"Karen Haber - Thieves' Carnival" - читать интересную книгу автора (Haber Karen)

"If I do, how will you pay me?" she asked archly. The Weirder grinned unevenly,
scenting victory.
"In whatever coin I may have, pretty one." Swinging the jug teasingly, Mouse
pressed her point.
"Any coin?"
"Name it."
"A peek at the treasure." Lashio sighed.
"Can't."
"Very well," she said, and began to walk away, hips swinging. "Wait! Little Mouse,
wait." Lashio sounded desperate. "All right. Here. Give me the jug and stick your
pretty nose in the door. But be quick about it."
"Done." Mouse handed him the wine and watched as he unlocked the treasury
door, then stepped eagerly inside. She gasped at the glittering pile of goods on the
floor of the chamber. The treasury half filled the room. Among the purloined goods
Mouse spied a golden, oval mirror framed by gems that twinkled like faceted chunks
of white ice; great strands of plaited ruby glass hanging from thongs like horgans'
tails; blue flasks of rare Neivian aphrodisiac liquor; tiles of ebon cordaline mined
from the hills of Phrygia; and a square gold house seal bearing the mark of the
Second Quarter's Magistrate-General. Close to the door sat the Cube, strange green
fires playing over its surface. When Lashio was deep into the jug, Mouse palmed the
Cube and closed the door.
"Thanks, Lashio. Keep the pitcher," she called, and skittered back out into the
plaza.
His eye half-closed, Lashio waved his gratitude. Smoothly, Mouse deposited the
Cube into her waist pouch, sealed the pocket, and gave it a pat.
"Ably done," Ciaran said. "And just in time. I hear the musicians tuning up. The
carnival's just beginning." His voice was warm as the light of four sunballs. "Come
along, master thief. Let's go to Thieves' Carnival."
He threw his arm across her shoulder and led her into the gaudy festival tent. Inside,
tumblers were tossing each other high in the air. Their bright yellow and orange
robes streamed out behind them as they pranced through the room. The feasting
tables were being set with roasted joints of meat and savory fish stews. The rich
smell of gravy tantalized Mouse. She closed her eyes and sniffed happily, her anger
forgotten. Ciaran set his harp across two seats at the main table. Together, he and
Mouse heaped high plates of bread and meat. As quickly, they cleaned each platter
and returned for more. When had they last had a meal like this? Wiping her mouth
with the back of her hand, Mouse reached for a heel of bread from Ciaran's plate.
He began to scowl until her smile melted him. Then she offered him her cup of wine
as a peace offering.
"We make a decent team," Ciaran said.
"Not bad," she agreed.
The minstrel raised high his cup.
"To a couple of thieves," he toasted. "To us." The wine sloshed over the cups' rims
as they clinked together. A high, keening sound disturbed Mouse's tipsy reverie.
Suddenly dizzy, she glanced around. Where had Ciaran gone? A strange, dark-eyed
man in a blue tunic sat next to her. He met her gaze with evident puzzlement and said
something she couldn't understand.
The shrill sound was coming from an odd, baggy musical instrument that a
pale-haired woman was pounding. The air was smoky. Mouse felt nauseated. She
shook her head several times. Maybe fresh air would help.