"Clayton Emery - Card Master" - читать интересную книгу автора (Emery Clayton)

Not here! he wanted to scream. Not now! Not me! I'm too young! I
haven't done anything! I don't even know anything! PleaseтАФ

A silky coo made all four men start. "And not hear what he has to say?"
A woman's voice, oddly composed in this hellish living nightmare.

Horacio jumped like a spooked fox. The two thugs plucked weapons
from their beltsтАФclubs or long knives, Byron wasn't sure which. They still
clamped his arms. Byron guessed they were sailors, for they smelled of salt
and tar, sweat and rum. The apprentice scuffed his feetтАФone shod and one
with holey hoseтАФready to run if they let goтАж

Before anyone could move, Byron saw a silver flash, long but no wider
than his thumb. A rapier blade. Old Horacio yelped, then screamed and
fell down howling. The swordswoman had pinked his leg and put him out
of the fight.

With a jolt of inspiration, Byron suddenly knew what she was, if not
who. Maybe he'd get out of this predicament alive. Still hung up by both
arms, he half-stepped to shift his weight. But even distracted by the
swordswoman, the sailors pinned Byron close.

One grunted, "Cosh him, Ned."

The apprentice was flung backwards against the garden's stone wall.
His head banged stone despite his hat and thick hair and ivy. The blow
rattled him, made stars dance and wink before his eyes. A club whacked
his shoulder. Byron gasped as if his collarbone had snapped.

Fortunately, his spinning head had lolled to one side, otherwise he
would have been bashed on the crown. Despite his fog, he groaned and
slumped down the wall. Evidently the sailors were fooled, for both let go.

They turned to fight a whirlwind of steel.

Byron saw the woman's outline in dabs of yellow-orange light cast by
Rayner's burning house: she was neither tall nor slim, flamboyantly
dressed in a wide hat and cape. The blade flashed again, and steel slapped
aside a sailor's knife. "Me hand!"

The other sailor kept his distance, planted one foot forward, cranked
the knife over his shoulder. He was going to throw it, Byron realized.
Sprawled on his duff against rustling ivy, the apprentice felt
heavy-headed, more clumsy than ever. His vision was patchy from his
head caroming off the wall. Yet he kicked at the sailor to spoil his aim. He
thumped the man's knee, but the knife was already flying.

A clang! resounded in the alley, and the knife pinwheeled into the
darkness. Damn, thought Byron, she was canny to knock a spinning blade
out of the dark air!