"Thieves World - Beyond The Veil" - читать интересную книгу автора (Morris Janet E)

hers. She was, in her way, straight-laced: even her girls must be over twelve.
Tempus fingered a smile. "You ought to let her, if she wishes."
"Oh, pish. Don't interrupt me. I was about to, when Crit asked which woman we
were talking about. When I pointed her out and mentioned she was looking for
you, loyal Critias offered to pretend to be one of my whores long enough to turn
the tables on her and find out what she'd thought to learn from one of my belly
warmers. If she's tipped him, we'll share the gratuity."
"They're done, then?"
"So it seems. And very friendly, yet. So what's your pleasure, sleepless one?
See the girl? Crit? Both? Neither? I've a nap room behind that curtainЧ" she
pointed behind her with a naughty smirk "Чyou've not seen yet."
"You've got me curious. Go tell Crit I'm here and follow his lead as to whether
or not she should know. AndЧ"
Bomba was already getting up. She paused quizzically.
"Чshould Jihan come in," he warned, "your answer's still the same: you haven't
seen me."
"Seen who?" she teased, tossing back gray-streaked hair once chestnut, now
faded. "But a question, dear friend and guest, in case there's no time later or
you suddenly are invisible to me as well as to your other ladies."
"Speak it."
"Stealth, called Nikodemos? Any word of him?"
"None." He didn't want to talk about Niko. She sensed it and, though her
question had been prompted more by business considerations than idle curiosity,
let it pass. Niko had been Tempus's favorite among the Stepsons; he'd left Tyse
abruptly. Tempus would not conjecture about or try to alter Niko's decision.
Those the Riddler loved were bound to spurn him. In Niko's case, it might be
better this way. The young fighter's soul had been coveted by a Nisibisi witch,
who for a time possessed him, and his patronage was still sought by no less a
power than AЪkelon, the entelechy of dreams. Nikodemos had retreated to the
western island sanctuaries, where he'd been trained. If ill befell him there, it
would not be Tempus's fault.
When he looked up again, the curtain in the doorway was rustling and Madame
Bomba's tread could be heard descending the stairs. Niko's immediate family was
long dead of war. He had an uncle in Caronne who purveyed the finest and rarest
of drugs; it was this that Madame Bomba wanted with Niko. The boy had written a
letter of introduction for her and she'd sent it on to the uncle, but so far
there'd been no response.
He watched the woman and Crit at the bar, now, as Bomba sidled nimbly through
the crowd, then whispered in Crit's ear. The foreign woman's gear was eclectic.
Only in the Rankan capital, or perhaps Mygdon proper, could such an assemblage
of international craftsmanship be procuredЧor in a mercenary hostel near a hotly
contested front where there was much dying and hiring taking place and camp
followers pitched their mercantile, mobile cities.
The two women and Tempus's first officer conferred briefly. An ancient, dusty
jar of wine was produced from behind the bar, its seal broken, lid sniffed by
the madame's educated nose, a bit poured into three goblets. Then a barmaid
headed toward the stairs with the jar.
Only Madame Bomba followed, and that a long interval later. Crit and the foreign
woman had by then disappeared through the bar's far portal, whether to the drug
dens beneath or the playrooms above, Tempus couldn't tell.