"Miller.and.Lee.-.Liaden.Universe.-.The.Tomorrow.Log" - читать интересную книгу автора (Miller Steve)

The person behind the table stared at him, then shifted her gaze upward, eyebrows lifting. "He's a bit undergrown, for twelve."
"His father was thus, mistress; and the child favors him."
"I see." She raised her glass and drank, placed it carefully aside, and beckoned with a broad-fingered hand. "Come here, boy."
His uncle pushed him and let go. Anjemalti hesitated, reluctant to go to the woman, willing almost to run through that noisy mob....
"Ah-ha!" The woman laughed, extended a long arm and drew him close. "He thinks he may not like me-and he knows he doesn't like you." The hand on his arm was neither cruel nor kind; the fingers that tipped his face toward the meager light and stroked his cheeks and hair flesh, warm and efficient.
"What's your name, boy?"
"His name is Anjemalti," his uncle said hurriedly, and the woman glared at him.
"Can he speak for himself, or are you peddling damaged goods, as well as underaged?"
"He can speak, mistress." His uncle's voice was almost subdued.
"Good." She brought her gaze back to him, ran judgmental fingers down his throat, casually unsealed the first several fastenings of his shirt. "What's your name?"
"Anjemalti Kristefyon," he said, and jerked his head irritably. "Stop that."
"A touch of spirit, is it? Now, Anjemalti, who is the man who brought you here?" She continued to unseal his shirt, slipped her hand against his flesh and probed, laughing when he flinched away.
"My Uncle Indemion."
"Is he?" She touched a bruise and frowned slightly; began to close his shirt. "Do you know that your uncle has brought you here to sell, Anjemalti? He beats you, I see, so maybe its just as well. My clients are quite genteel-most of them-and would hardly think of beating so well-favored a boy. Though I'm not sure you'd do in a bordello, Anjemalti-no, I'm certain of it-too much spirit. How old are you?"
"Nine years, Standard."
"All, yes, underaged ..." She glanced over his head. "I'll give three full rounds of gold. My final price."
"Three rounds, mistress? But he's worth far more than that! Undergrown he is, yet you admit he is not ill-favored. Surely so well-traveled a lady as yourself knows of a person or two with more-sophisticated-inclinations...."
"I do not dicker," she said flatly. "My price is three rounds, which you take or you leave. I advise you to take it, myself, or cut the lad's throat and accept the loss."
Hesitation. "I accept the price of three full rounds of gold. Be warned, though, mistress-he has a brooding and murderous nature. Beating is what he understands best; I suggest your clients be made aware of it, that they do not endanger themselves by failing to keep him pliant."
The woman was standing, one hand still encircling Anjemalti's arm. With the other, she fished in her pouch, extracted three yellow coins, and tossed them, negligently.
"Fee paid," she said tonelessly, as Indemion snatched the money out of the air. She stepped away from the table, pulling Anjemalti with her, and brought him safely through the quiet bar and out into the port.

* * *

He woke, sweat-soaked; abandoned his bed and dragged on old, soft trousers and a faded shirt, not bothering with the lights until he was in his workshop. Here, he must have light, for he could not see well enough in the dark to do the intricate electronic tinkering.
He shook his head irritably as he sat at the bench. Edreth had found his 'assistant's' dark-seeing nothing short of wonderful, while Indemion Kristefyon had seen proof of inferiority in his nephew's shortened range of vision. And now this fanatic girl, crying out for anyone to hear that, blind as he was, the Tomorrow Log held his name.
"The Tomorrow Log!" He picked the wounded spider up; sat staring at it with unseeing eyes. The Tomorrow Log was a tale for children; a supposed prophecy, passed down from the First Captain. Even if it existed, the name of a sold-off and despised half-breed would hardly appear, attached with any honor.
"My name is Gem ser Edreth," he told the spider tautly. It was not so bad a name, nor had Edreth been so bad a master, merely wishing, as he had, to pass on his skills and understandings to a worthy successor. For the universe is wide and full of strange custom, so that even the profession of thief is on some worlds honorable. Always supposing, of course, that one worked for oneself, as Edreth had done, and took care to avoid entanglements-and the doing of favors.
Especially the doing of favors. And most especially favors for the like of the Vornet.
Gem opened the tiny mechanical thing carefully, probing inside with a power-pik barely thicker than a cat-whisker. Edreth had professed wonder at Gem's patience for such tasks, as well, but encouraged him to pursue the interest, saying that even the most successful of thieves might some time require a more mundane trade.
It occurred to Gem, in that far, objective bit of his mind not at this moment concerned with the ailments of mechanical spiders, that Henron had become a less-than-satisfactory base of late. The attentions of the Vornet alone would make departure prudent. Add the crazed Ship-girl-what was her name? Corbinye?-to the equation and prudence argued for even precipitous withdrawal. After all, Lady Ro, of which he owned a third, was in port; and Dart was due within a three-day.
Still, it went against one's pride to turn his back on mere difficulties. Corbinye, he had dispatched already. The Vornet was rather more problematic, but it would not do to become known as one who had run from them.
"Anjemalti Kristefyon is sold, dead and gone," he told the spider, resealing the cover and setting it on its many legs; "and Gem ser Edreth does not run from his enemies."
He touched the control pad on his wrist and the tiny insectoid obeyed the impulse, dancing as he directed.


CHAPTER FIVE

She was waiting, wedged into a niche in the ornamental wall opposite his door, still and patient as any of the other statues.
Gem swore under his breath and strode straight across the court, with the intention of snatching her out of her shadow and administering a very sound shaking.
But, before he had gone four steps, she stepped out of the niche and raised her right hand, shoulder-high and open. "Good-day, Anjemalti."
"Gods scorn you for a fool!" He stopped just out of reach, in case the desire to shake her became overmastering; took a deep breath and exhaled it.
"How did you find this place?" he asked, quieter.
She looked at him out of astonished black eyes. "I am of the Crew. It was not difficult to trail you."
"Then it will not be difficult to find your way back. I have told you that I am not the one you seek; and I have told you to let me be. I demand that you cease this harassment and that you remove yourself from my attention." He leaned forward; snapped the last of it with all the power of command Edreth had taught him: "Leave me now!"
Consternation showed in the lean face; and confusion. She shifted in her shadow-pool, eyes narrowed slightly against the glare of First Noon, and gnawed her lip, but she neither left nor effaced herself, to Gem's dismay. Instead, she took a step toward him, and made as if to lay a hand upon his sleeve, though she did not quite touch him.
"Anjemalti," she said, in tones of gentle reason; "kinsman. I cannot know all your whys and wherefores, who have been away from us for so long. But it is foolish to deny your true name to me. I am of the Crew, in line for First, serving as Worldwalker, and Seeker for the Ship. I found the first trace of your uncle's mutiny; followed Sall Than Kermin to the ends of her route and persuaded her to say who had bought you."
She drew herself up. "A year and more I followed Edreth ser Janna, only to a find a dead man at the end of it, and that his apprentice was as skilled in disappearance as the master had been."
A pause, during which he returned her stare, stone-faced. "So," she said softly, "I know you, Anjemalti; and I know that I have found you. Whatever your schemes and business among Grounders, they are nothing, for your Ship needs you and you are called home."
"Damn your ship!" he cried and saw her flinch in horror, hand lifting to ward away the words.