"01 - Canticle - R A Salvatore 1.0" - читать интересную книгу автора (Cleric Quintet)

"There's one for the faeries," grumbled a doubting Ivan. "Look at it, Ivan," Cadderly said reverently. "One for the faeries, indeed, if that phrase implies grace. The strength of the design cannot be underestimated. The bridges displace stress so that the walls, with minimal stonework, can hold much more than you might believe, leaving incredible possibilities for window designs."

"Sure, from the top," the dwarf replied gruffly, "but how might it take a giant's ram on the side? And what about the wind? There are mighty cross-breezes up here, and mightier still if you go building higher!"

Cadderly spent a long moment considering the aerial buttress. Every time he looked upon the model, he was filled with hope. He thought that a library should be an enlightening place, physically and mentally, and while the Edificant Library was surrounded by impressive grounds and mountain views, it remained a dark and thick-stoned place. The popular architecture of the time required massive stone foundations and did not allow for large windows. In the world of the Edificant Library, sunlight was something to be enjoyed outside. "Scholars should not sit squinting by candlelight, even at midday, to read their tomes," Cadderly argued.

"The greatest weapons in all the world were forged in deep holes by my ancestors," Ivan countered.

"It was just the beginnings of an idea," mumbled Cadderly defensively, suddenly agreeing with Ivan that they should get back to the crossbow. Cadderly did not doubt his design's potential, but he realized that he would have a hard time convincing a dwarf, who had lived a century in tight tunnels, of the value of sunlight.

Ever sympathetic, Pikel put a hand on Cadderly's shoulder.

"Now for the bow," Ivan said, opening the wooden coffer. The dwarf gently lifted a small, nearly completed crossbow, beautifully constructed and resembling the bow depicted on the tapestry. "The work's making me thirsty!"

"The scroll is nearly translated," Cadderly assured him, not missing the reference to the ancient dwarven mead recipe he had promised in return for the crossbow. Cadderly had actually translated the recipe many weeks before but had held it back, knowing that Ivan would complete the bow more quickly with such a prize dangling just out of his reach.

"That's good, boy," Ivan replied, smacking his lips. "You get your bow in a week, but I'll need the picture to finish it. You got something smaller showing it?"

Cadderly shook his head. "All I have is the tapestry," he admitted.

"You want me to walk through the halls with a stolen tapestry under me arm?" Ivan roared.

"Borrowed," Cadderly corrected.

"With Headmistress Pertelope's blessings?" Ivan asked sarcastically.

"Uh oh," added Pikel.

"She will never miss it," Cadderly replied, unconvincingly. "If she does, I will tell her that I needed it to confirm some passages in the drow tome I am translating."

"Pertelope knows more of drow than does yerself," Ivan reminded him. "She's the one who gave you the book!"

"Uh oh," Pikel said again.

"The mead is blacker than midnight," Cadderly said offhandedly, "so the recipe says. It would kill a fair-sized tree if you poured only a pint of it along the roots."

"Get the other end," Ivan said to Pikel. Pikel pulled his mushroom-shaped cook's cap over the tangle of green hair, which made his ears stick out even farther, then helped Ivan roll the tapestry up tight. They hoisted it together while Cadderly cracked open the door and made sure that the hall was empty.

Cadderly glanced over his shoulder at the diminishing angle of the shining sun through his window. His floor was marked in measured intervals to serve as a morning clock. "A few minutes to noon," he said to the dwarves. "Brother Chaunticleer will begin the midday canticle soon. All the host priests are required to attend and most of the others usually go. The way should be clear."

Ivan gave Cadderly a sour look.

"Tut-tut," muttered Pikel, shaking his furry face and wagging a finger at Cadderly.

"I will get there!" Cadderly growled at them. "No one notices if I am just a few moments late."

The melody began then, Brother Chaunticleer's perfect soprano wafting gently through the corridors of the ancient library. Every noon, Chaunticleer ascended to his place at the podium of the library's great hall to sing two songs, the respective legends of Deneir and Oghma. Many scholars came to the library to study, it was true, but many others came to hear the renowned Chaunticleer. He sang a cappella but could fill the great hall and the rooms beyond with his amazing four-octave voice so fully that listeners had to look at him often just to make sure that no choir stood behind him.

Oghma's song was first tins day, and under the cover of that energetic and rousing tune, the brothers Bouldershoulder bounced and stumbled their way down two curving stairways and through a dozen too-tight doorways to their quarters beside the library's kitchen.