"Clayton Emery - Lost Empires 03 - Star of Cursrah" - читать интересную книгу автора (Emery Clayton)

cabin hand or cook in the caleph's navy?"
"Yes, but I didn't care for it," Reiver said as he tied knots in the cod line around his bundle, "and
the proper name for the Caleph's navy is Nallojal."
"You had a choice of apprenticing or not?" Amber asked.
"Not quite," Reiver smirked. "I'm on leave."
Hakiim grinned. "After only three days at sea?"
"That equals ten years in prison, to my mind." Reiver rolled his eyes and said, "Do you know how
high ocean waves peak once you pass Primus's Point? Did you know that even seasoned sailors lose
their lunches the first three days on the Trackless Sea? Riding whitecaps like wild sea horses while
sailors puke and groan in the scuppers is not my idea of a career. If you hang over the side, you'll be
snatched by a scrag or a sahuagin. Or the whole ship might be dragged under by a kraken! I'll stay
ashore, where I'll at least die dry."
Amber shook her head. All three of them, she thought, were so different yet so alike. Hakiim's
family were Djens, descendants of the original servants to the genies who ruled Calimshan. His skin
was dark as oiled mahogany, his teeth flashing white, and below his kaffiyeh peeked tight brown curls.
Amber was ruddy-brown as a copper weather vane, her hair black, thick, and wavy. By contrast,
Reiver's hair was lank blond, his skin fair where the sun hadn't bronzed it, and his eyes blue, which
was considered lucky at the tip of the Sword Coast.
Reiver needed all the luck he could get. Born of northern foreigners or mercenaries, or perhaps
even Shaarani part-elves, and abandoned at birth, he had no real name except "Reiver," an old-
fashioned word for "thief." The orphan lived in gutters and alleys and survived by pilfering where the
Pasha's Laws punished thievery with branding, whipping, severing a hand, or worse. As it was, the
urchin ate when he could and stayed bony as a water-starved camel.
As he talked, Reiver improved his slave disguise. He fluffed his bundle and slung it high on his
shoulders, then stooped as if under a heavy burden. He lowered his eyes to avoid eye contact with
"betters" and even altered his accent to a gargle, like a half-orc's. "Rea'y? 'Et's go."
Watching the ground, Reiver waddled into the marketplace. Amber and Hakiim burst out laughing,
then swallowed grins and waded in behind him. They passed blacksmiths hammering latches, cooks
frying pastries, seers recounting fortunes, snake charmers tootling on reed pipes, water sellers rattling
brass cups, and hawkers offering dates and oysters and peppers and dolls and slave whips and more
than the eye could take in. The three friends steered wide of two monks of Ilmater, fearing their curses
but nodding politely.
"So you jumped ship," Hakiim said, grinning at his friend's audacity. "Why do they want you back?
Why send sailors and marines after one scruffy sewer rat?"
"Hold." Reiver dropped his bundle by a juice stall and said, "Buy your servant a drink before you're
reported to the Pasha's slave inspectors."
"The Pasha doesn't have any 'slave inspectors.'" Amber said. "I should know."
She fished from her vest pocket a copper aanth, or "hatchling." The juice-vendor maintained that
her price was three aanths, but Amber tossed the one and refused to haggle. The day grew warm and
the stall busy, so the woman slid over three mugs of guava juice.
The three crowded under the stall's awning for shade, sipped juice, and sucked a lime slice. Hakiim
squinted across the marketplace, trying to gauge how the cheaper rug dealers fared in sales. A grin
crooked his mouth.
"Wait, now," he said. "Since when do navy ships go out for only three days? Why bother?"
"It started as a six-month cruise," Reiver talked with eyes on the ground as befit his low station,
"but the captain lost his compass and couldn't navigate."
"They only had one compass aboard the whole ship?" Amber asked. She rubbed her nose, for
hundreds of feet shuffled up red dust. The spring rains were late this year. "Foolish to put to sea that
unprepared."
"Oh, the navigator and steersmen had a big brass compass that swings on gimbalsтАФa binnacle they