"Fifth Millennium 02 - Shadow's Daughter - Shirley Meier UCb" - читать интересную книгу автора (Fifth Millennium)
"Yes, yes, little bylashka. We had you." Then he poked her cheek gently with one finger. "Nice to see a smile there, little solemn face!" They walked all the way around the park, from the fountain past the path through to Svinina Street where the Guildhall was. Then Megan let go and ran and ran in big circles, arms wide, pretending she was a bird, flying high, always staying io sight and coming back to her papa.
Someone had made a swing out of an old bell rope and a board, and her father pushed her so she swung high, laughing.
Then he took her down and said, "We'd better go back or your mother will wonder what happened to us." He always said that before they left, every time. She pouted, then tickled him, and he put her on his shoulders to "keep you out of trouble" and carried her up the street that way, higher than the world.
She was high enough to see the sun shining in the bits of broken glass set along the tops of the garden walls. People looked different enough From this angle that she felt shy about waving to them, but did anyway; it was neighborly.
Everyone's yard was different within the stone and brick walls; plots of dirt for vegetables later in the year, grass, covered flowerbeds or stone and sand gardens. As Papa opened their wooden gate, they could hear voices inside the house. "Hello," Papa called, and stepped inside as Megan ducked her head under the lintel.
The inside door was still open, along with the shutters around the top of the house. From the landing, ten steps led down into the house proper, where the stone floor was covered with bright carpets. Sitting cushions were scattered here and there. In die kitchen corner a red-
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tiled stove sat and a small brazier helped keep die floor warm. Across from the stairs, the wallbed was open to air out and the feather tick, pillows and blankets hung outside to get the winter's mustiness out of them. Near the stairs stood a wooden chest with Megan's bed tucked in behind it like a miniature wallbed. The sun shone in through the shutters, cutting the room in half slantwise from top comer to bottom opposite, bright and dim light, dust dancing in the breeze from the outside.
"Laxand, Marte's come to visit." Mama's voice was cheerful as she called from her cushion by the table, but Megan could hear tears in it. Beside her, Megan's aunt Marte put down her kahfe cup with a click. Mama cries sometimes when Aunt comes, Megan thought. When Papa put her down and went to greet his sister, Megan hid in her bed.
She crawled in under the feather tick and pillow, all her own. Her mama had traded at the Big Market for the feathers and sewed the patchwork cover with pieces of Papa's old green coat ana bits of felt from her worn-out boots. The tick wasn't like her parents' that had a red cover all of a piece and two pillows each as big as Megan. Some mornings when Mama opened the carved doors of the bed, Megan would run across the cold floor and climb into the waUbed with them. She wasn't a baby any longer, needing her parents to keep her warm, and had a bed all her own, but she liked those mornings.
It smelled wonderfully of cedar in the dark, but she poked her head out since it was getting too hot and her braids were coming undone. Then she moved to the top of her tick, hugging her stuffed bear Brunsc, listening to the adults* voices and the click of Ness's good cups. They sat on the cushions by the brazier, drinking kahfe, though Megan didn't understand why her mother would serve it; kahfe was only for special company.
"Laxand, you have your position to consider," Aunt Marte said. "As next in line tor the Guildmastership, you should at least live in a more prosperous neighborhood. Somewhere in the First Quarter, where you can associate
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with people of your own station, people ofЧquality." She always looked sideways at Mama when she said tilings like that.
"We like it here," Lixand said quietly.
Megan peeked over the edge of the trunk for a second before ducking down again. Uke Uxand, Marte had dark brown hair and very fair skin that burned easily. Next to her husband. Ness was tiny with raven black hair and slanted eyes almost dark enough to be called black. Megan tended to favor her mother which, for some reason Megan couldn't understand, angered Marte. Aunt wrinkled her nose as if there were a foul odor in the room, and Megan pretended that Brunsc had teeth and could bite her.
"Of course, I understand your tastes, brother," Marte said and smiled, but she kept looking at Ness. "Never quite refined enough."
"Marta Mikhailashkya, my tastes are none of your business." Megan remembered one time when he'd almost hit her; she was kin so he restrained himself. He was starting to sound that angry again.
"Oh, certainly. Ness, dear, the kahfe is lovely." Megan lay down again and started to play with Brunsc. He only had one ear left because she'd chewed the other one off when she was a little baby. Her mama said she was a big gгrl now. She lifted him up over her head, pretending she was old enough to have access to the manrauq, the power of mind that all adult Zak had, and could make him float without holding him in her hands. Her mother could do that, but it would tire her out.
Megan didn't want to listen to Aunt Marte. She didn't understand how Aunt could make Mama sad and Papa angry all at the same time without raising her voice.
"Megan," Papa called to her. She pushed Brunsc out to see if it was safe, and when the toy just lay there dribbling sawdust from a little hole under his arm, she looked around the corner of the trunk.
"There's the childl Megan, come here," Aunt Marte
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Shirtey Meier
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