"Juliet E. McKenna - Einarinn 3 - The Gambler's Fortune" - читать интересную книгу автора (McKenna Juliet E)

Selerima, Western Ensaimin,
First Day of the Spring Fair, Morning
There's a certain kind of man whose common sense shrinks almost exactly as fast
as his self-conceit swells. Perhaps it's an inevitable law of nature, one of those things
Rationalists will bore on about, given half a chance. Whatever, there are enough of
them about, especially at festivals, to let me turn a rune--or in this case, a
nutshell--for profit any time I choose.
I leaned forward and smiled confidingly. "You've been watching close now,
haven't you, friend? Care to risk another penny on it?"
The stout man's eyes flickered upward to my face, halting for a breath at the
tempting ruffle of my loose-laced shirt. As his gaze left the crumb-strewn tabletop,
my fingers moved unseen beneath my other hand to make sure I'd be taking his coin
once again.
"I'd say I've got it this time," he chuckled, confidence gleaming in his eyes like
the fancy braid on his cuffs. Still smiling, I held his eyes with mine although a
whisper of cold air on the nape of my neck stirred the hairs like those of a wary cat.
A door behind me was being held open for some reason pressing enough to let the
tavern waste its heat on the chilly spring day outside.
The merchant made up his mind and reached for the middle of the three nutshells.
I laid a soft hand on his hairy fingers. "Copper to choose, silver to see," I dimpled,
all innocent charm.
"Fair enough, girlie. I've got you this time." He tossed a copper onto the table
and snatched boldly at his chosen shell. As he gaped at the bare wood beneath, I
managed a look of wide-eyed startlement to match his own surprise. Several
onlookers laughed, but I never do that, not since my early days on the road. A
disgruntled cowherd once backhanded me across the face, losing his sense of
humor along with his meager hoard of pennies.
"Saedrin's stones, I could have sworn I had it that time!" The merchant rubbed a
fat hand over sweaty jowls and reached again. As I spread a warning hand over the
shells, I heard the scrape of nailed boots coming down on flagstones with a
measured tread.
"Silver to see, you know the game," I braced myself in my chair, unnoticed but
ready to rise.
Frustration never lets them not know. The merchant tossed an ill-tempered and
tarnished penny at me, which I swept briskly into my pocket. As he picked up one
shell then the other to reveal the errant kernel, I let the eager bystanders close in to
the table.
"But how, by all that's holy--" the luckless mark looked up, exasperated, but the
townsfolk in their holiday best had me effectively concealed from view. I edged
away. A tug at the laces drew my shirt to a more respectable neatness and I paused
for a moment in the shadow of the stairwell to reverse my jerkin unseen. Unhurried, I
pulled the far door closed behind me as I shrugged into dun homespun, pulling the
gaudy scarf from my head and stuffing it in a breeches pocket. There was no
mistaking the bellow of a Watch sergeant behind me, asking who had been running
the game. Various gullible fairgoers whose coin jingled in my purse would doubtless
be eager enough to give him a description. A woman unremarkable of height or
build, they'd say, but with a bright red jerkin and a headscarf patterned in yellow and
crimson imperfectly concealing her straight black locks. With that scent to follow,
the Watch were welcome to try and find me to demand a cut of the coin. Using my
fingers, I combed through the soft auburn waves of my hair and plucked out a few