"Mercedes Lackey - Valdemar 03 - Take a Thief" - читать интересную книгу автора (Lackey Mercedes)

Take a Thief
by Mercedes Lackey
copyright 2001
version 2.0 compared to original, reformatted, spell checked finished October 26, 2003
1
"GERRUP."
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 "pick-me-up" 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.
"Breffuss," 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.
"Breakfast," 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 in more prosperous households, sifting out the ashes for sale to the tanners and soap makers, and
selling the clinkers and partially-burned ends of logs to people like Londer Galko, keeper of the
Hollybush Tavern. Nor would Uncle Londer actually buy a decent firestarter, much less keep a candle or
banked coals going overnight; Skif had to make do with a piece of flint and one of some other rock. The
fact that at least half of this "firewood" had been doused with waterтАФwhich was, in fact, the lawтАФbefore
the ragmen picked it up didn't make it any easier to light.
Before he could do anything about a fire, Skif went to the pile of sweepings from the floor of the
common room that he'd collected last night after the last drunken lout had been rolled out the door. Every
bit of dust and fluff that looked as if it might possibly catch fire became his tinder. At worst case, he'd
have to sacrifice a precious bit of the straw stuffed into his boots for warmth.
Heh. Sommun' been trackin' in straw. Hayseed from country, prolly. Oh, ayahтАФhere be nice
dust bunny, too.
Swearing under his breath, Skif hacked his two bits of rock together, trying to generate sparks,
hoping one of them would land in the tiny patch of lint and fluff. When one finally did, and finally
cooperated with his efforts, he coaxed it into a tiny flame, then got the flame to take hold of the driest of
the wood. He nursed it tenderly, sheltering it from the drafts along the floor, begging it to take. Finally, he
set it on the sooty hearth, surrounded it with what was left of the dry wood from last night, and slowly fed
it until it was large enough to actually cook over.
 Only when the kitchen fire was properly started did the slattern used by Uncle Londer as a cook,