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

with the motion. "It's . . ." she began. "Hmm. It's a big round piece of wood,
with bits of ropes and canvas hanging off it, and a body .. ." The distant
tiny figure moved, and a gull leaped away flapping "... no, with somebody
alive hanging on to it.'

. . . damn seagulls, . . . ow . . . get off. Megan waved a hand just enough to
scare the birds. The sun shimmered in her eyes as she blinked, trying to clear
the stinging of salt. Her left hand was still tied into the snarl of rope
where she'd lashed it when she started to fear her grip slipping; the
wrist-galls were newly chaffed open by the rope, stinging with salt. They
wouldn't fester, though she worried that the blood would draw sharks or
barracuda. At least she was clean, having been in the water for a couple of
days- wrinkled and badly sunburned, but clean. She'd had nothing but a rag
loincloth and a few scraps of sail against the sun's heat. She'd let her hair
down at first to help cover her skin against the sun, but found it catching in
every crack and tangling around her arms and legs whenever she was in the
water, so had braided it up again.
She tried swallowing, but her mouth was too dry, tongue like boot leather. She
worked her hand free and pulled herself higher up on the board though it
exposed her to the sun. From that position she could make better headway,
lying belly down with the wooden edge at her armpits, paddling with her hands.

The shoreline was a tantalizing darker blue ribbon on the horizon, maybe ten
chiliois away. Too far away to abandon the hatch-cover and just swim. Either
way, the current she was in pushed her further away.

The water had warmed and changed color, tasting less of salt-an estuary of
some kind. There were more birds in the sky and floating branches washed from
inland. She paddled, started up as her face touched the water and paddled
again, trying not to fade into unconsciousness.

I just have to make it that far. After everything,

I'm not giving up now. She edged back and laid her cheek on the warm, almost
not wood, glad for the water lapping over it, then pulled a flap of canvas up
to cover her head, rinsed and spat salt water, dribbling warm down her chin.
Gotta stop doin' that . . . be too tempted to swallow . . . crazy with salt.
She spat, waved a hand at the gulls that had settled again. Sun. Flapping
air-rats . . . damn you, won't get my eyeballs yet. Waves thundering in my
head . . . no, sails, dream ships chasing gulls away, dreaming tackle squeal,
thunder's the sails. What roused her from her daze was the shadow of the ship,
blocking the sun that had burned down on her with bone-biting intensity. A
real ship? A reaching boat-hook snagged at the ropes at one end of her hatch
cover. Koru, let it be real. . . .

Shkai'ra had sauntered back to her duffle and scratched under Ten-Knife-Foot's
chin. She sat down, leaning against the barrel, throwing her dice idly against
the deck rather than going back to the shoulder lacing. Have to figure out
what to do once I get back to the City. Not completely broke, for once.
Jaibo'll probably still be visiting his kinfast up river. . . . She glanced