"Robin McKinley - Rose Daughter" - читать интересную книгу автора (McKinley Robin)

Jeweltongue.
тАЬIt would make an entire regiment of poachers splendid jackets,тАЭ said Lionheart.
тАЬNever mind,тАЭ said Jeweltongue grimly. тАЬThe auction house wonтАЩt want the stuff: whatever it is, we
get to keep it. ItтАЩll wear like iron. IтАЩll think of something to do with it.тАЭ And so it had gone into the drab
heap of bits and pieces they would take with them into exile.
Jeweltongue sewed till her fingers bled from the harshness of the fabric and the wiry strength of the
thread; but the shirts (minus any pockets useful for poaching) would be as tough as she had predicted,
and in the working community they now found themselves in, she was sureтАФshe was almost sureтАФthere
would be buyers for them. Lionheart was right about their little remaining hoard of money: It would not
last them their first year, and what they still needed for the house, plus a few chickens and a goat and
somewhere to keep them, would take whatever they made on the sale of the horses and waggon.
Jeweltongue left her elder sister to her pole-lashing and went outdoors to find her younger one
waiting for her. Beauty was sitting on the high rickety seat of the decrepit old waggon, singing to the
horses, who were obviously listening to her. тАЬAnd from her heart grew a red, red rose, and from his heart
a briar. ...тАЭ
тАЬOh dear!тАЭ said Jeweltongue. тАЬIsnтАЩt there something more cheerful you could sing?тАЭ
Beauty stopped and looked surprised. тАЬIt has never occurred to me that that is not a cheerful song.тАЭ
тАЬIтАЩve never felt that lovers who failed to embrace while they were alive were going to derive much
joy out of plants embracing after theyтАЩre dead,тАЭ said Jeweltongue.
тАШтАШMaybe you just donтАЩt understand about plants,тАЭ said Beauty, smiling.
тАЬNo, I leave all that to you,тАЭ said Jeweltongue. тАЬI would rather make sailcloth shirts for the rest of my
life than weed a flowerpot once. And I have absolutely no intention of making sailcloth shirts for the rest
of my life.тАЭ She climbed lightly up the side of the farm cart and settled herself delicately on the hard plank
seat. тАЬI shall not miss this cart in the least,тАЭ she said.
тАЬI will miss the horses,тАЭ said Beauty a little wistfully.
тАЬPerhaps you will become fond of the goat,тАЭ said Jeweltongue. тАЬOr even the chickens.тАЭ
тАЬDoes one ever grow fond of chickens?тАЭ said Beauty dubiously. тАЬPerhaps the goat.тАЭ
тАЬWe will make an effort for a very nice go?.t,тАЭ said Jeweltongue.
The two sisters were determined to be optimistic about their first meeting with the local townsfolk;
but clinging to optimism left them little energy for anything else, and their conversation soon faltered. To
prevent herself from thinking too much about their last experiences of townspeople. Beauty looked round
the thinning woodland they were passing through and silently recited: Oak. Larch. DonтАЩt know what that
is. Sycamore. Rowan. Wild cherry. More oak. Snowdrops, arenтАЩt they pretty! Truly spring is coming.
But when they arrived in Longchance, they discovered what else they had won by making aged
turnips into feast dishes, and warm clothes out of rags, and cooperation from antagonism. When the
tradersтАЩ convoy had passed through, the only news of the new residents of Rose Cottage left behind was
that they were a merchantтАЩs family, fallen on hard times. The traders had not so much as named the three
sisters and had mentioned the old merchantтАЩs illness as if this were the central fact about the family. Most
important of all, the traders left no sense of any mystery to be solved. The townsfolk were
inquisitiveтАФRose Cottage had stood empty for a long time, and Longchance was small enough to be
interested in any newcomers besidesтАФbut not agog; cautiously friendly, not suspicious.
And Longchance was a good-natured town. They gave the sisters good advice and a good price for
the horses, if not for the rickety waggon. Beauty and Jcweltongue came home exhausted but content.
They had credit to spend at the village shops, a promise of delivery via the carter from the sawyer and
the smith, a basket of pullets peeping aggriev-edty under the shawl tucked round them to keep them from
leaping out, a bundle of fresh vegetables to enliven their stale end-of-winter stores, and a very nice goat
indeed, following them thoughtfully on the end of a string tied round her neck. She was a silky brown and
white goat with long eyelashes around her enigmatic slot-pupilled eyes, and the fannerтАЩs daughter had
named her Lydia and wept at parting from her.
тАЬOh, fiddlesticks!тАЭ said Jeweltonguc, shortly after they had turned off the main way onto the rutted