"Tanya Huff - Kigh 1 - Sing the Four Quarters" - читать интересную книгу автора (Huff Tanya)

The pilot's brows disappeared under the edge of her knit cap. "Well, la de sink it da. You know
the river?"

"I thought that was your job." The tone had been finely tuned to land just this side of insult.

The two women measured each other for a moment, then the pilot snickered. "Get on," she said,
jerking her head at the tiny covered cockpit up in the bow. "River's runnin' too fast to need you
today, but the Circle'll bring tomorrow around soon enough. Folk call me Sarlo. That's i'Gerda or
a'Edko if you wanna do a song about me later. Make it romantic, I like them best. Now move yer
butt."

More than willing to move her butt out of a wind that stroked icy fingers over any exposed skin,
Annice took a deep breath and stepped across onto the narrow deck. Safely on board, she spat
over the side and muttered, "We give to the river. The river gives back."

Sarlo started. "You know the rituals?"

Annice smiled up at her. "I'm a bard. Knowing the rituals is part of what we do."

One corner of the older woman's mouth twisted up. "Think highly of yerself, don't you?"

Annice's smile broadened. "I'd float with rocks in my pockets," she said.



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 Huff, Tanya - Sing the Four Quarters


Lashing her pack to the cargo stays, she wrestled herself, her instrument case, and the day's
journey food into the tiny bullhide shelter tucked in between the cargo and the bow. When Jon
and two bundles joined her a moment later, it got distinctly crowded.

"I hope you don't mind riding with the front curtain up." He tied it back as he spoke. "But I like to
see where I'm going."

"Actually, right at the moment, I appreciate the fresh air." Between the smell of the hide and the
lingering smell of tar clinging to the boat, Annice was beginning to regret the piece of bread.

"Still a bit queasy?" he asked, sitting down and managing to squeeze his shoulders in beside hers.

"No. I'm fine," Annice said. But she said it through clenched teeth.

Back on the stern deck, the pilot yelled a command and a pair of rope-soled boots under oilskin
clad legs pounded into view.

"Sarlo's youngest, Avram," Jon explained as Annice craned around the edge of the shelter for a
better look. "I think he's got a love in Riverton. Didn't take much convincing when his mother
decided to take my cloth."