"Martha Wells - City of Bones" - читать интересную книгу автора (Wells Martha)

The article in question lay atop a stool, wrapped in soft cloth. It was a square piece of glazed
terra-cotta floor tile, made particularly valuable by the depiction of a web-footed bird swimming in a pool
filled with strange floating flowers. The colors were soft half-tones, the purplish-brown of the birdтАЩs
plumage, the blue-green color of the pond, the cream and faded yellow of the flowers. The subject
matter, a waterbird that hadnтАЩt lived since the Fringe Cities rose from the dust, and the delicate colors,
impossible even for CharisatтАЩs skilled artisans to duplicate, marked it as Ancient work, a relic of the lost
times more than a thousand years ago.
Piled all around under the awning were the rest of ArnotтАЩs wares: serving tables with faience
decoration, ornamental clocks, alabaster vessels, tiny decorative boxes of valuable wood, and junk
jewelry of beads, lapis, turquoise, and carnelian. There were few Ancient relics out on display here; the
quality would be inside, away from the untutored eyes of casual buyers.
тАЬWe know what these tiles are fetching on the upper tiers,тАЭ Sagai said with reproof. тАЬDonтАЩt treat us
like fools, and our price will be more reasonable.тАЭ He folded his arms, ready to wait all day if necessary.
With an ironic lift of an eyebrow, Khat added, тАЬWe only come to you first because weтАЩre such good
friends of your husband.тАЭ
There was a choking cough from within the shopтАЩs dark interior, possibly Arnot about to launch into
an attack of apoplexy. ArnotтАЩs wife bit her lip and studied them both. Sagai was big and dark-skinned,
the hair escaping from his headcloth mostly gone to gray, his blue robe and mantle somewhat frayed and
shabby. He was despised as a foreigner because he came from Kenniliar Free City, but all the dealers
knew he was a trained scholar and had studied the Ancients long before circumstances had forced him to
work in CharisatтАЩs relic trade. SagaiтАЩs features were sensitive, and right now his brown eyes were liquid
with humor at ArnotтАЩs wifeтАЩs predicament.
Khat was krismen, and even lower on CharisatтАЩs social scale than Sagai, for he had been born deep
in the Waste. He was tall and leanly muscled, longish brown hair touched by red, skin browned against
the sun, and a handsome face that he knew from experience was no help with ArnotтАЩs wife, who was just
as much of a professional as he and Sagai were.
But Khat could tell she was starting to weaken. He pointed out more gently, тАЬTheyтАЩre buying these on
the upper tiers like cheap water. You could turn it around in the time it takes us to walk back to the
Arcade.тАЭ
тАЬOr we can take our business elsewhere,тАЭ Sagai added, frowning thoughtfully as if he was already
considering which of ArnotтАЩs competitors to go to.
ArnotтАЩs wife ran a hand through her stringy white hair and sighed. тАЬTwenty days.тАЭ
тАЬForty,тАЭ Sagai said immediately.
There was a growl from the shopтАЩs interior, a crack and a sound of the shifting of massive bulk that
seemed to indicate Arnot himself was about to appear. ArnotтАЩs wife rolled her eyes and folded her arms
over her tattered gray kaftan.
The man closes his hand on the fragments of bone, thinking of their former owner and how
unwillingly he parted with them.
Arnot appeared in the arched doorway, glared at the two men from under lowered brows, and
advanced toward the tile. As he reached for it, Khat said, тАЬBy the edges.тАЭ
Arnot regarded him a moment in silence. Legend said krismen eye color changed according to mood.
KhatтАЩs eyes had lightened to gray-green. Dangerous. Arnot lifted the tile gently by the edges, and turned
it, so the light filtering through the red awning caught the colors and made them glow almost with life. The
tiles were one of the few relics that even the cleverest forgers hadnтАЩt the skill to copy; before the rise of
the Waste, that tile had graced some AncientтАЩs fountain court, and Arnot knew it.
The dealer considered, then set the tile gently down again. He nodded approval to his wife, and she
dug in the leather pouch at her waist for tokens.
Something made Khat glance out into the street.
Three men watched them from the edge of the awning. One wore the robes and concealing veil of a
Patrician, and the other two were dressed in the rough shirts and protective leather leggings of wagon