"Linda Evans - Time Scout 2 - Wages of Sin" - читать интересную книгу автора (Evans Linda)

just as soon as he could rid himself of hated debt to the man who had brought
him here and set him the task of learning-and keeping secret records of-which
men traveled the gates to Rome and Athens and what they brought back.
He didn't understand his one-time master's orders, any more than he
understood how beautiful, highborn Ianira could love a man who had been a
slave nearly all his life. So he simply kept the records, considering it a
challenging puzzle to be solved, a clue to what made his former master's brain
work while slowly gathering the money to pay his slave debt. He took Ianira's
money, little as he wanted to, because he was desperate to get out from under
such debt, to gain at least a little of the status that would put him on
something approaching her own level.
Marcus' bittersweet thoughts were rudely interrupted by the unmistakable
voice of Goldie Morran. Instant irritation made his skin shudder, like a
horse's when big, biting flies descended to slake their thirst. Marcus
sometimes wondered, looking at Goldie Morran, if she had been called Goldie
for the shining, golden hair Roman women had once so coveted they'd had wigs
made from the tresses of their slaves (impossible to tell now-Goldie's hair
was, at present, a peculiar shade of Imperial Purple, leaving little clue as
to its original color), or because she was an avaricious old gargoyle who
wanted nothing in the world more than cold, hard cash-preferably in the form
of gold-coinage, dust, nugget, whatever she could get her claws on.
Harpy-eyes glanced his way. "Marcus, get me a beer."
Then she sank down into one of the chairs beside Skeeter, inviting herself
into their private conversation. As Marcus poured beer from the tap, seething
and manfully holding it back-Goldie Morran was a regular customer-she glanced
at Skeeter. "Hear you're going downtime. Isn't that new, even for you?"
Marcus set the beer in front of Goldie. She took a long, slow pull while
waiting for Skeeter's usual outburst.
Skeeter surprised them both.
"Yes, I'm going to Rome. I'm taking a slow two-week vacation so I can get
better acquainted with Agnes Fairchild. She and I have become rather close
over the last week or so and, besides, she has the right to take a guest with
her on slow tours." He spread his hands. "Who am I to turn down a free trip to
ancient Rome?"
"And what," Goldie glanced up coyly, the neon lights in the bar doing
strange things to her sallow face and genuinely purple-silver hair, "what
exactly is it you intend to steal."
Skeeter laughed easily. "I'm a scoundrel and you know it, but I'm not
planning to steal anything, except perhaps Agnes' heart. I might have tried
for yours, Goldie, if I thought you had one."
Goldie made an outrageous sound, glaring at him, clearly at a loss for
words-perhaps a Down Time Bar & Grill first. Then, turning her back to him,
Goldie gulped down the remains of her beer and slammed down a scattering of
coins to pay for it. They jounced, slid, and rolled in circles; one even fell
to the hardwood floor with a musical ringing sound.
Silver, a part of Marcus' mind said, having become intimately acquainted
with Roman coinage and its forgeries.
Goldie, leaning over Skeeter's chair very much like a harpy sent by the
gods to punish evildoers, said, "You will live to regret that, Skeeter
Jackson." The chill of a glacier filled her voice. And underlying the frozen