"01 - Sword Dancer" - читать интересную книгу автора (Roberson Jennifer)

don't know what kind of consequence, exactly, but at least I had some.)
"Moon doesn't talk to strangers." I suggested. "He only talks to his friends."
"I've heard you are his friend."
After a moment, I nodded consideringly. "Moon and I go back a ways."
For only an instant she smiled. "And are you a slaver, too?"
I was glad I'd already swallowed the aqivi. If this lady knew Moon was involved
in the slave trade, she knew a lot more than most Northerners.
I looked at her more sharply, though I didn't give away my attentiveness. She
waited. Calmly, collectedly, as if she had done this many times, and all the
while her youth and sex disclaimed the possibility.
I shivered. Suddenly, all the smoky interior candlelight and exterior sunlight
didn't seem quite enough to ward off an uncommon frosty chill. Almost as if the
Northern girl had brought the North wind with her.
But of course, that wasn't possible. There may be magic in the world, but what's
there is made for simpletons and fools who need a crutch.
I scowled a little. "I'm a sword-dancer. I deal in wars, rescues, escort duty,
skirmishes, a little healthy hired revenge now and then... anything that
concerns making a living with a sword." I tapped the gold hilt of Singlestroke,
poking up behind my left shoulder in easy reach. "I'm a sword-dancer. Not a
slaver."
"But you know Osmoon." Bland, guileless eyes, eloquently innocent.
"A lot of people know Osmoon." I pointed out. "You know Osmoon."
"I know of him." Delicate distinction. "But I would like to meet him."
I appraised her openly, letting her see clearly what I did. It brought a rosy
flush to her fair face and her eyes glittered angrily. But before she could open
her mouth to protest, I leaned across the table. "You'll get worse than that if
you go near Old Moon. He'd give his gold teeth for a bascha like you, and you'd
never see the light of day again. You'd be sold off to some tanzeer's harem so
fast you couldn't even wish him to hoolies."
She stared at me. I thought maybe I'd shocked her with my bluntness. I meant to.
But I saw no comprehension in her eyes. "Tanzeer?" she asked blankly. "Hoolies?"
So much for scaring her off with the facts of Southron life. I sighed. "A
Northerner might say prince instead of tanzeer. I have no idea what the
translation is for hoolies. It's the place the priests say most of us are bound
for, once we leave this life. Mothers like to threaten their children with it
when they misbehave." Mine hadn't, because as far as I know she died right after
dropping me into some hole in the desert.
Or simply walked away.
"Oh." She considered it. "Is there no way I could see the trader neutrally!"
The white burnous opened a little wider. I was lost. Prevarication fell out of
my mind entirely. "No." I didn't bother to explain that if Moon got his hands on
her, I'd do my best to buy her for myself.
"I have gold," she suggested.
All that and money too. A genuine windfall. Benignly, I nodded. "And if you go
flashing any of it out here in the desert, my naive little Northern bascha,
you'll be robbed and kidnapped." I swallowed down more aqivi, keeping my tone
idle. "What do you want to see Moon for?"
Her face closed up at once. "Business; I have said."
I scowled and cursed into my cup and saw she didn't understand that either. Just
as well. Sometimes I get surly and my language isn't the best. Not much