"Martha Wells - Wheel of the Infinite" - читать интересную книгу автора (Wells Martha)

time she heard him brush against the leaves as he passed.
She shook her head and got to her feet, her knees protesting the movement. He must have climbed
out the cargo hatch behind her and followed her into the jungle. He had returned her favor with the
warning, anyway. She slogged further into the bush, wondering why a Sitanese swordsman had travelled
this far into the Celestial Empire. The problem tickled her brain all the long way back to the road.
She came out of the jungle just where the road broadened out into the Sare. The Ancestors, perverse
as usual, had now seen fit to grant her prayers about the rain and it had slackened to a bare drizzle. It
was too dark to see much of the Sare now, but morning light would reveal a broad green plain, cut from
the jungle in a perfect square, the grasses as clipped and civilized as any park in Duvalpore.
In the center of the plain was a massive rectangular baray, a reservoir of water bordered by broad
stone walks. In the center of the baray stood a temple of the Koshan Order, reached by a stone bridge,
its conical towers meant to resemble the Mountain of the Infinite, a symbolic meaning in every element of
its design, every portal, every inch of carving. Lamps glowed from its many windows and lined the
galleries and bridges. To the west of the baray there were three groups of less orderly lights: the
campfires and torches of travellers camping here in the safety of the shadow of the temple and the patrols
of its guards. In the glow of one campfire she recognized RastimтАЩs wagon and felt her heart unclench a
little. She hated to leave the troupe, even though she knew they had been caring for themselves long
before she had ever met them. IтАЩve failed others before. Perhaps thatтАЩs why.
She found most of them huddled damply in the wagons, with Rastim trying to keep the fire lit and Old
Mali grumbling while she stirred the supper. Voices called greetings from the wagons and Rastim
watched her with ill-disguised relief as Maskelle walked up to sniff suspiciously at the cooking pot. Old
Mali grumbled something inaudible. From the lumps bobbing in the stew, they had arrived in time to buy
some pork from the priestsтАЩ servants to add to the rice and there was taro root baking in the coals.
тАЬBoiling water?тАЭ she asked.
Old Mali wrapped a rag around one calloused hand and fetched a steaming kettle out of the coals.
тАЬKnew youтАЩd be back,тАЭ she muttered.
тАЬThere was doubt?тАЭ Maskelle asked, taking a seat on one of the woven straw mats laid out on the
mud. It squished unpleasantly under her.
тАЬJust Gardick again,тАЭ Rastim said, and gestured disparagingly. тАЬNothing.тАЭ
тАЬHmph.тАЭ Maskelle took the ivibrae and ground it up with the mortar and pestle used for cooking.
Together, and muttering curses at each other, she and Old Mali got the stuff strained into a pottery cup.
Old Mali carried it off to KilliaтАЩs wagon, leaving Maskelle and Rastim to stare at each other tiredly.
тАЬSo weтАЩll be there in two days, will we?тАЭ he asked.
тАЬYes.тАЭ She flexed her hands in the firelight. Her back hurt from the damp and she felt old. More than
a half decade over twice twenty years wasnтАЩt that old for the Ariaden or the Kushorit. But it was old for
a Court Lady, and her hands were almost as calloused as Old MaliтАЩs.
тАЬAnd thereтАЩll be good crowds to perform for?тАЭ Rastim was uneasy.
тАЬOh, yes.тАЭ Though тАЬgoodтАЭ was a matter of perspective. тАЬThe best of the best. And generous, too.тАЭ
тАЬAh.тАЭ Rastim nodded, looking out over the dark wet plain beyond the boundary of firelight and
wagons. тАЬAnd the audience with the great priest?тАЭ
тАЬHeтАЩll speak to you.тАЭ Maskelle was taking the Ariaden to Duvalpore to see the Celestial One, the
highest religious office in the Celestial Empire.
тАЬTwo days. If the rain doesnтАЩt slow us down.тАЭ
тАЬIt wonтАЩt,тАЭ she said, knowing it was true, a Word whispered in her ear by the Ancestors. They were
good for something, occasionally.
тАЬAh.тАЭ
Old Mali came back from KilliaтАЩs wagon, a stooped figure on stumpy legs, and thumped her chest
and nodded. From long acquaintance with Old Mali, Maskelle took this to mean that KilliaтАЩs daughter
had drunk the posset and it had already relieved some of the congestion in her lungs. With luck, it would
help the fever too and Maskelle wouldnтАЩt even have to summon the healing spirits.