' Jeirran planted booted feet firmly on the cobbles, defying the stream of locals flowing past intent on holiday amusements. 'What about pewterers, there must be plenty of those?'
His three companions were less certain in their stance. Both men and the woman had the fair hair and pale eyes common to Mountain Men but their faces showed shared blood as well, the same solid features and sturdy frames.
The two men exchanged a somewhat hesitant glance before the elder spoke up. 'Three places out of five are shuttered up for festival. Where we can get an answer, no one will do business.' Irritation overcame his reluctance to speak. 'Not with us anyway. They all say the same thing, Jeirran; they buy their metal from the traders who come down from the hills.'
'And did you find out what prices they're paying? Five times what Degran and his cronies are paying us, I'll wager,' interrupted Jeirran, exasperated. 'You explained it exactly as I told you to, Keisyl? We can deliver finer ingots for a fifth less cost?'
'And they say show us your ingots,' the older brother retorted. 'No one's interested in ore samples. We need to bring down metalБE
'The ore samples show the quality of what we offer!' Jeirran broke in. 'We'll smelt the ores and deliver the tin, but we need coin to meet our needs. Are you sure you explained it properly?'
'Yes, Jeirran, we're sure.' The younger broke off to scowl
after a burly fair-goer barging past with scant apology. 'Those that didn't laugh in our faces told us to talk to the metalworkers' guilds, said they might be interested in staking us for a share in the profits.'
'The guild halls are shut for the festival but it might be worth staying onБE Keisyl lifted his voice above the hubbub of the crowds. The girl hushed him but he patted her arm. 'There's not one in a hundred here understands what we're saying, Eirys. Don't fret.'
'The whole point of dealing direct with the lowlands is to keep all the profits for ourselves.' Jeirran did not bother to hide his contempt. 'We could find three trustworthy kindreds inside a day's travel who'd be more than happy to take a share in return for timber props and furnace charcoal, spare sons to dig the ore like as not. Make a deal like that and you sign away any hope of filling your coffers or making a decent marriage before Maewelin claims your bones!'
'A half-share in worked metal has to be better than whole claim on ore ten measures underground and no way to reach it!' the younger brother objected with some heat, folding muscular arms over a brawny chest.
'Do you ever listen to a word I say, Teiriol?' Jeirran turned on him. 'If we can be sure of selling the metal down here, we can buy in what we need to put in a deep mine ourselves, hire in labour like the lowlanders. That way we keep all the profit.'
'I don't like discussing our business in the open street like this!' In the girl's face, the broad foreheads and square jaws of the men were softened to an appealing oval framed with delicate curls artfully drawn forward from the knot of her golden hair, but her lip was quivering in an ominous pout as she drew in her skirts, trying to keep the others between herself and the townsfolk. 'I want to go back to the boarding house,' she burst out. 'I'm fed up with being-jostled and stared at. You shouldn't treat me so, Jeirran, I'm your wife and I deserve better. It's downright disrespectful andБE
'Very well, as you wish.' Jeirran clasped his hands behind
his back, knuckles white as he sought to contain his frustration. 'Keisyl, take your sister back to our rooms, if you please.'
'I want Teiriol to come with me,' the girl interrupted petulantly.
'As you wish. Keisyl and I will see you at sundown. Oh, Eirys, don't start crying!' he snapped with exasperation.
'I'm sorry.' Her flower-blue eyes brimmed with tears, the pale rose of her complexion vanishing under an unappealing bloom of scarlet. 'I'm sorry, but I don't like it here. It's noisy and dirty and the people are rude andБE
'Come on.' Teiriol put a comforting arm around his sister's shaking shoulders and led her away on the inner side of the flagway where she was protected by the buildings on one side and himself on the other. Eirys pulled up the hood of her fur-trimmed cape and clutched it tight. Teiriol spared a fulminating backward glance at Jeirran. Keisyl watched them go, his expression a mixture of relief and concern.
