"Lawrence Watt-Evans - Ethshar 3 - The Unwilling Warlord" - читать интересную книгу автора (Watt-Evans Lawrence)

during his language lessons. Now if an emergency arose he would have to rely
on his limited command of Semmat, rather than finding an interpreter. He felt
more cut off than ever.
Once inside the inn, out of the hot sun and into the cool shade, Sterren
looked around, and his opinion of Akalla went up a notch. The inn was laid out
well enough, with several cozy alcoves holding tables and one wall lined with
barrels. A stairway at either side led up to a balcony, and the rooms for
travelers opened off that. A good many customers were present, eating and
drinking and filling the place with a pleasant hum of conversation, while
harried but smiling barmaids hurried hither and yon.
Most of the customers wore the thin white robes Sterren had seen on the
street, but here they were thrown back to reveal gaily colored tunics and
kilts beneath.
Lady Kalira ignored the bustle and headed directly for the innkeeper, who
stood leaning against one of the barrels. She took two rooms for her party,
one for herself, and one for Sterren, Alder, and Dogal.
Sterren glanced around and decided that even though it was a pleasant
enough inn, he did not really want to be there, not with Alder and Dogal
watching him constantly, and with, he presumed, nobody around who spoke
Ethsharitic.
Since he had no choice, however, he resolved to make the best of it.
While Dogal took the party's baggage up to their rooms and Lady Kalira settled
with the innkeeper on the exact amount of the party's advance payment, Sterren
attempted to strike up a conversation with a winsome barmaid, using his very
best Semmat.
She stared at him for a few seconds, then smiled, said something in a
language he had never heard before, and hurried away.
He stared after her in shock.
"What was..." he began in Ethsharitic, and then caught himself and
switched to Semmat. "What was that?" he asked Alder.
"What?" the soldier asked in reply.
"What the... the... what she said."
Alder shrugged. "I don't know," he said, "She was speaking Akallan."
"Akallan? Another language?"
"Sure," Alder said, unperturbed.
Sterren stared about wildly, listening to first one conversation, then
another. Lady Kalira and the innkeeper were speaking Trader's Tongue, he
realized. A couple at a nearby table was whispering in some strange and
sibilant speech that didn't sound like Trader's Tongue, Akallan, or Semmat,
and which certainly wasn't Ethsharitic. Other voices were speaking any number
of dialects.
"Gods," Sterren said, "How does anybody ever talk to anyone here?"
Alder asked, "What?"
Sterren realized he'd spoken Ethsharitic again; he wasn't sure whether he
wanted to weep or scream. He did know he wanted a drink. He sat down heavily
in the nearest chair and resorted to a language understood everywhere; he
waved a finger in the air in the general direction of the barmaid and threw a
coin on the table.
That worked, and the barmaid smiled at him as she placed a full tankard
before him. He began to feel more cheerful.