"McCarty, Dennis - Thlassa Mey 01 - Flight to Thlassa Mey UC" - читать интересную книгу автора (McCarty Dennis)

bolted away but several men leaped after him; there were
shouts and screams, a stand collapsed, and a dog ran
yelping through the mob.

More soldiers shouldered their way through the packed
bodies, rushing toward die melee. The square filled with
surging humanity. The commotion was enough to conceal
Aelia as she departed. She started out of the square, mov-
ing at a hurried pace that made it hard for her attendants
to keep up with her and to form a protective wedge about
her which shoved aside onlookers who failed to step out
of the way quickly enough. She placed her hand upon the
slave's shoulder. "Now show the way. We must begone
from here."

They escaped the tumult of the marketplace and hur-
ried along an ancient street, to turn into another street,
narrow, cobbiestoned way which was little more than

DENNIS McCARTY 7

an alley leading toward the docks. She looked back. The
steward was not behind them. Had they eluded him?

Their footfalls echoed off the smoke-and-oil-stained
buildings that loomed two and three storeys above them.
Many of these buildings showed broken shutters and there
was refuse everywhere. The oppressive air of the district
affected the attendants; they glanced about and lingered
the hilts of the long daggers they wore at their sides.

They met few people. Those they did encounter eyed
(he weapons of the two escorts and slunk away or stood
silently, watching them with listless eyes as they passed.
Finally their guide stopped. He pointed to the place they
had reached, an inn where ale and wine were sold. If
nothing else, it was a bit cleaner than the surrounding
buildings and the signboard that hung out over the street
bore the likeness of an armored warrior sitting astride a
horse, the color of which might once have been white.
There were no letters on the signboard. None were needed;

few of the denizens of these streets could read.

The slave gestured up at the weathered piece of art-
work. "Lady, you told me to find an inn called the 'Silver
Knight' or the 'White Knight.' You said you had heard
both names. This is the place I found. It hasn't got a real
name; there's only that likeness there, but a man works
here and he is much like the one you seek."