"Joel Rosenberg - Guardians Of The Flame 09 - Not Quite Scaramouche" - читать интересную книгу автора (Rosenberg Joel C)

He took a battered leather eyepatch from his pouch and adjusted it about his left eye, tightening the
thong hard behind his head to prevent any light from leaking in, then shrugged his cloak up to hide the
Cullinane green and gold stitching on his collar and epaulets, and shouldered his way in, his left hand
automatically going to the hilt of his sword to pull it vertical so that the tip didn't brush against anybody.

It made sense to be careful about that sort of thing. It would be easy to start a fight, and at times when
he had nothing better to do he might do just that тАУ he had, in the past, and he would again, some night
where he needed to feel blood on his knuckles even if that meant tasting his own blood in his mouth тАУ but
he didn't want to do so accidentally, and for no purpose. If he wanted a fight this night, it would be easy
to find a purpose.

The Broken Mug was a raucous and manically happy place. Over in the corner three drummers
maintained a rhythmic beat that reminded Pirojil of a galloping horse, while a dozen Tyrnaelians belched
out a song whose words Pirojil probably could have made out, if he had ever acquired a taste for porcine
Tyrnaelian drinking songs, which he hadn't.

And wasn't bloody likely to. There wasn't enough beer in theworld ...

The line of men in front of a curtained doorway moved quickly enough that Pirojil was sure there were at
least three whores in the back room, and hoped it was at least four or five.

A quartet of imperials in the black and white of the House Guard kept dour watch over their mugs from
a darkened far corner, carefully ignored by all and sundry. Baronial soldiers saw duty in the capital as an
opportunity to drink and swive away their pay. Imperials lived there and expected тАУ and demanded тАУ
better prices on every-thing.

Pirojil was sympathetic тАУ in principle, but in practice you didn't save up enough money for your
retirement by getting four for three on beers or whores. There were, however, ways to put aside a few
coins here andthere ...

He slid a copper quartermark coin across the bar and accepted a large mug of sour beer in return. He
had had worse and he had had better. Good enough to get drunkon, and that would be fine for lonely
men, late at night, and more than enough to boost the spirits of the four men in peasant's tunics who sat in
front of a low table in the darkened corner farthest away from the fireplace.

Readingpeople came naturally to Pirojil. These four had come to the capital to sell something, and given
that the harvest was many tendays away, it would be livestock, and a fair amount of it, or four men could
not have been spared from their crofts long enough to make a trip to Biemestren and back. Pirojil could
practically have counted the coin in their pouches.

Drinking and whoring up a bit of their profits was only natural, and as one blocky man rose to take his
place in line in front of the curtain to the back rooms, an imperial soldier pushed out through the curtains
and beckoned to his companions, who, despite a few grumbled complaints, quickly drained the last of
their tankards, rose, and left.

Pirojil nodded to himself. Midnight was fast approach-ing, and while baronial soldiers would not likely
have to put up with a nightly head count in the barracks, the im-perials would be on duty the next
morning or the next afternoon at the latest, and neither imperial decurions nor officers were noted for their
understanding and sympathy at lateness.Or at anything else, for that matter.