"Mercedes Lackey - Bardic Voices 1 - Lark And Wren" - читать интересную книгу автора (Lackey Mercedes)

find its way right back inside tonight; only in the great cities were the streets paved and kept clean. It was
enough that the road through the village was graveled and graded, from one end to the other. It kept down
the mud, and kept ruts to a minimum.
As well wish for Stara to become a pious churchgoer as to wish for a paved road. The second was
likelier to occur than the first.
Rune propped the broom in a corner by the fireplace and emptied the ashes and clinkers into the ash-
pit beneath the fireplace floor. Every few months the candle-maker came to collect them from the cellar;
once a year the inn got a half-dozen bars of scented soap in exchange. A lot of the inn's supplies came from
exchange; strawberries for manure, hay and straw for use of the donkey and pony, help for room and board
and clothing.
There were four folk working under that exchange right now; of the six employees only two, Annie
Cook and Tarn Hostler, received wages. The rest got only their rooms, two suits of clothing each year, and
all they could eat. While Rune had been too young to be of much help, she'd had to share her mother's
room, but now that she was pulling her share of her load, she had a room to herself. There wasn't a door,
just a curtain, and there was no furniture but the pallet she slept on, but it was hers alone, and she was glad
of the privacy. Not that Stara ever brought men up to her room-she wouldn't have dared; even the easy-
going Rose would not have put up with that-but it was nice to be able to pull the curtain and pretend the
outside world didn't exist.
Provided, of course, Stara didn't whine all night. There was no escaping that.
With the fireplace swept and logs laid ready to light, Rune fetched a pail of water, a bit of coarse
brown soap, and a rag from the kitchen, with a nod to Granny, who sat in the corner peeling roots. Annie
Cook was nowhere in sight; she was probably down in the cellar. From the brick ovens in the rear wall
came a wave of heat and the mouth-watering smell of baking bread. Rune swallowed hard as her stomach
growled. Breakfast had been a long time ago, and dinner too far away. She was always hungry these days,
probably because she was growing like a sapling-the too-short cuffs of her shirt and breeches gave ample
evidence of that.
If I hurry up, maybe I can get Granny to give me a bit of cheese and one of yesterday's loaf-ends
before Annie makes them all into bread pudding.
With that impetus in mind, Rune quickly hauled the tables and benches away from the walls, got the
benches down in place, and went to work on the tabletops, scouring with a will. Fortunately there weren't
any bad stains this time; she got them done faster than she'd expected, and used the last of the soapy water
to clean herself up before tossing the bucketful out the door.
But when she returned the bucket to the kitchen, Annie was back up from her journey below.
Her stomach growled audibly as she set the bucket down, and Annie looked up sharply, her round
face red with the heat from the oven. "What?" she said, her hair coming loose from its pins and braids, and
wisping damply about her head. "You can't be hungry already?"
Rune nodded mutely, and tried to look thin and pathetic.
She must have succeeded, for Annie shook her head, shrugged, and pointed her round chin towards
the pile of ingredients awaiting her attention. "Two carrots, one loaf-end, and a piece of cheese, and get
yerself out of here," the cook said firmly. "More than that can't be spared. And mind that piece is no bigger
than your hand."
"Yes, Cook," Rune said meekly-and snatched her prizes before Annie changed her mind. But the cook
just chuckled as she cut the cheese. "I should ha' known from yer breeches, darlin', yer into yer growth.
Come back later if yer still hungry, an' I'll see if sommat got burnt too much fer the custom."
She thanked Annie with an awkward bob of her head, took her food out into the common room, and
devoured it down to the last crumb, waiting all the while for another summons by her mother. But no call
came, only the sound of Stara scolding Maeve, and Maeve's humming. Rune sighed with relief; Maeve
never paid any attention to anything that wasn't a direct order. Let Stara wear her tongue out on the girl; the
scolding would roll right off the poor thing's back-and maybe Stara would leave her own daughter alone,
for once.