"George R. R. Martin & Tuttle, Lisa - Windhaven" - читать интересную книгу автора (Martin George R R)

The shutters shook beneath a terrible blast of wind, and the child listened to the frightening sound of
creaking wood, and the thrumming of the greased paper that served them for a window, and briefly she
was afraid. Her mother slept on, unaware. The storms were frequent, but her mother slept through all of
them. The girl was afraid to wake her. Her mother had a fierce temper, and she did not like being
awakened for something as small as a child's fear.

The walls creaked and shifted once again; lightning and thunder came almost together, and the child
shivered underneath her blanket and wondered whether this would be the night that they went to see her
father.

But it was not.

Finally the storm subsided, and even the rain stopped. The room was dark and quiet.

The girl shook her mother into wakefulness.

"What?" she said. "What?"

"The storm is over, Mother," the child said.

At that the woman nodded and rose. "Get dressed," she told the girl, as she hunted for her own clothing
in the darkness. Dawn was still an hour away, at least, but it was important to get to the beach quickly.
The storms smashed ships, the child knew; little fishing boats that had stayed out too late or ventured too
far, and sometimes even the great trading ships. If you went out after a storm, you might find things
washed up on the beach, all kinds of things. Once they had found a knife with a beaten metal edge; when
they had sold it they had eaten well for two weeks. If you wanted to find good things, though, you could
not afford to be lazy. A lazy person would wait till dawn, and find nothing.

Her mother hung an empty canvas sack over her shoulder, for carrying things. The girl's dress had big
pockets. They both wore boots. The woman took down a long pole with a carved wooden hook on its
end, in case they saw something in the water, floating just out of reach. "Come on, child," she said. "Don't
dawdle."

The beach was cold and dark, with a chill wind blowing steadily from the west. They were not alone.
Three or four others were already there, prowling up and down the wet sands, leaving boot-marks that
quickly filled with water. Occasionally one would stoop and examine something. One of them was
carrying a lantern. They had owned a good lantern once, when her father was alive, but they had to sell it
later. Her mother complained of that often. She did not have her daughter's night vision, and sometimes
she stumbled in the darkness, and often she missed things she ought to have seen.

They split up, as they always did. The child went north along the beach, while her mother searched to the
south. "Turn back at dawn," her mother said. "You have chores to do. Nothing will last past dawn." The
child nodded, and hurried off to search.

The findings were lean that night. The girl walked for a long time, following the water's edge, eyes on the
ground, looking, always looking. She liked to find things. If she came home with a scrap of metal, or
perhaps a scylla's tooth, long as her arm, curved and yellow and terrible, then her mother might smile at
her and tell her what a good girl she was. That did not happen often. Mostly her mother scolded her for
being too dreamy, and asking foolish questions.