"Mindy L. Klasky - Glasswright Journeyman" - читать интересную книгу автора (Klasky Mindy L)

Chapter 1

Rani Trader looked through the panes of glass, grateful that the direction of the wind had
shifted, that she was temporarily spared the stench of burned wood and melted stone from
the city below her tower chamber. She ordered herself not to lean out the window, not to gaze
into the palace courtyard and see the refugees who huddled in their makeshift tents. She drew
a deep breath, fighting the urge to turn away, to close her eyes, to shut out all thoughts of the
fire that had eaten its way through Moren.

No one knew how the blaze had started. There were rumors that it had begun in a tavern
brawl, deep in the Soldiers' Quarter. Some said that it had sprung from an unattended fire in
the Merchants' Quarter, at a sausage-maker's stall. Others said that it had begun in the
Guildsmen's Quarter, or among the homeless, roving Touched.

Rani did not care how the fire had begun. She cared only that the newborn flames had been
licked to full life by the springtime winds. The blaze had fed on winter-dry wood, devouring
entire streets of the city. Good people had died trying to protect their families, and fine trade
goods had disappeared in smoke.

In the end, the fire was stopped only by an experimental engine created by Davin, one of
King Halaravilli's retainers. That massive machine, intended for war, had saved some few
Morenian lives, bringing down rows and rows of buildings with explosive charges, collapsing
wood and mud and wattle so that the fire had nothing to consume, nowhere to go. Even

Bavin's creation might not have been sufficient, if not for a furious spring storm that flooded
the darkened and charred streets after three days of fire.

Moren was crippled, wounded almost to death. The city faced a new year and old
terrorsтАФstarvation, freezing cold, madness. The Pilgrims' Bell tolled as refugees huddled in
the palace courtyard, on the darkened flagstones of the old marketplace, in ramshackle
doorways and unsafe structures. Children were sick, and the leeches who tended the survivors
identified a new diseaseтАФfirelung. The sickness was first brought on by breathing heated air
or too much soot, but then it spread to others, to people who were exhausted and hopeless.
Firelung killed if its victims did not receive rest and warmth and good, nourishing food. Often
it killed even if the patients were cared for.

The only shred of grace from all the Thousand Gods was that the cathedral had been spared.
The cathedral and the Nobles' Quarter, and the palace compound. Moren had the tools to
rebuild, if it dared.

Rani turned her head away and pulled the shutters closed, turning back to the tome on her
whitewashed table. A JOURNEYMAN'S DUTY, she read. The letters were ornate, the
parchment page ringed with fine illustrations of journeymen glasswrights going about their
business of pouring glass, cutting shapes, crafting fine-drawn windows.

The book was the newest in her collection, given to her by Davin. The old man had carried it
all the way to Rani's tower, breathing heavily from his exertion. He had pointed toward the
heavy parchment at the beginning of the text, alerting her to the beautifully crafted pages.
"Read it, girl. Read it, so that you can get on with your business."