"Mercedes Lackey - It Takes A Thief" - читать интересную книгу автора (Lackey Mercedes)

Winds of Fury
THE MAGE STORMS TRILOGY
Storm Warning
Storm Rising
Storm Breaking

Owlflight
 Owlsight
Owlknight
тАЬGERRUP.тАЭ
Skif's dreams shattered, leaving him with vague fragments of being somewhere
warm, cozy, and sweet-scented. A toe scientifically applied to Skif's rib cage
with enough force to bounce him off the back wall of the under-stair cubby he
called his own reinforced the otherwise incomprehensible order that he wake
up.
He woke, as ever, stiff, cold, and with a growling stomach.
It was the beginning of another beautiful day at the Hollybush Tavern.
An' good mornin' to you, too, bastard.
He scrambled to his feet, keeping hunched over to avoid hitting his head on
the
staircase, his ratty scrap of a blanket clutched in both hands. His uncle's
eldest son looked him up and down, and gruntedтАФprobably disappointed that Skif
was awake enough that a тАЬpick-me-upтАЭ cuff to the side of the head wasn't going
to be necessary this time.
Skif squinted; Kalchan was a monolithic silhouette against the smoky light
from
the open kitchen door, narrower at the top and swiftly widening where
shoulders
would be on an ordinary human, his only distinguishing characteristics from
neck
to knee being a pair of pillowlike arms and the fat bulging in rolls over his
waistband. Skif couldn't see his face, which was fine as far as he was
concerned. Kalchan's face was nothing he cared to examine closely under any
circumstances.
тАЬBreffuss,тАЭ Kalchan grunted, jerking his head over his shoulder so that his
greasy locks swung in front of his face. Skif ducked his head and quickly
folded
his blanket, dropping it on the pad of rags over straw that served him as a
pallet. He didn't need to dress; in the winter he slept in every stitch of
clothing he owned. Satisfied that Skif was on duty, Kalchan went on to awaken
the rest of the tavern staff.
Yah, an' do not a hand's worth of work, neither.
тАЬBreakfast,тАЭ was what Kalchan had said, but he hadn't meant that it was time
for
Skif to partake of that meal.
As soon as he was out of the way, Skif scuttled out into the kitchen and began
the tedious business of lighting the fires, hindered by the fact that his
uncle's penny-pinching ways were reflected in every aspect of his purchases.
For
firewood, he relied on the rag-and-bone men who swept out fireplaces and ovens