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

bollard, the bundle bowled him off the wharf. A spectacular splash spouted water over the dock.
A second sailor clamped Amber's wrist. "Here, dolly!" he said. "You stay stillтАФ"
"Let go," Amber growled, her eyes dark and dangerous.
"You'll bide!" the sailor retorted. "The captain'llтАФ"
Amber had been manhandled enough today. The sailor grunted with surprise as the young woman
nimbly cocked her wrist against his thumb to break his grip. Cursing, the sailor grabbed her vestтАФand
never saw what hit him.
Stepping back for room, Amber snapped her left arm. Out of her blousy sleeve flicked a short club
made of teak. A leather thong snagged it to her wrist. She slung hard, and the cudgel spanked off the
sailor's head with a thud like a boat bumping a dock. Stunned, the man staggered. Amber swept her
foot behind his knee, and he flopped on his back.
Reiver vaulted and slid halfway down the ladder to the gig. The third sailor cursed and grabbed
while Reiver paused, grinning. His smile prompted Hakiim to boost the sailor's butt with both hands.
Howling, the sailor tumbled tail-over-teacup and vanished into the bay with a splash.
"Come on!" Laughing, Reiver flipped off painters fore and aft. The tide immediately tugged the
boat from the dock. Hakiim slid down the ladder and thumped in the bottom.
"Wait for me," chirped Amber. Hopping to the ladder, she hollered, "Catch!"
Hakiim and Reiver threw up their arms as Amber leaped the gap of green water and sprawled into
them.
The boat rocked crazily, in danger of capsizing, then settled. Untangling arms and legs, the
laughing trio scrambled onto seats and clumsily hoisted the lateen sail.
"Anchors ahoy! Hoist the battens! Reef the top hatches and splice the sprit sail yard! Whoops!"
Bellowing in imitation of a sailing master, Reiver narrowly missed ramming an incoming fishing
smack. The friends laughed so hard they held their sides.
Yanking lines, shoving at the boom, and slapping the water with oars, they gradually eased the gig
deep into the forest of masts.
*****
Alone, Amber stepped onto a stone bench, climbed a eucalyptus tree, hopped down to a wall, and
jumped onto the elevated walkway spanning a cemeteryтАФher favorite shortcut home. Smiling at the
thought of adventure, she steered the twists and turns of the wall-maze between markhouts,
commoners' tombs, and the filigreed khamarkhas of the rich. Hungry cats vaulted to the walkway only
to be bowled off by others, perpetually squabbling.
"Sorry," Amber told them, "no handouts today."
The cemetery ended behind a temple dedicated to Umberlee, the great Bitch Queen of the sea,
who'd once flooded Memnon and half of Calimshan to inspire greater devotion, Umberlee's temple
sparkled as workers ceaselessly polished the brilliant tiles.
Crossing the Plaza of Divine Truth, sliding between apartment buildings and tripping across the
Street of Old Night, Amber paused before skittering through the portal of her family compound. On
tiptoes, Amber climbed the back stairs, hoping her servants napped in the afternoon heat.
Slipping into her room, Amber flung open the doors of a tall lindenwood armoire. While the room
was itself spartan, with whitewashed walls and black shutters and simple inlaid furniture, hanging
tapestries displayed riotous and opulent scenes. The bed was heaped with bolsters and quilts of vibrant
colors, and scatter rugs glowed like fiery coals. Arrow slits between the windows spoke of earlier,
more violent times.
Kicking off her boots and shucking her filthy clothes, Amber plucked out linen drawers, a fresh
work shirt, and whipcord riding breeches. She glimpsed her naked frame in a tall silvered mirror and
danced a half turn to check her progress. At eighteen, her breasts were small but round and upthrust,
her waist nipped nicely, but her thighs and rump looked beamy as a milk cow's. Amber's figure was
another local product of the Sword Coast, she sighed, but it could be worse. She was a compact and
dusky Mulhorandi Tethan, a mongrel breed so old it was almost pure-blood, that harkened back to the