"Patrick Welch - Statue of Limitations" - читать интересную книгу автора (Welch Patrick)

"It is chiefly of local interest. You can research our archives if you wish. But do it soon; your ship sails for
Harjung this evening."
I sighed. The Guild charges for its assistance. If, as my superior was saying, this was a fool's errand
anyway, there was no need to increase my expenses. A fool took the contract from her desk and placed
it in my satchel. "I'll read it later," I said. "And thank you."

I managed to hide my anger until I was outside. Again the Guild was taking advantage of my apprentice
stature! The Baron Mardou, Professor Grimmire and now this. As my boat set sail I vowed that if the
Guild expected me to fail, I would fail in the grandest manner possible. Which, in hindsight, was exactly
what I did.


I was ushered into the offices of Tijor Bhen within an hour of reaching Harjung. He was startled by my
appearance, obviously expecting an older thief, but became all business when I handed him the contract.
"We must have that statue," he slammed his fist on his desk. "It must grace our village, our courtyard!"

"Yes, you should," I said. Now tell me why.

Instead he asked, "What are your plans? How soon will it be here?"

"I have to do some reconnaissance first. There are several approaches I'm considering but I have to
determine which will be best." Actually I had no plans, having spent most of my voyage in the company
of a most delightful and eager serving wench.

"So you will be leaving for Cardinaul soon?"

So that's where it was. "Within the hour."

"Then may the beneficence of Our Lady Wisteria lead your every step." Within minutes I was out of his
office and searching for a stable. Less than twenty minutes later I was following the well-worn path to the
village of Cardinaul.

I found the Weeping Nun almost immediately after finding the hamlet. The difference between the
respective towns startled me. Although Cardinaul was no larger or more strategically located, its
prosperity was evident everywhere. Shops that circled the town square were gaily painted and festooned
with banners and ribbons; their windows promising a vast array of rare and expensive wares inside. No
less than three inns were available for weary travelers, as well as several taverns. Unlike Harjung the
streets were crowded with people, mostly well-dressed. The streets themselves were brick, not the dirt
and rock common in most villages. Capital, thy name is Cardinaul, I thought as I found a stable to bed
my horse. I returned to the village square and studied the statue of the Weeping Nun, placed prominently
in its center. It was easily thrice my height, although not much wider, and apparently carved from granite.
A small moat surrounded it and I noted several people tossing in coins, probably for a blessing. Making a
counterfeit, a ploy I've used successfully in the past, would be futile.

I was walking to the back of my intended when a friendly passer-by stopped me. "You are too late, my
friend," he said. "She will be crying no more this day."

"She cries?"

"Of course. Every day when the sun is high. Like clockwork she is. A most beautiful sight, most