"Elenium 02 - The Ruby Knight" - читать интересную книгу автора (Eddings David)

had a large basket balanced on one shoulder. He
appeared to be a workman of some kind, but there was
no way to be sure of that. Sparhawk remained silent and
let him pass. He waited until the sound of the footsteps
was gone, then he stepped into the street again. He
walked carefully, his soft boots making little sound on
the wet cobblestones, and he kept his grey cloak
wrapped tightly about him to muffle any clinking of his
chain-mail.
He crossed an empty street to avoid the flickering
yellow lamplight coming through the open door of a
tavern where voices were raised in bawdy song. He
shifted the spear to his left hand and pulled the hood of
his cloak even farther forward to shadow his face as he
passed through the mist-shrouded light.
He stopped, his eyes and ears carefully searching the
foggy street ahead of him. His general direction was
towards the east gate, but he had no particular fanaticism
about that. People who walk in straight lines are predictable,
and predictable people get caught. It was absolutely
vital that he leave the city unrecognized and unseen by
any of Annias's men, even if it took him all night. When
he was satisfied that the street was empty, he moved on,
keeping to the deepest shadows. At a corner beneath a
misty orange torch, a ragged beggar sat against a wall. He
had a bandage across his eyes and a number of authentic-looking
sores on his arms and legs. Sparhawk knew that
this was not a profitable time for begging, so the fellow
was probably up to something else. Then a slate from a
rooftop crashed into the street not far from where
Sparhawk stood.
'Charity,' the beggar called in a despairing voice,
although Sparhawk's soft-shod feet had made no sound.
'Good evening, neighbour,' the big knight said softly,
crossing the street. He dropped a couple of coins into the
begging bowl.
"thank you, My Lord. God bless you.'
'You're not supposed to be able to see me, neighbour,'
Sparhawk reminded him. 'You don't know if I'm a
Milord or a commoner.'
"It's late,' the beggar apologized, 'and I'm a little
sleepy. Sometimes I forget.'
'Very sloppy,' Sparhawk chided. 'Pay attention to
business. Oh, by the way, give my best to Platime.'
Platime was an enormously fat man who ruled the
underside of Cimmura with an iron fist.
The beggar lifted the bandage from his eyes and stared
at Sparhawk, his eyes widening in recognition.
'And tell your friend up on that roof not to get excited, '
Sparhawk added. 'You might tell him, though, to watch