"Katherine Kurtz & Scott MacMillan - Knights of the Blood 2" - читать интересную книгу автора (Kurtz Katherine)

salute, both to de Beq and to the chivalric tradition chat bound them in
brotherhood, then solemnly grasped de Beq by the right wrist.
"I promise I'll be back, Henri. With your sword."
Then, without another word, he carefully laid the sword in the trunk of
the car next to his bag, closed the lid, and walked around to the front of
the car to slide in behind the wheel, not daring to look at de Beq again. He
turned the key; and the car started instantly. When he glanced in the
rearview mirror, the knights had vanished from sight.
Father Freise opened the passenger door and stuck his head in.
"Going my way?"
 "Sure, hop in."
He waited for Freise to get settled in the passenger seat, then eased out
the clutch and pointed the stubby snout of the car toward the road. "Where
to?"
"Just as far as the village. Oh, andтАФuhтАФI hope you can loan me some
cash." Father Freise sounded vaguely embarrassed to be asking for money.
"Sure. How much?"
"Not much. Just enough for a bicycle and a few odds and ends, that's
all." Father Freise's voice became a little brighter, rather like a kid whose
big brother has just given him money to go see a movie. "I've managed to
get our knights somewhat organized while you were recovering, but it's
still pretty primitive at the castle."
The village was only a few miles down the road. At Freise's direction,
Drummond parked in the center of the square, across from what the priest
indicated was the local general store.
"I'll be in there, getting a few things," he said, then pointed to another
shopfront a few doors down. "By the way, in the last few days I've
discovered that's the local infirmary. You might want to have them take a
look at that cut of yours before you head out. It's been a while since I did
any suturingтАФabout fifty years, in factтАФand in those days, I was working
with something a bit more sterile than linen sewing thread." Before
Drummond could answer, the priest turned and headed into the general
store.
Drummond had all but forgotten his head wound, especially in the
intensity of getting ready to leave this morning. It had stopped hurting
days ago and still hadn't started itching;тАФa good sign that everything was
on the mendтАФbut it probably was a good idea to have a proper doctor
look at it before he went charging back to America. Glancing at the sign
on the door Freise had indicated, Drummond headed into the infirmary.
The waiting room was empty, and Drummond pressed a button on the
counter. From somewhere in the back of the building he heard a muffled
buzz, followed by an indistinct burst of French. Resigned to waiting, he
took a seat next to the door. A few moments later, a young man in steel-
rimmed glasses stuck his head around the partition.
"Oui?"
Drummond pointed to the bandage on his head and, in awkward French,
started out with, "Je ne parlez Fran├зais тАж"
 "English?" The young man emerged from behind the partition, his
hands thrust deep into the pockets of his lab coat.
"No, American."