"Alphabet Of Thorn" - читать интересную книгу автора (McKillip Patricia A)

Alphabet of Thorn
Patricia A. McKillip

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ONE

On DreamerТs Plain, the gathering of delegations from the Twelve Crowns of Raine for the coronation of the Queen of Raine looked like an invading army. So the young transcriptor thought, gazing out a window as she awaited a visiting scholar. She had never been so high in the palace library, and rarely so warm. Usually at this time of the morning she was buried in the stones below, blowing on her fingers to warm them so they could write. Outside, wind gusted across the vast plain, pulling banners taut, shaking the pavilions thrown up for the various delegationsТ entourages of troops and servants. A spring squall had blown in from the sea and crossed the plain. The drying pavilions, huffing like bellows in the wind, were brilliant with color. The transcriptor, who had only seen invading armies in the epics she translated, narrowed her eyes at this gathering and imagined possibilities. She was counting the horses penned near each pavilion, pelts lustrous even at a distance after the rain, and as clear, silhouetted against one anotherТs whites and grays and chestnuts, as figures pricked on a tapestry, when the scholar finally arrived.

A beary man, he shed a fur cloak that smelled of damp and an unusual scent of tobacco. He carried a manuscript wrapped in leather that he laid upon the librarianТs desk as gently as a newborn. As he unswaddled the manuscript, the transcriptor standing silently at the window caught his eye. His hands stilled. He stared at her. Then his head, big, dark, and very hairy, jerked toward the librarian who had shown him in.

УWho is this?Ф

УWe called her Nepenthe,Ф the librarian said in his austere voice. His name was Daimon; Nepenthe had known him all her life, for he had found her and named her. Of the child she had been before she became Nepenthe, neither of them knew a thing. In sixteen years since then, she had changed beyond recognition, and he had not changed by a moment, being the same dispassionate, thin-haired wraith who had picked her up with his bony hands and tucked her into a book bag to add to the acquisitions of the royal library. УShe is one of our most skilled and creative translators. She has a gift for unusual alphabets. Such as you say you have, Master Croysus?Ф

УIТve never seen anything like it in my life,Ф Master Croysus said. He continued unwrapping the manuscript, still tossing glances at Nepenthe. She stood quietly, her long fingers tucked into her broad black sleeves, trying to look skilled and creative, while wondering what the scholar found wrong with her face. ФIt looks like an alphabet of fish. Where did you come from?

УDonТt let her youth deceive you,Ф Daimon murmured. The scholar shook his head absently, squinting at Nepenthe until she opened her mouth and answered.

УNowhere, Master Croysus. I was abandoned on the cliff edge outside the palace and found by librarians. The last foundling they took in was named Merle. N was the next available letter.Ф

Master Croysus made an incredulous trumpet sound through his nostrils. УIТve seen that face,Ф he said abruptly, Уon a parchment older than Raine. I donТt remember what it was, except that the ancient kingdom it came from lay far beyond the Twelve Crowns and it no longer exists except on paper.Ф

The librarian looked curiously at Nepenthe; she wished she could take off her head and look at herself.

УA clan of wanderers,Ф he suggested, Уremnants of the forgotten kingdom. Perhaps they were passing through Raine when Nepenthe was born.Ф

УThere was no one Ч ?Ф

УNo one,Ф Daimon said simply, Уcame looking for her.Ф He paused, added to clarify and end the subject, УIt was assumed that whoever left her in that precarious spot Ч her mother, most likely Ч flung herself for her own reasons into the sea. The child was left in hope, we also assumed, of a less difficult life, since she was left alive and wailing with great energy when we found her.Ф

The scholar grunted, which seemed his last word on the subject. He laid the manuscript bare and gestured to Nepenthe.

She stepped to the desk. They all gazed at the strange, elongated ovals neatly imprinted on something that Nepenthe did not recognize.

She brushed it with her fingertips. It was supple and tough at once. Some kind of pelt, it seemed, though it was white as birch and strangely unwrinkled.

УWhat is this?Ф she asked puzzledly.

The scholar regarded her with more than fantastic interest. УGood question. No one knows. IТm hoping that the contents may indicate the tools.Ф He was silent a moment, his bushy brows raised inquiringly at her, and then at the librarian. УI can stay only as long as the delegation from the Ninth Crown stays after the coronation. IТm traveling in the company of Lord Birnum, who will pay his respects and go home to civilization as soon as he can. It is a powerful gesture and a stirring custom for rulers to be crowned in the palace of the first King of Raine, but not even he, with all his ambitions, imagined the rulers of Twelve Crowns under his ancient rool at the same time.Ф

УAre you with Lord Birnum in the palace?Ф Daimon asked delicately.

УNo,Ф Master Croysus sighed. УIn a leaky pavilion.Ф

УWe can offer a bed of sorts among the books.Ф

The scholar sighed again, this time with relief. УI would be immensely grateful.Ф

УIТll see to that, while Nepenthe takes you down to show you where she will be working on your manuscript. Transcriptors dwell in the depths. As well, I must warn you, as do visiting scholars.Ф