"Lawrence Watt-Evans - Ethshar 7 - Night of Madness" - читать интересную книгу автора (Watt-Evans Lawrence)

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Dedicated to my daughter,

Kiri Evans, who is an endless source of delight




Night of Madness
LawrenceWatt-Evans




Chapter One

Lord Hanner was panting slightly as he hurried across the plaza toward the red stone bridge that led into
the Palace. He'd had a long, busy day and had been moving at a constant fast walk for over a mile, his
bones carrying more weight than they should, so it was no surprise that his breathing was a bit heavy as
he trotted across the brick pavement.

Perhaps that was why the stench of decay rising from theGrand Canal , which he had scarcely noticed
when he set out that morning, hit him so strongly. That the tide was now out, so that the water level in the
sea-fed canal was a foot or two lower than it had been when he left, might also have contributed.

Whatever the cause, his steps slowed, and he swallowed hard. The reek of dead fish and rotting
vegetation was overpowering- and hardly appropriate for the immediate environs of the seat of the city's
government and the official residence of the overlord of Ethshar of the Spices. The golden marble of the
palace walls glowed beautifully in the light of the setting sun; the dark red brick of the plaza
complemented it nicely; the sky above was a lovely blue streaked with pink and white wisps of
cloud-and the whole scene stank like an ill-kept fishmarket. The city's usual smells of smoke, spices, and
people were completely smothered.

The guards on the bridge and the well-dressed strollers in the square did not appear troubled by the
smell, but there were not quite as many strollers as Manner would have expected at this hour on a
beautiful summer day.

This lovely afternoon was the fourth day of Summerheat; so far this year the month had not lived up to its
name, and the weather was mild. Hanner was sweating, his tunic sticking to his back, but from exertion,
not the day's heat.

Hanner waved a hand in front of his nose, trying unsuccessfully to dispel the odor, as he kept walking,
more slowly now, toward the bridge. "Confound it," he muttered to himself. "Someone's not doing his job
here."

He tried to remember who was in charge of seeing that the canal was cleaned regularly; wouldn't that be