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

pate and hair-tufted ears, turned at the tug on his sleeve.
"Your pardon, sir," the stranger murmured, indicating the
hand-harp case. "Would there be any objection to a few songs
by the fire for your customers tonight?"

The tavern-master's eyes were on a level with the harper's as
he eyed the stranger; then, abruptly, he nodded. "Not as long
as you're willing to pay for your bed and board like anyone
else, minstrel."

"Certainly." The stranger shook back the hood of the dark
cloak, revealing a mass of curling black hair, cropped short.
Small silver hoops winked from both earlobes, "I'll beginЧ"

"A wench! An' a likely-looking one at that, Mylt! By the
Hounds' Teeth, where'd you find 'er?" A hand descended on

SONGSMTTH

the traveler's shoulder, jerking her half about to face a heavy-
shouldered fisherman with a wind- and ale-reddened face.

His rough handling pulled her dark cloak open, revealing
the silver ornament lying pendant on the breast of her laced
overjerkiri. As the man took in the meaning of that symbol, he
stepped back, dropped his hand. "I didn't knowЧdidn't
seeЧ" Clumsily, he touched thick fingers to his forehead in
apology. "Yer pardon, songsmith. . . ."

The bard graciously inclined her head, her fingers going to
the sign of her calling . . . three interlinked circles, each with
a flattened, pointed sideЧstylized finger and thumb picks, for
use with a hand-harp. "I'll begin now," she said to the tavern-
master, as though the interruption had not occurred.

Carrying her harp case over to the bench by the fire, the
songsmith opened it, drawing forth a much-used instrument.
It was of old-fashioned design, carved from aged cherry wood,
its scrolls and frets enhanced by a silvery blue metal shimmer-
ing faintly in the firelight. Resting the harp across her lap, she
drew three picks out of the inner pocket of her red tunic,
slipping them onto her thumb and first two fingers.

She began tuning the instrument. Hearing the soft strains,
the twelve fishermen, eight Sulcar sailors and two grizzled old
Falconer marines present in the common room ceased talking
and quietly, respectfully, gathered near the fire.

"Draw nigh, sirs!" Mylt the tavern-master loudly urged.
"Pay heed to a wandering songsmith who has graciously