"Alastair Reynolds - The Sledge-maker's Daughter" - читать интересную книгу автора (Reynolds Alastair)

Peter showed Kathrin to an empty stool next to one of his benches. '''Sit down here and take the weight
off your feet. Mary can make you some bread and cheese. Or bread and ham if you'''d rather.'''

'''That'''s kind sir, but Widow Grayling normally gives me something to eat, when I reach her house.'''

Peter raised a white eyebrow. He stood by the bench with his thumbs tucked into the belt of his apron,
his belly jutting out as if he was quietly proud of it. '''I didn'''t know you visited the witch.'''

'''She will have her two hogs''' heads, once a month, and her candles. She only buys them from the
Shield, not the Town. She pays for the hogs a year in advance, twenty four whole pounds.'''

'''And you'''re not scared by her?'''

'''I'''ve no cause to be.'''

'''There'''s some that would disagree with you.'''

Remembering something her father had told her, Kathrin said, '''There are folk who say the sheriff can fly,
or that there was once a bridge that winked at travellers like an eye, or a road of iron that reached all the
way to London. My father says there'''s no reason for anyone to be scared of Widow Grayling.'''

'''Not afraid she'''ll turn you into a toad, then?'''

'''She cures people, not put spells on them.'''

'''When she'''s in the mood for it. From what I'''ve heard she'''s just as likely to turn the sick and needy
away.'''

'''If she helps some people, isn'''t that better than nothing at all?'''

'''I suppose.''' She could tell Peter didn'''t agree, but he wasn'''t cross with her for arguing. '''What does
your father make of you visiting the witch, anyway?'''

'''He doesn'''t mind.'''

'''No?''' Peter asked, interestedly.

'''When he was small, my dad cut his arm on a piece of skydrift that he found in the snow. He went to
Widow Grayling and she made his arm better again by tying an eel around it. She didn'''t take any
payment except the skydrift.'''

'''Does your father still believe an eel can heal a wound?'''

'''He says he'''ll believe anything if it gets the job done.'''

'''Wise man, that Brendan, a man after my own heart. Which reminds me.''' Peter ambled to another
bench, pausing to stir one of his bubbling pots before gathering a bundle of sawn-off wooden sticks. He
set them down in front of Kathrin on a scrap of cloth. '''Off cuts,''' he explained. '''But good seasoned
beech, which'''ll never warp. No use to me, but I am sure your father will find use for them. Tell him that
there'''s more, if he wishes to collect it.'''