"Esther M. Friesner - A Big Hand For The Little Lady" - читать интересную книгу автора (Friesner Esther M)

It was just another night in Hrothgar's hall, high Heorot, and the bloodstains
on the plank floors hardly showed at all. Men sat at the long boards, drinking
and swapping lies. Mead, beer, and wine flowed freely, most of it down the
gullets of those warriors who'd stayed in noble Hrothgar's service long enough
to have seen too many of their comrades die at the hands--if they were
hands--of the fen-dwelling fiend the scops named Grendel. (How the scops ever
got close enough to the hellspawned monster to learn his name without being
themselves devoured remained a mystery.)
While the doughty Danish warriors sopped up enough liquor to float a longship,
serving wenches passed between the feasting boards, refilling cups and
drinking horns while at the same time slapping down or encouraging the
attentions of the men, as they pleased. Among this lot there was one young
woman who stood out from the rest, though not even the most nimble-tongued
harper could ever say that she stood above them.
"Well, woodja looka that, Hengest," said one of Hrothgar's men, staring across
the hall through booze-bleared eyes. "They got kids serving in here now?"
His seatmate gave him a comradely thwack in the head. "Thass no kid, Wulfstan,
you beetle-brain. Thass m' sister, Maethild."
"Uh." Wulfstan squinted at the doll-like woman threading her way through the
maze of tables. The other wenches towered over her, as did some of Hrothgar's
boarhounds. It wasn't that she was a dwarf, although Hengest could have told
Wulfstan that the girl had borne more than a few crude gibes from would-be
wits who wanted to know where she kept her hammer or asked to see her treasure
hoard. (In the latter cases, Maethild generally contrived to lay hold of a
something heavy and hammer home a few free lessons in manners.) She was as
sweetly formed a woman as the Lady Frey had ever blessed: hair of gold, eyes
like a windswept summer sea, trim waist, and thighs that could crush a full
keg of autumn ale between them. She was simplyтАж short. She balanced a heavy
jug of beer on her shoulder as effortlessly as if it were made of cloud
instead of clay, sometimes using it to beat aside too-familiar hands.
"You washed 'er wrong," Wulfstan said at last. "She shrunk."
Hengest bellowed with laughter and thumped Wulfstan on the back. "I like you,
Woofspam," he slurred. "I don' got a lotta friends here yet 'cos I jus' come
south to get into Hrothgar's service. See, I'm hopin' I'll be the one to killa
monster that's been makin' all you Ring-Danes slink outa this fine hall ev'ry
night so's he won' eatcha. Ol' Hrothgar, he'll pile a ton o' treasure on the
man does that, and that man's gonna be me. But I like you. I like you a lot.
Tell ya what: If you don' get eat up an' I killa monster, you marry Maethild.
Deal?"
Wulfstan gave the diminutive maiden another long stare. "Well, she looks cheap
to feed. 'Kay. Deal." The two men shook on it, and both of them fell off the
bench backwards in the process. Hengest was the first back on his feet. He
bawled out his sister's name.
One of the serving women reached down to tap Maethild on the shoulder. "You're
wanted."
"I know." Maethild gave her brother a look of disgust which the other wench
misinterpreted.
"Look, if you don't want him bothering you, drop that jug where it matters.
I've been watching you; you don't have any trouble handling these trolls."
"That's no troll; that's my brother."