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

call itтАФand a tall hourglass to steer by, but someone pried the binnacle out of its frame and threw it
overboard during the night."
"Someone?" Both friends scoffed.
"You don't suspect me, do you?" Reiver asked, clutching his freckled forehead in mock horror.
Something golden snaked out of a rent in his shirt and plopped on a cobblestone. Amber scooted and
grabbed it before Reiver could.
"My, my," Amber said, bobbing a compass with a gold case and jeweled arrow. "Only three days at
sea and here's booty any pirate would admire."
"Gimme." Quick as a cobra, Reiver snatched the compass away from her and secreted it in his shirt.
He sniffed haughtily and said, "This belongs to our captain, if you don't mind. He must've dropped it
down my shirt when he was screaming at me."
"Why was he screaming at you?" Hakiim chuckled.
"He didn't like the way I folded his bunk. The blankets kept coming up short. Tongue of Talos, the
man was a slob! He could lose his eyeteeth eating oysters."
Reiver called the god of storms "Talos" and not the local "Bhaelros," another sign of northern
ancestry. Too, his accent was tinged by Alzhedo, the antiquated, fluting language of the royal court.
Drilled at school, Amber and Hakiim could barely half-sing a few phrases. Reiver had picked up the
high-born language in the lowest streets.
"Maybe he screamed because you look like a ragpicker and not a cabin steward," Hakiim offered,
waggling a finger at his friend's scarecrow clothes.
"Oh, I have a proper uniform. They gave it to me but deducted the cost of it from my wages."
Refreshment done, Reiver hoisted his bundle and squeezed down an alley for the waterfront. His
friends trailed in single file, "But I reckoned that to go ashore," he continued, "I should dress like a
townsman. Of course, I packed in a hurry and may've grabbed the captain's uniform instead of my
own."
"I hope they don't catch you," Amber said seriously, shaking her head. "No one's been publicly
boiled in oil for a month, and some hardnoses think it's time."
"In the Land of the Pashas, justice weighs heaviest on the innocent, and no one's more innocent
than us independent traders and small businessmen." Reiver threaded rubbish and ship's supplies
stacked between warehouses. Half-orc laborers dozed in the shade. Peeking around a corner, Reiver
studied the stone-laid wharves sparkling in the bright sunshine. "Still, it might be best to holiday
elsewhere, somewhere not fronting on water."
"How about the desert?" Hakiim joked. "You don't even find water on your tongue there."
"Good idea!" Reiver agreed and saluted with a bony hand. "Let's borrow a boat, sail up the Agis,
and see the desert. I know how to sail now."
 "Who's got a boat?" Hakiim waved at Memnon's packed harbor, where masts of all sizes sprouted
like naked trees in a forest. "Not me, or Amber's family either."
"There are so many, one little boat certainly won't be missed," the young thief suggested, then set
off with his long-legged stride. "Let's borrow . . . that one."
"But that'sтАФ" Amber began. "Reiver!"
"Catch him!" Hakiim hissed. "He's being crazy again."
Reiver walked toward a trio of sailors guarding a gig, a small upturned sailboat with three banks of
oars. Painted pink with yellow stripes, it was obviously one of the caleph's boats. In fact, the
companions realized, it was the captain's gig from the ship Reiver had just deserted.
The three sailors lolled against bollards and watched girls, so Amber caught their attention. Head
down, Reiver mumbled, "The cap'in order'd me ab'rd fetch his bes un'form." The bundle slid off his
shoulder as if he was about to drop it.
Pulling his eyes off Amber's frown, the sailor drawled, "Orders areтАФHey! You're the scoundrel we
wereтАФ"
"That's me!" Reiver piped cheerfully and slung his bundle. Before the sailor could hop off the