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

That was chafing him like an ill-fitting boot, used as he was to instant respect and
unquestioning cooperation. I stifled a smile with my own napkin. "The festival's only
five days long. You can look at the archives or whatever after that. It's taken us the
best part of a season to get here so a few more days won't tip the balance either
way."
Usara nodded mutely but I could see dissatisfaction lurking in his warm brown
eyes as we applied ourselves to our meal. I had better do something before he took
himself off on his own initiative. I wasn't having him toss a random rune to spoil my
plans.
Using a licked finger to collect the last sweet crumbs of a curd tartlet, I pushed
aside my plate. "Let's see what kind of show this city puts on."
"You think we'll find these friends of yours in these crowds?" Usara would never
have been so openly scornful when we'd started on the long journey from Toremal.
Well, it was about time he felt at ease with me.
"There aren't that many Mountain Men in the cities, so I suppose we might," I
said. "They mostly just trade with villages on the edges of the uplands. But no,
Sorgrad and 'Gren prefer to go unnoticed. You don't get far in our line of work if
you stick in people's memories."
Usara looked skeptical for a moment then favored me with a sudden bright smile.
"It's got to be more interesting than sitting here all afternoon. As you say, we don't
see spectacles like this in Hadrumal."
His words were lost in a carillon of bells from every side of the city. We hurried
out to the broad front steps of the inn and found the flagway packed tight with
people. Watchmen burnished for the festival were clearing stragglers out of the way.
Standing on my toes, I could just see the first of the huge guild symbols being
carried high by journeymen of the trade. Then a heavily built man with a lavishly
plumed hat blocked my view entirely. I tugged at Usara's arm. "Let's find
somewhere better to stand."
Not much taller than me and scant measures heavier, he was similarly struggling to
get a sight of the procession. Judicious use of elbows and brooch pin helped us to
an alley entry where the jutting foundation stones of a Tormalin-built hall gave us a
vantage point. I gave Usara a hand up and we saw a massive pair of scissors
bobbing down the high road. Made of wood painted and gilded to look like metal,
they incidentally demonstrated the wealth of the Tailors' Guild, of course. Liverymen
bowing and waving in fur-trimmed robes followed the journeymen sweating under
the honor of their burden. Finally the warden of the guild appeared, carried aloft in
his padded chair on the shoulders of apprentices, presumably chosen for even height
and stout muscles. Louder cheers identified loyal craftsmen keen to show allegiance
and have their fealty noticed by the masters of their trade.
Fullers and dyers followed with an unexciting display of cloth on tenterhooks
teased and harried by rising breezes. The skinners and furriers came next, garnering
far more approval from the masses with journeymen wearing monstrous heads:
wolves with mad silver eyes and crimson tongues lolling over bloodstained teeth,
bears with snarling, foam-flecked jaws. One lithe figure dressed as a cunning marten,
complete with mask and tail, dodged among them, while another in the long leather
apron of his trade pursued him with a knife as long as my arm mocked up out of
wood and paint. I laughed along with everyone else.
"This makes festivals in Hadrumal look a bit staid." Usara bent close to my ear to
make himself heard.
"Selerima puts on nearly as good a show as Vanam," I shouted appreciatively.