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

СWell, if I donТt return, youТll know IТve got a crossbow bolt up my arse. Nice necklace, by the way. Pearls would have suited you better.Т
The bird flew off, into the night, leaving Soldier fingering his metal collar.
People were beginning to gather now, around the storage houses alongside the canals. Some of these huts were empty and it was to these that the homeless gravitated, presumably to find shelter for the night. Soldier was looked on with mild suspicion as they drifted by him. He sat on the quay, minding his own business, not speaking to anyone. There were ragged women with urchins in tow. There were men who looked spent and wasted. There were the drinkers and the hemp-smokers and the gambling addicts. There were those who had fallen on hard times because of luck, and those who had brought hard times upon themselves. None of them approached Soldier directly and he did not feel confident enough to speak to anyone either.
A short while later the raven came back with meat in its beak. For the next hour the raven fed Soldier as if it were one of its own fledglings. Then he fell asleep on the quay. Fortunately it was a warm night, so he did not suffer any exposure. The following morning he wandered the city, the raven on his shoulder, finding the market-place. There he breakfasted on cabbage and kale stalks which he found in the gutters.
It was in the market that he first saw his reflection in a copper mirror. The face, with its patchy black beard, was a stranger to him. He thought it looked tired but tough, with an unblemished complexion not pocked or scarred in any way. Indeed, he looked a soldier. His hair was dark and cut unfash-ionably short, seemingly by a barber lacking in skill. He guessed his age to be around thirty years. Beyond that, his reflection told him nothing about himself. He remained a mystery to his own eyes.
He began begging for his food. There was a hostility amongst the people which quickly emerged. Soldier was kicked and beaten, sent on his way with bruises and all but broken bones. He was shocked too, by the level of apathy he found in the citizens. They did not seem to care about anything at all. Several times he came across bodies, in alleys or floating down the canals, with signs of violence on them. Clearly murder was rife, and he feared being blamed for one of these deaths. It is easy to point the finger at a stranger and yell, СAssassin!Т There was a high level of corruption too, with bribes freely passing between citizens and figures of authority. This Guthrum was a dangerous place for anyone who had no friends and did not know the unwritten rules which kept men alive in such times.
It was on one of his forays around the market-place, begging amongst the stalls, that he met Spagg.
Soldier stared at the stall in front of him in amazement. Displayed there were severed hands, some of them stuffed with herbs and with candles stitched between the index and forefinger. Others were in their naked state. They had all been drained of blood. The dried ones looked brown and grizzled, and in some of these the sinews and tendons had shrunk so that the hand now resembled a claw of some giant raptor.
СCan I help you friend?Т asked the warty-faced individual behind the stall. СDo you wish to purchase my wares?Т He looked into SoldierТs face. СDo you wish to sell those blue eyes? TheyТre rare in Guthrum. Unique, even. I could get quite a bit for those eyes, if we preserved Сem in good gin.Т
Soldier stared at the man who wore a leather apron and skull cap.
СI need the eyes. TheyТre the only pair IТve got. And I canТt buy anything. I canТt afford anything. CanТt you see IТm poor? What are they for, anyway?Т
The individual chuckled. СYou donТt know me? Ah, the iron collar. YouТre a stranger. Well, IТm Spagg, and these, my friend, are hands-of-glory. The hands of hanged men and women. Ownership of one of these will unlock doors to a fortune. You donТt need money now. Just promise me some of your future earnings, so to speak, and IТll let you have one on tick.Т
Soldier remembered all the handless corpses hanging from the gallows out in the countryside.
СYou cut them from bodies?Т
Spagg said proudly, СI have the only licence for hanged menТs hands. Got it from the queenТs own chancellor. IТm the only seller of this kind of merchandise inside the city walls. You wonТt find better quality anywhere. Ask anyone.Т He picked up one of the hands, a rather battered looking specimen, and presented it to Soldier. СGrisly objects, I can hear you saying, under your breath. But this macabre-looking item can make you invisible, my friend. If you light the candle, made from the handТs own fat, you can freeze your enemies into immobility. A useful tool for a man whose business takes place late at night or in the small hours of the morning.Т
Soldier shook his head. СYou see this collar? If IТm found to be a thief, IТll be expelled from Zamerkand.Т
СBut with one of these,Т smiled Spagg, Сyou can come back in again without being seen.Т
СIf you believe in such things.Т
Spagg carefully put the hideous extremity back in its place on the top of the stall.
СAh, thereТs the rub, friend. You have to believe in it for it to work. ManyТs the customer who has come back to me and said, УSpagg, this here hand-of-glory donТt work.Ф And I say to Сem, the reason is, friend, you got to make it work. You got to put your faith in it, believe in it, or itТs just another chopped-off bit of body, ainТt it? Now, what about a straight swap? This genuine hanged manТs hand, for that bent old black leather scabbard with its silver tip and band.Т Spagg pointed to the buckled sword sheath on SoldierТs belt.
Soldier clutched his sheath. СNo - no, this stays with me.Т
Spagg shook his head and clucked. СYou wonТt get nowhere in life by beinТ so possessive, friend. Look at you. YouТre close to starving ...Т his eyes suddenly narrowed and he looked to be deep in thought. Then he said, СHereТs a thing. What about you come to work for me? I canТt pay you much, but youТll get one good meal a day out of it, at least. What say?Т
СWhat would I have to do?Т
СWhy, you go out and collect the hands for me, while I stay here and sell Сem. Whenever I do the collectinТ meself, I have to close the stall. This way you could keep me supplied and I could be here all the time to do the selling.Т
Soldier said, СIt wouldnТt be because collecting the hands is dangerous work?Т
Spagg, a knotty-looking man with a shapeless ribcage and pointed shoulders, did his best to looked shocked.
СMe? Scared to go out? Why, youТll not find a braver knight within these five miles square. ItТs not about that, itТs about business. I need to be here, to do the sellinТ.Т
СWhy donТt you leave the stall to me, and then youТll be free to do the collecting?Т
СAnd trust a stranger with my money?Т This time he was genuinely shocked. СYou must have worms in the brain. Listen, iron collar, IТve made you an offer. Do you want to take me up on it, or not? No more arguments, mind.Т
СHow much then?Т
Spagg shook his head in disgust. СIТve never met a man so close to starvinТ to death who had time to haggle and bargain with his patron. IТll look after you, donТt you worry.Т
СHow much?Т
СTwo spinza a hand. The left handТs more valuable than the right, but IТll pay five spinza for a pair, but theyТve got to match, mind. I donТt pay anythinТ for hands with thumbs missing. If they was thieves before they was murderers, then more than likely theyТll have had their thumbs chopped off. Tattoos is fine, Сspecially if theyТre black arts ones Ч you know, skulls and magic symbols and such. Some of my customers like to collect ones with different tattoos. Scars? Well, if theyТre interesting marks. No badly mutilated ones. Any questions?Т
СDo I have the use of a horse?Т
СHorse?Т cried Spagg, the look of disgust almost a permanent expression now. СYou get a donkey and like it.Т
Thus Soldier went to work for Spagg, the hand-of-glory merchant. SpaggТs donkey proved to be an ugly and obstinate beast, older than the mountains and often harder to move. It was a gruesome trade, but Soldier was prepared to accept almost anything to provide himself with food.


