"Shirley Meier & S. M. Stirling - Fifth Millenium 03 - The Cage" - читать интересную книгу автора (Meier Shirley)

narrow ways of the rooftops and soared with late afternoon
sunlight on its wings, a plaintive meeorrow trailing behind.

"What is that thing?"

"Hmm? What? Oh, that. It's a flitter or wingcat." Megan
shrugged. "Expensive this far south. You can pay a hunter a
month's wage for a flitterkitten. Luxury item."

Shkai'ra stood looking up at the soaring feline musingly. "Hell
on pigeons."

THE KCHNOTET VURM, BRAHVNIKI EVENING

Megan leaned on the window of their room and looked out at
Brahvniki, down at the grey slate and brown thatched roofs
fading into shadow patterns in the long shadows of autumn
twilight. The towers of The Kreml on the highest point were like
teeth against the cloudy sky, onion domes, patterned tile and
gilding. The street beneath, bustling with Bravnikians hurrying
home, was cobbled with worn round stones from the river.
Faintly she could hear the wooden flute of a street musician over
the rumble of hooves and boots and the shrill groaning of an
oxcart's ungreased wheels. A working port, full of smells of sea
and the silty odors of the great river. She craned her neck to see
the white dome of the outermost spire of the Benai across the
river.

Behind her, Shkai'ra Mek Kermak's-kin put hands to hips and
pivoted a slow circle on one heel. "Best room?" she asked. All the
furnishings were old but sound, like the inn itself. There were
deep troughs in the oak doorsill, foot-worn. The Kchnotet Vurm
wasn't the best in the city but it certainly wasn't the worst; what
had Megan saidтАФah yes, the "noisiest." Around her feet a
battered black tomcat wound, blinked, seemed to stretch out in
an arc that landed on the bed; there he sat like a small idol, eyes
slitted, forefeet kneading happily into the softness.

"Dah." Megan came in and closed the shutter so the
candleflame steadied.

"We've had better," the Kommanza continued. Although they
had known what she meant when she asked for an armor stand;
no matter how carefully you packed a suit, it was better for the
lacings if you stood it upright. She stood back to admire hers
standing in the corner, the liquid shine of the black-lacquered
surfaces and scarlet trim. Then she gave the fiberglass backings
a quick inspection; they could come loose from the bullhide if
the glue went moldy, and all the gods knew it had been trouble
enough dragging it from the other side of the Lannic. The