"Jennifer Roberson - Karavans - Ending and Beginning" - читать интересную книгу автора (Roberson Jennifer)

rarely did women frequent Mikal's wine-tent; the female couriers, who were toughened by
experience on the province roads and thus able to deal with anything, and such women as
herself: unavailable for hire, but seeking the solace found in liquor-laced camaraderie. Ilon
had learned early on to appreciate ale and wine, and the value of the company of others no
more rooted than she was. Tansit had always spent his coin at Mikal's. Tonight, she would
spend hers in Tansit's name.
Ilona entered, pushing the shawl back from her head and shoulders. As always,
conversation paused as her presence was noted; then Mikal called out a cheery welcome, a
did two or three others who knew her. It was enough to warn off any man who might wish t
proposition her, establishing her right to remain unmolested. This night, she appreciated it
more than usual.
She sought and found a small table near a back corner, arranging skirts deftly as she set
upon a stool. Within a matter of moments Mikal arrived, bearing a guttering candle in a
pierced-tin lantern. He set it down upon the table, then waited.
Ilona drew in a breath. "Ale," she said, relieved when her voice didn't waver. "Two
tankards, if it please you. Your best."
"Tansit?" he asked in his deep, slow voice.
It was not a question regarding a man's death, but his anticipated arrival. Ilona discover
she could not, as yet, speak of the former, and thus relied upon the latter. She nodded
confirmation, meeting his dark blue eyes without hesitation. Mikal nodded also, then took h
bulk away to tend the order.
She found herself plaiting the fringes of her shawl, over and over again. Irritated, Ilona
forcibly stopped herself from continuing the nervous habit. When Mikal brought the tankard
she lifted her own in both hands, downed several generous swallows, then carefully fingere
away the foam left to linger upon her upper lip. Two tankards upon the table. One: her own
The other was Tansit's. When done with her ale, she would leave coin enough for two
tankards, but one would remain untouched. And then the truth would be known. The tale
spread. But she would be required to say nothing, to no one.
Ah, but he had been a good man. She had not wished to wed him, though he had asked; s
had not expected to bury him either.
At dawn, she would attend the rites. Would speak of his life, and of his death.
Tansit had never been one known for his attention to time. But he was not a man given t
passing up ale when it was waiting. Ilona drank down her tankard slowly and deliberately,
avoiding the glances, the stares, and knew well enough when whispers began of Tansit's
tardiness in joining her.
There were two explanations: they had quarreled, or one of them was dead. But their
quarrels never accompanied them into a wine-tent.
She drank her ale, clearly not dead, while Tansit's tankard remained undrunk. Those wh
were not strangers understood. At tables other than hers, in the sudden, sharp silence of
comprehension, fresh tankards were ordered. Were left untouched. Tribute to the man so ma
of them had known.
Tansit would have appreciated how many tankards were ordered. Though he also woul
have claimed it a waste of good ale that no one drank.
Ilona smiled, imagining his words. Seeing his expression.
She swallowed the last of her ale and rose, thinking ahead to the bed in her wagon. But
a body blocked her way, altering the fall of smoky light, and she looked into the face of a
stranger.
In the ocherous illumination of Mikal's lantern, his face was ruddy-gold. "I'm told the gu
is dead."
A stranger indeed, to speak so plainly to the woman who had shared the dead man's bed