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

"Ah! Shkai'ra! she said. "So thin, so thin!" A sausage-like finger prodded at
muscle that lay like smooth armor over the Kommanza's ribs. "You will starve
without Annulu to cook for you." The fat woman's Fehinnan held a slight trace
of a singsong accent, and she was paler than the run of lowlanders. She turned
to Megan. "I tell her often, to be thin is a temptation to wickedness-only we
fat people are to be trusted. We are too heavy to be wicked-not quick enough.
She should eat!"

Shkai'ra sank a friendly elbow into the cook's side. "We'd decided we both
want meat," she said. "What's good?"

"Everything out of Glaaghi's kitchen is good . . . especially when I do a
special hire-then it is my kitchen! Annulu said in mock anger. "But for you
and your friend, it will be especially good. Wait. It will be a surprise." She
nudged Shkai'ra with her foot. "Manners, outland barbarian."

"Ah." Shkai'ra started slightly, then made the introduction.

"I greet you and your family and look forward to your art," Megan said.

"More than art. Magic!" Annulu said, retreating to the stairwell.

At Megan's raised eyebrow, Shkai'ra spoke. "Old friends," she said. "I lent
her part of the money to buy herself, back when." A reminiscent grin. "Long
story. The price kept going up because she's the best cook in the New City ...
and she couldn't bear to do a bad meal."

A plate of pickled appetizers appeared; then red bean soup with prawns, not in
both meanings of the word, with a salad of greens; then roast of pork,
honey-glazed and stuffed with truffles and onions; steamed seaweed; baked
sweet potatoes on a bed of scented rice. The wine had a strange musky tang to
Megan's palate, but it was pleasing.

They both ate with the slow enjoyment of those who have gone hungry often. At
last Shkai'ra sighed, mopped up a corner of her plate with a heel of bread,
and belched comfortably. Swift, efficient hands removed the soiled dishes and
replaced them with platters of cheese and flatbread, more wine, and a pot
suspended in a porcelain frame over an open flame. Megan discretely laid a
clip of metal under the edge of me plate and never saw it disappear. In her
estimation, it was enough to pay for good service; especially since she'd
found she'd stolen quite a lot the evening before, not knowing the value of
the metal. Servers in inns are always underpaid anyway.
Shkai'ra paused, considered, and poured herself a cup of the tea rather than
more wine, "Ahi-a, at home I'd be eating jerked meat in the saddle, while we
fought to keep the nomads off the crops. Exile can have its compensations."
She smiled and glanced upward. Now the long twilight of summer was fading, and
clouds rolled black along the western horizon. A small storm rolling in, one
of the hurricane's children. "Exile?" Megan began, raising an eyebrow.

"But for all the striving and slaying," Shkai'ra said, an hour later, "I've