"Eric Van Lustbader - The Pearl Saga 3 - Mistress of the Pearl" - читать интересную книгу автора (Lustbader Eric van)

 A Tom Doherty Associates Book New Yo rk
This is a work of fiction. All the characters and events portrayed in this novel are either fictitious or are used fictitiously.
Tor Books by Eric Van Lustbader
The Ring of Five Dragons
The Veil of a Thousand Tears
Mistress of the Pearl
MISTRESS OF THE PEARL
Copyright ┬й 2004 by Eric Van Lustbader
All rights reserved, including the right to reproduce this book, or portions thereof, in any form.
This book is printed on acid-free paper. Edited by David G. Hartwell Map by Ellisa Mitchell
A Tor Book
Published by Tom Doherty Associates, LLC
175 Fifth Avenue
New York, NY 10010
www.tor.com
Tor┬о is a registered trademark of Tom Doherty Associates, LLC.
Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data
Lustbader, Eric.
Mistress of the pearl / Eric Van Lustbader.тАФ1st ed.
p. cm.тАФ(Volume three of The Pearl) "A Tom Doherty Associates book." ISBN 0-312-87237-2 I. Title.
PS3562.U752M57 2004 813'.54тАФdc22
2003060698
First Edition: March 2004
Printed in the United States of America
0987654321
In loving memory of my father,
Melvin Harry Lustbader
1912-2002
 PROLOGUE

So the black Chimaera says to the mermaiden, 'You have displeased me, and for this I will carve your
heart out and feed it to you.' And the mermaiden says, 'I would not mind so much, but I am a vegetarian.'
"
The small off-duty complement of Sarakkon laughed at the first mate's joke, and why not? The
Oomaloo was nearing the end of its long journey north from the bustling port of Celiocco on the southern
continent. The air belowdecks was turgid and sweet with laaga smoke. But they sprang to as they heard
the lookout's long-awaited call of "Land-all!" and thundered up the companionway. Halfway there,
however, their high spirits evaporated, as the ship abruptly heeled over. Thrown against the polished
wooden bulkhead, they shook their heads as the ship righted itself. But now they could feel the
thrumming of the heavy seas, and they heard the storm call even as they rushed on deck.
The captain stood amidships, his eyes tearing in the high wind. Like all Sarakkon, he was tall and
slender, his skin, sun-washed, wind-scoured, the color of ripe pomegranates. One eye squinty from a
fishhook through it in intemperate youth. He had a full beard, sign of his rank, and through its thick curling
black hair were threaded carved blue-jade spheres, silver cubes, tiny conical striped shells. He wore a
lightweight kilted skirt and the kaldeaтАФa wide belt of cured sea grape that circled his waist and hung
down in front in a complex series of knots, identifying his status as well as his lineage. The moment his
crew appeared, he gestured them to their stations. Moments before, the wind moaning its intentions in his
ear bones, he had signaled the lookout down from his nest. One glance to the northeast had confirmed
what he knew: within minutes the storm would overtake them. Already they were being buffeted by
fistfuls of sleet. Sensing the storm's powerful heart, he was reminded anew of how arrogant and small