"Robin Hobb - Assassin 1 - Assassin' s Apprentice" - читать интересную книгу автора (Hobb Robin)

three, four months, chivying them into opening it to us. Looks like it wasn't
the only thing he chivied open. Damn. Who'd have thought it of him?" He paused,
then: "Who's the mother?" he demanded suddenly.
The guardsman shifted uncomfortably. "Don't know, sir. There was only the old
plowman on the doorstep, and all him said was that this was Prince Chivalry's
bastid, and he wasn't going to feed him ner put clothes on his back no more.
Said him what got him could care for him now."
The man shrugged as if the matter were of no great importance. "The boy looks
well tended. I give it a week, a fortnight at most, before she's whimpering at
the kitchen door because she misses her pup. I'll find out then if not before.
Here, boy, what do they call you?"
His jerkin was closed with an intricate buckle shaped like a buck's head. It
was brass, then gold, then red as the flames in the fireplace moved. "Boy," I
said. I do not know if I was merely repeating what he and the guardsman had
called me, or if I truly had no name besides the word. For a moment the man
looked surprised and a look of what might have been pity crossed his face. But
it disappeared as swiftly, leaving him looking only discomfited, or mildly
annoyed. He glanced back at the map that still awaited him on the table.
"Well," he said into the silence. "Something's got to be done with him, at
least until Chiv gets back. Jason, see the boy's fed and bedded somewhere, at
least for tonight. I'll give some thought to what's to be done with him
tomorrow. Can't have royal bastards cluttering up the countryside."
"Sir," said Jason, neither agreeing nor disagreeing, but merely accepting the
order. He put a heavy hand on my shoulder and turned me back toward the door. I
went somewhat reluctantly, for the room was bright and pleasant and warm. My
cold feet had started to tingle, and I knew if I could stay a little longer, I
would be warmed through. But the guardsman's hand was inexorable, and I was
steered out of the warm chamber and back into the chill dimness of the dreary
corridors.
They seemed all the darker after the warmth and light, and endless as I tried
to match the guard's stride as he wound through them. Perhaps I whimpered, or
perhaps he grew tired of my slower pace, for he spun suddenly, seized me, and
tossed me up to sit on his shoulder as casually as if I weighed nothing at all.
"Soggy little pup, you," he observed, without rancor, and then bore me down
corridors and around turns and up and down steps and finally into the yellow
light and space of a large kitchen.
There, half a dozen other guards lounged on benches and ate and drank at a
big scarred table before a fire fully twice as large as the one in the study had
been. The room smelled of food, of beer and men's sweat, of wet wool garments
and the smoke of the wood and drip of grease into flames. Hogsheads and small
casks ranged against the wall, and smoked joints of meats were dark shapes hung
from the rafters. The table bore a clutter of food and dishes. A chunk of meat
on a spit was swung back from the flames and dripping fat onto the stone hearth.
My stomach clutched suddenly at my ribs at the rich smell. Jason set me rather
firmly on the corner of the table closest to the fire's warmth, jogging the
elbow of a man whose face was hidden by a mug.
"Here, Burrich," Jason said matter-of-factly. "This pup's for you, now." He
turned away from me. I watched with interest as he broke a corner as big as his
fist off a dark loaf, and then drew his belt knife to take a wedge of cheese off
a wheel. He pushed these into my hands, and then stepping to the fire, began