Chapter Three

Spagg gave Soldier a wooden baton with a crudely-carved weasel on one end. This symbol was a market-traderТs credentials. When Soldier was stopped by the imperial guard, or when he wanted to leave or enter Zamerkand, he had to produce the baton to prove his right to move freely as the employee of a citizen. The iron collar remained always a great burden and restriction. City guards continually stopped and searched him. Ordinary citizens kept him at bay with hostile glares and narrowed eyes. He was made to feel aware that he was permitted to stay in the city on sufference.
The first time Soldier went outside he found he was quite looking forward to entering the open countryside again. The city was claustrophobic, the atmosphere inside smoky and smelly. Every street in the city was engrimed with faeces from dogs, cats, livestock and birds. Every wall, door and window bore the sooty traces of smoke. Once through the gates the air seemed cleaner and brighter. He breathed deeply as the donkey beneath him ambled along. The raven came with him, for company. Soldier was getting used to having the bird around.
СRaven, how is that you have human speech?Т asked the Soldier, as the sky opened up before them. It was a hazy day, the pale sun hanging in the sky like a paper disc. СYou must have helped a wizard at some time.Т
СNo,Т replied the raven. СIn fact itТs the opposite. I stole from a witch.Т
СAnd she rewarded you with speech?Т
СNo, she changed me from a human into a bird. I was a thief, running the streets of the city. When Clegnose caught me stealing from her house, she transformed me into a raven. Then the old cow died, leaving me trapped in the form of a bird. I donТt mind. ItТs easier to find food this way.Т
СYou can never become a boy again?Т
СOnly the witch who cast the spell can remove it.Т
СIТve noticed that you donТt often reveal the fact that you have the power of speech.Т
The raven ruffled its feathers. СWhy would I, not being a fool? Only problems lie in wait for the raven which goes around bragging it can speak. There are those who would cage me and use me to earn money for them as a curiosity. There are those who would kill me, thinking me a demon.Т