"Mary Jacober - The Black Chalice" - читать интересную книгу автора (Jacober Mary)

More than once he straightened in his saddle, and wiped his face, and took himself in
hand. It was November, he reminded himself; what other weather might a man expect?
And peasants were a sullen, dirty lot, and always had been. As for the wind, and the birds,
and the sounds in the forest, dear God, the world was full of such things; if he saw an
omen in every leaf and feather he would drive himself mad.
Then they came to the inn, and his heart misgave him again.
The inn was the last habitation along this road, the last shelter they would find until
they passed through the forest and arrived at Marenfeld, beyond the hills. He did not
expect it to be a pleasant lodging, or even a comfortable one, but he was appalled at the
gloomy look of it. It was low and rough-hewn and almost windowless, cowering against
the base of a heavily wooded hill. It seemed to him less a hostel for travelers than a
hideout for thieves.
The innkeeper and his servants were accommodating - indeed too much so. They fell
over themselves scurrying to welcome such an extraordinary guest as the new count of
Lys. But it seemed to Paul they smiled too much, and much too easily. The innkeeper had
an ugly laugh and a vicious scar across his cheek. A long knife hung from his belt, and he
wore a thong around his neck on which were threaded several heathen charms. All the
country folk wore such things, and kept on wearing them no matter what the priests said.
In some villages, Paul knew, the priests started wearing them, too. The innkeeper's wife
was the only woman in the place; she had a hard, unsmiling face, and sullen eyes. She
rarely spoke, but when she did her words were clipped and bitter.
Karelian did not seem concerned at all. Over the years he had rubbed shoulders with
many kinds of people, and he accepted his surroundings with an easy worldliness. After
everyone had eaten, and the beer had flowed freely for a while, he put his feet up on the
crate where the innkeeper's cat was snuggled, and asked how the north had fared during
the duke's long absence.
The innkeeper shrugged and said nothing.
"We met some merchants on the way," the count persisted, "who were turned back at
Karlsbruck. They said many things have suffered from neglect."
The innkeeper smiled. "That be true, my lord, but we knows the duke been fightin'
heathens, and winnin' back Jerusalem. And God'll shower favors on us for it, an' make us
rich in heaven. Won't he, my lord?"
He spoke with perfect humility, but his hand while he spoke fingered some horrid
animal thing hanging from his neck, and his eyes were not humble at all.
But Karelian showed no resentment. The cat stretched, eyed him for a moment, and
wandered onto his lap. He reached to stroke it idly.
"The duke brought many riches back from the east," he said. "He's promised to make
the Reinmark into the jewel of the empire."
The innkeeper crossed himself. "Pray God I live to see it," he said.
Paul shifted irritably in his chair, wishing Karelian would object to this carefully servile
insolence. In the same breath he admitted that Karelian's unruffled self-possession, his
refusal to make quarrels out of trifles, his willingness to listen to almost anyone at least
once тАФ all were the qualities of a wise and steady man.
"My squire is growing weary," the count said. "And in truth, so am I. We must make
an early start in the morning."
"You be headin' back to Karn, then, my lord?"
"No. We'll take the forest road, and go through Helmardin. It will be a rougher journey,
but a quicker one. I was already expected in Ravensbruck some days ago."
One by one the scattered voices in the room broke off, and Paul could hear the wind
howling, and the crackle of fire in the hearth, and the harsh scrape of the innkeeper's iron