"Andre Norton & A C Crispin - Song Smith - uc" - читать интересную книгу автора (Norton Andre)

Years of salt spray borne by fierce winds had encrusted the
walls guarding the steep lane leading up from the wharves,
painting dirty white splotches on the age-blackened stones.
The Way of the Empty-Netted Fisher was nearly deserted in
the last wan illumination of sunset; only one of its many
shadows possessed any substance.

That dark-cloaked, slight figure was already so unsteady
from two months at sea that when a bitter cold, salt-tinged
blast swept by, it staggered, nearly falling. The hapless way-
farer skidded on the slimy cobbles of the stinking, refuse-
covered Way, only saved from a fall by the tall,
gryphon-headed quarterstaff that served as a walking aid as




ANDRE NORTON AND A.C. CRISPIN

well as a weapon. The traveler huddled into the half-shelter of
an ancient archway to brace against another gust of wind,
long-fingered hands clutching a worn hand-harp case and a
much-mended backpack against the icy thrust of the coming
storm.

Ahead a dim light beckoned, promising shelter from the
wind and soon-to-fall sleet. As the harper neared that flicker-
ing beacon, it revealed itself to be a ship's lantern, barely
sheltered enough that its flame still lived, hanging outside a
hulking, dark-timbered building. Even above the whipping
breeze, sounds of tipsy revelry inside were clear.

The traveler eyed the inn with its accompanying tavern
warily, realizing that The Dancing Dolphin was no accommo-
dation that anyone with a reasonably well-filled purse would
seek out for a meal, much less lodging. Beneath the much-
faded lettering on the swinging sign, an improbable greyish
shape sported among wildly tossing waves. The harper
grimaced, but there was no arguing with the light weight of the
purse carefully tucked down inside a sea-stained leather jerkin.

Forcing the door open against a particularly strong wind-
bluster, the songsmith stumbled into the taproom. Raucous
laughter andshouted arguments made a deafening din. Eyeing
the tavern-master, the dark-cloaked traveler picked a cautious
way across a floor made nearly as treacherous as the alley
outside by slopped wine and greasy, skittering bones.

The tavern-master, a thin, red-nosed man with a balding