'Why did you insist she come?' sighed Keisyl, running a hand over close-cropped blonde hair. He loosened his own cape with blunt-fingered hands to reveal a creamy linen shirt bright with embroidery. Weariness shadowed the pale skin beneath his azure eyes. 'I'm sure it's not fitting to expose her to all this barbarity.'
'I wasn't about to leave her at home,' spat Jeirran. 'Your mother's spent every day since Solstice telling Eirys any three men she could name would care better for her lands. Give Ismenia half a chance and she'll be telling Eirys to repudiate me inside a half-year of marriage.' Rising colour threw his golden beard into unflattering relief. Neatly trimmed around full lips, it did little to soften a square jaw set above a bullish neck. Jeirran's hair was longer than Keisyl's, swept back from a wide, high forehead to curl down to his collar in wiry yellow waves. For all the bluntness of his features, he was undeniably handsome and carried himself with that knowledge.
'I don't think Mother will be any too impressed if you bring her home with some foul lowlander disease.' Keisyl glared at Jeirran, sufficiently taller to make it an effective tactic. A
couple of seasons' seniority added to the harshness of his tone. A ragged lad with startled eyes ducked past, clutching a loaf to his chest.
'There's no reason to imagine dangers like that, not this early in the year.' Jeirran forced himself to a more conciliatory stance. 'We're keeping ourselves to ourselves and we'll be back in our own air soon enough. That should cheer Eirys up.'
'And what will we have to show for our trouble?' demanded Keisyl. 'You've been telling us all winter this fair was the only place to come and trade for better prices. So far no one will even take a look at our ores, let alone discuss a deal.'
'So these people are too stupid to see buying without a middleman adding his profit saves them coin! I'll try some of these so-called smiths myself tomorrow. I speak lowlander tongue better than you and it's about time you tried to entertain Eirys. Today we find a buyer for the furs. If necessary we'll use that coin to buy what we need. We can drive a decent digging into the back of the lode and make a start ourselves.' Jeirran nodded firmly. 'We'll bring ingots next year, so fine even these clods can't ignore them. There's more than one way of snaring a coney.'
A child bright in her holiday best turned her beribboned head at meaningless words in unknown accents. She tugged at her mother's skirts, but the woman bustled her away, sparing a glance of surprise and suspicion at the men.
Keisyl smiled at the child. 'How do we go about that, when every furrier will be as intent on his holiday as everyone else?'
'There are plenty of merchants dealing in hides and skins at this fair,' Jeirran stated confidently. 'I was talking to some while we waited to pass the gates.'
Keisyl's expression brightened. 'Why didn't you make a deal there and then?'
'None of Degran's men wintering in the valley bottom thought to mention a ban on all trading before the official opening of the fair.' Grievance soured Jeirran's voice.
'So when is that?' Keisyl's question was lost as a heedless
group of youths chased a stray dog past. Even the shortest of the ebullient boys was a good head taller than either Mountain Man, though not the tallest was as broad in the shoulder. 'When is that?' he repeated.
'The man at the rooming house said it's after the guilds' procession is done.' Jeirran set his jaw and forced his way through the busy street, upland muscles earning him irritated glances that he ignored. 'The fairground's down by the river, this way.'
Moving with the flow of the crowd soon brought the Mountain Men to the Water Gate. A sudden surge carried them through the clogged arches and they found they were outside the walls. Jeirran's expression cleared a little to see blue sky uncluttered by looming buildings. Scant moments later the crowd ground to a halt and a fierce scowl carved its habitual lines between his pale eyebrows.
'What now?' he hissed at Keisyl's shoulder. The other man muttered an oath and lifted himself on the toes of his boots to try to see, but the expectant throng hemmed them in uncomfortably. The murmur rose to a new pitch of excitement before a shrill of brassy trumpets demanded silence. By the waterside, an unseen fruity voice was lifted in formal declamation.
'For-Spring is past; we give thanks to Halcarion for the renewal of seed and beast. Aft-Spring is coming; we beseech Arimelin to send us good luck and good counsel. Remember this feast is sacred to Raeponin and let every man deal fairly or face due judgement.'