"Edghill,.Rosemary.-.Empty.Crown.Trilogy" - читать интересную книгу автора (Edghill Rosemary)

When she went back to the living room, the cake, the milk, and most of
the sugar was gone. Melior was standing, looking out the window,
through which could be seen Riverside Drive, the Hudson River, and (in
daylight) Fort Lee, New Jersey.

"I have to find it," he said without turning around.

"Your shower's ready," Ruth said. She pointed. He walked past her
into the bedroom, picking up his cloak and swordbelt as he went. There
was a suitable interval, and then Ruth heard the sound of the shower.

Apparently he'd figured out how to work it-assuming he didn't really
know how.

She tiptoed to the bedroom door. Ruth might know armor in passing, but
her real passion was clothes. She would have embraced far more
socially risky acts than inviting a strange elf in for a shower, just
to be alone with his clothes.

His clothes-garb, the SCA always called it-was laid out neatly on one
of the twin beds: cloak, tunic, pants, and boots (on the floor nearby),
all from the later TSR period. Gloves-well, one glove anyway; the
other must have been lost. For undergarments there were a pair of
knee-length drawers knitted out of a soft shiny beige yarn, knee socks
and muscle shirt of the same material, and a long-sleeved shirt with a
shorter hemline than the tunic. The shirt was the pale beige color of
real linen and embroidered around the sleeves with an entire wildflower
garden in silk toss; the front was smocked to narrowness with a
thousand tiny tucks.

She turned all three pieces of knitted underwear inside out and found
neither seam nor maker's mark: apparently it had been knitted all of a
piece, and to size. She set them aside.

The smocked shirt yielded more clues: hand-sewing, and of a sort that
ought by rights to have driven an entire convent blind. Nothing
storebought or modern about this.

The pants were-it took her a moment to make up her mindleather.

Buckskin, she thought, and soaking wet, but buckskin was famous for
retaining its flexibility no matter what you did to it. They'd still
been making men's trousers out of it as late as the English
Regency-those snow-white inexpressibles so beloved of Beau Brummell.

This particular pair was flapped at the front and closed with four
sterling silver buttons set with small sapphires.

Ruth sat back, aware of the chilly buzzing in her head that she
associated with late nights and too much coffee-a dizzy dazzled