"Shirley Meier & S. M. Stirling - Fifth Millenium 02 - Saber and Shadow" - читать интересную книгу автора (Meier Shirley)

She emerged from the small streets into a roar of light and

"I think I'm going to like this place, the short time I'm here," she said to
herself, and leaned against the wall to look down the street.

Shkai'ra sank down and studied the view between her toes as they floated and
dipped through the light wisps of steam on the surface of the bath water;
there was more than enough room, since the tubs were the sawn halves of wine
casks built to hold a tonne each. Dying evening light slanted down from the
window opposite, picking out detail: the cool blue flagstones, the warm brown
tile that covered the walls of the long rectangular room, the band of
blue-flowered glazed tile around the edge of the ceiling.

Also the warning over the arched entrance, of course: Patrons must soap and
rinse before entering tubs. No food or fornication while bathing. Penalty for
peeing in the bath water is clubbing to unconsciousness. There was an
attendant to enforce it, too; a black giant from the Sea Islands leaning on
the weighted staff that was his people's national weapon. Fehinnans took
cleanliness seriously, and the Weary Wayfarer's Hope of Comfort and Delight
was a respectable inn, unlike many of its customers.

Shkai'ra ducked her head, scrubbing at the roots of her hair to get rid of the
last of the salt; having been delayed while the ship affected repairs had been
irritating enough to make her promise to sacrifice a sheep to Glitch, godlet
of fuckups, if he would just ignore her for a while. Some people petitioned
Glitch for good luck, but that was pointless. She surfaced, wallowing with
luxurious content. In her homeland, folk bathed once a month, less in winter,
and a hot soak was a special comfort for the elderly, to ease the pain of
often-broken bones.

If you live on the Great River, learn to enjoy catfish, she quoted to herself,
throwing back the damp mass of her hair.

A portly man bustled in with an armload of towels and a tray of stoneware
jugs.

"Firehair!" he said, stopping. "Still alive! I thought the sharks would eat
you sure, down south."

"Junno, you're always surprised when someone makes a journey outside the city
and lives," she replied. He was one of the kinfast that owned the Weary
Wayfarer, and an old friend of sorts. "Nothing down there but cheap rum and
big bugs. They got you hauling wine again?"

He sighed and sat down, removing the stopper from a jug and refilled her cup.
"Shorthanded,' he said, and scowled. "Two of our people killed in a riot-times
are hard, very hard. Plenty of scum we could hire, but we're waiting for
trustworthy help. Glad to have you here again, by the Immortal Sun."

Shkai'ra nodded; she got a reduced rate, on the understanding she would help