"Kim Hunter - [The Red Pavillions 01] - Knight's Dawn v1.0" - читать интересную книгу автора (Kim Hunter - [The Red Pavillions 01] - Knight's Dawn)

СSoldier,Т said Soldier, quickly.
СWhat?Т
СMy name - my name is Soldier.Т
The scrivener scratched away in his book, his left eyebrow raised and his tongue-tip sticking out of the corner of his mouth.
СSoldier,Т he repeated. СNothing more? Not УSoldier from KandunФ or УSoldier of TyernФ? Usually when oneТs name is oneТs trade, a town or a city follows. УSmith of Blandaine,Ф for example . . .Т
СJust Soldier.Т
СThen my next question is, where are you from, Soldier?Т
СFrom Ч from the Ancient Forest.Т
The scrivener looked up from beneath his brows, his wall eye disconcerting Soldier.
СThe Ancient Forest? That region is uninhabited. What is more, you do not look like a local, like one of us, so to speak. You seem to be a foreigner and a very strange one at that. Blue eyes? I never heard of such a thing, not even amongst the beast-people beyond the water margin. YouТll have to do better than that, Soldier.Т
СLook,Т he blurted, Сthe truth is I donТt know who I am or where IТm from. I woke today on a. hillside just beyond the Ancient Forest. I feel as if IТve been in a great battle - IТm sure I have. But the hunter who brought me here said there had been no battle in that region for years. I donТt understand whatТs happened to me, but I mean no harm to anyone in Guthrum. I simply need a safe place to sleep until my memory returns and I can put my life in order.Т
СAh, yes, the hunter. You have money?Т
СMoney?Т the soldier felt in his tattered pockets, around his belt for a purse, and came up empty. СNo, no money.Т
The scrivener put down his pen and smiled. It was a horrible expression, even worse than his scowl.
СThen how do you expect to live?Т
СI thought Ч that is, I hadnТt really thought. But IТm willing to work. IТll eat scraps for the time being. IТll fight with the dogs for bones under the table. It doesnТt matter. What I need is time Ч time to recover my wits.Т
The scrivener suddenly and surprisingly shrugged. СAs you will. I understand you clutched the hem of the hunterТs garment and craved hospitality? In which case we canТt refuse you shelter, that person being a citizen of this state. You may have to sleep in the street, but thatТs up to you and your fortunes.Т The scrivener pointed the goose-feather quill at Soldier as if it were a weapon. СBut stay out of trouble. YouТre lucky you were not caught and hung in the countryside. Am I understood?Т
СPerfectly. I will be the model citizen.Т
СYou will not be a citizen at all, since you are an outlander. But you will be good or you will be dead.Т
СYes, yes, you have my word.Т
With that the scrivener called the guard. Alarmingly, Soldier was marched away towards a half-lit shack standing not far from the tower. He had thought he would be released immediately, but it seemed there were other procedures to go through. The shack turned out to be a blacksmithТs forge, with a great furnace making the place unbearably hot. There a tall, skinny man, whose skin was pitted with black scars from flying red hot iron filings, fitted an iron collar around SoldierТs throat and sealed it with a rivet.
Soldier yelled, as the pain of the hot rivet bit into his neck.
The smith grunted.
Still wincing, Soldier asked, СAre you from Blandaine?Т
The smith stared. СYes, how do you know?Т
СBecause I have heard that people from that town are unfeeling bastards.Т
The smithТs eyes hardened. СYou be careful, stranger. When the time comes, itТll be me who takes that collar from your neck. My mother was a gentle woman, but I have inherited all my character from my father, who was one of the queenТs torturers. The best at his trade, so IТm told.Т
The guard laughed, and said, СCome on, stranger. On your way now. If I were you IТd make my way down to the canal district, where youТll find the rest of the riff-raff.Т
СHow long do I have to wear this thing?Т
СA month at the most.Т
Once the iron collar was in place Soldier was allowed to go. He realised he had been given the collar so that he could easily be identified. People would know he was a stranger and be wary of him. He would be under observation, by the local residents, during all hours. If he turned out to be a thief, or worse, he would be banished from the city. These precautions seemed very reasonable to Soldier, even if he did feel a little bitter at being subjected to them. In dark times people protected themselves against infiltrators from the wildernesses.
His new iron tore was uncomfortable at first. It chafed his neck. But he knew he would soon get used to it.
Soldier made his way through the dimly-lit cobbled streets, not really knowing where he was going. Eventually he came across a canal, which he followed to a network of moored barges. The canals were fed from the water in the moat, which in turn received an inflow of water from the natural system of rivers and lakes beyond the city walls. He was now in the centre of the city. He went towards a quay. There he saw a sight that shocked him to the core.
The bloated body of a woman was floating in the water, caught up in the mooring rope of a small barge. Just as Soldier spotted her, someone came up from below deckТs and saw her too.
СBloody corpses!Т Soldier heard the bargeeТs words quite clearly. СThey stink in this weather . . .Т
The bargee took a boat-hook and prised the cadaver away from his mooring line with as much passion as if it were the carcass of some animal. The white limbs and naked torso of the victim of some horrible violence Ч her head was split down through her nose and upper jaw Ч then went floating off on the current of the canal. The bargee grunted in satisfaction, before going below again. There had been no compassion in the bargee, only irritation that a lump of flesh had snagged on his boat. Soldier was appalled by the lack of sympathy shown by the bargee and the horrible nature of the womanТs wounds.
СWhat is this place I have come to?Т he asked himself. Sitting on the edge of a quay and contemplating his shadow on the water below, Soldier thought about his life. It amounted to only twelve hours. He had been born at noon, so far as his memory told him, and it was now around midnight. He knew nothing about himself. In his mind he clung onto those aspects of his short life which meant something to him. The hunter, for example. That they should have met on the edge of the forest was pure coincidence, yet Soldier felt that the hunter knew more about him than he had revealed. Soldier believed the hunterТs interest in him went deeper than just a casual meeting and acquaintance. And where had he gone? The hunter had simply disappeared into thin air, taking his horse, hawk and boar with him.
СHeТs probably roasting a pork joint over a log fire now,Т said Soldier.
СWrong. The meat is already cooked and fit to be devoured. The hunter is just this minute eating the hogТs head apple. You know, the one they put in the pigТs mouth when they roast him? In his other hand is a jug of ale. I bet youТd like both, wouldnТt you? Unfortunately, all youТre likely to get tonight is a pie crust washed down with some of that canal water.Т
Soldier turned to see the raven perched on the edge of the wharf, a piece of pie at its feet.
СWhere have you been?Т Soldier asked.
СOh, here, there and everywhere. ArenТt you going to thank me for the bit of pie? IТve eaten my share. This bitТs for you.Т
Soldier reached out and gobbled down a piece of crust half the size of a manТs hand.
СCan you get any more?Т he asked. СIТm still very hungry.Т
СAre we friends?Т
СDo we have to be? CanТt you remain a figment of my imagination?Т
СNot if IТm going to steal real food for you.Т
Soldier nodded. СI see your point. All right, weТre friends. Does that make you happy?Т
СNot deliriously, but we need each other. What would you like me to fetch you now? A piece of pork crackling?Т
Soldier closed his eyes. СOh, yes Ч yes, yes, yes.Т