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There wouldn't be any inquiries, and they all knew it; this was just the
landlord's way of securing anything of value in there for himself.
But if they knew what I knew Skif thought, as he closed and bolted his own
door,
and put his back to it.
He began to shake.
Of all the people who could have wanted Jass dead, the only one with the money
to get the job done quietly was the smooth-voiced man in the cemetery. What
had
the sell-sword said? You're in deeper waters than you can swim , or
something
like that. Deep waters his knees went weak at how close he'd come last night
to
joining Jass under that crate. If he'd been caught down in that crypt
Skif sat down on his bedroll and went cold all over. There was at least one
person in Haven who knew that there was a connection between Skif and Jass.
And
that craggy-faced sell-sword just might come looking for him, to find out
exactly what, and how much, Skif knew.
I got to get out of here. Now!
The thought galvanized him. It didn't take him long to bundle up his few
belongings. More and r. ore people were showing up to hear the news directly
from the girls, and the more people there were moving around, the better his
odds were of getting away without anyone noticing. He watched for his chance,
and when a group of their fellow lightskirts descended on Desi and Trana and
carried them off to the nearest tavern, the better to console them, he used
the swirl of girls and the clatter they generated to his advantage. He slipped
out behind them, stayed with them as far as the tavern, and then got moving in
the opposite direction as quickly as he could.
He didn't really have any ideas of where he was going, but at the moment, that
was all to the good. If he didn't know where he was going, no one else would
be
able to predict it either.
The first place that anyone would look for him would be here, of course, but
as
Skif trudged down the street, looking as small and harmless as he could
manage,
he put his mind to work at figuring out a place where someone on his track was
not likely to look. What was the most out of character for him?
Well a Temple. But I don' think I'm gonna go lookin' t' take vows was his
automatic thought. But then, suddenly, that didn't seem so outlandish a
notion.
Not taking vows, of course but
Abruptly, he altered his path. This was going to be a long walk, but he had
the
notion that in the end, it was going to be worth it.
* * * * * * * * * *
Skif made his eyes as big and scared as he could, and twisted his cap in his
hands as he waited for someone to answer his knock at the Temple gate. This
Temple was not the one where his cousin Beel was now a full priest; it wasn't
even devoted to the same god, much less the same Order. This was the Temple
and
Priory of Thenoth, the Lord of the Beasts, and this Order took it on
themselves
to succor and care for injured, sick, and aged animals, from sparrows and
pigeons to broken-down carthorses.
It existed on charity, and as such, was one of the poorest Temples in Haven.
And
one thing it could always use was willing hands. Not everyone who worked here
in
the service of Thenoth was a priest or a novice; plenty of ordinary people
volunteered a few candlemarks in a week for the blessing of the God.
Now, what Skif was hoping was that he could hide here for the sake of his
labor.
He hoped he had a convincing enough story.
The door creaked open, and a long-nosed Priest in a patched and dusty brown
robe
looked down at him, lamp in one hand. If you be seekin' charity, lad, this
be'nt the place for ye, he said, wearily, but not unkindly. Ye should try
the ,
Not charity, sor, Skif said, putting on his best country accent. I be a
norphan, sor, mine nuncle turn me out of the far-um, and I come here t'city
a-lookin' for horse-work, but I got no character. I be good with horses, sor,
an' donkeys, an' belike, but no mun gi' me work withouten a character.
The Priest opened the door a little wider, and frowned thoughtfully. A
character, is't? Would ye bide in yon loft, tend the beasts, and eat with the
Brethren for say six moon, an' we give ye a good letter?
Skif bobbed his head eagerly. Ye'd gi' me a good character, then? Summut I
can
take fer t'work fer stable?
He's taken it! he thought with exultation.
If ye've earned it. The priest opened the gate wide, and Skif stepped into
the
dusty courtyard. Come try your paces. Enter freely, and walk in peace.
Skif felt his fear slide off him and vanish. No one would look for him here
and
even if they did, no one would dare the wrath of a God to try and take him
out.
So what if his story wasn't quite the truth?
I don' mind a bit'uv hard work. God can't take exception t'that.
The priest closed the gate behind them, and led Skif into and through the very
simple Temple, out into another courtyard, and across to a stabling area.
As he followed in the priest's wake, Skif was struck forcibly by two things.
The
first was the incredible poverty of this place. The second was an aura of
peace
that descended on him the moment he crossed the threshold.
It was so powerful, it seemed to smother every bad feeling he had. Suddenly he
wasn't afraid at all not of the sell-sword, not of the bastard that had
arranged
for Bazie's building to burn
Somehow, he knew, he knew, that nothing bad could come inside these walls.
Somehow, he knew that as long as he kept the peace here, he would not ever
have
to fear the outside world coming in to get him.
That should have frightened him& and it didn't.
But he didn't have any leisure to contemplate it either, once they entered the
stable. Skif had ample cause now to be grateful for the time he'd spent living
in that loft above the donkey stable where he'd gotten acquainted with beast
tending because it was quite clear that the Order was badly short-handed. One
poor old man was still tottering around by the light of several lamps, feeding
and watering the motley assortment of hoof stock in this stable.
Skif didn't even hesitate for a moment; this, if ever, was the moment to prove
his concocted story, and a real stableboy wouldn't have hesitated either. He
dropped his bedroll and belongings just inside the stable door, and went
straight for the buckets; reckoning that water was going to be harder for the
old fellow to carry than grain or hay. And after all, he'd had more than his
share of water carrying when he'd been living with Bazie&
The old man cast him a look of such gratitude that Skif almost felt ashamed of
the ruse he was running on these people. Except that it wasn't exactly a ruse&
he was going to do the work, he just wasn't planning on sticking around for
the
next six moons. And, of course, he was going to be doing some other things on
the side that they would never know about.
As he watered each animal in its stall, he took a cursory look at them. For
the
most part, the only thing wrong with them was that they were old not a bad
thing, since it meant that none of them possessed enough energy or initiative
to
try more than a halfhearted, weary nip at him, much less a kick.
Poor old things, he thought, venturing to pat one ancient donkey who nuzzled
him
with something like tentative affection as he filled its watering trough. And
these were the lucky ones beasts whose owners felt they deserved an honorable
retirement after years of endless labor. The unlucky ones became stew and meat
pies in the cookshops and taverns that served Haven's poor.
Bless ye, my son, said the old priest gratefully, as they passed one
another.
We be perilous shorthanded for the hoof stock.
Just in stable? Skif asked, carefully keeping to his country accent.
The priest nodded, patting a dusty rump as he moved to fill another manger. [ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]
zanotowane.pl doc.pisz.pl pdf.pisz.pl karpacz24.htw.pl
There wouldn't be any inquiries, and they all knew it; this was just the
landlord's way of securing anything of value in there for himself.
But if they knew what I knew Skif thought, as he closed and bolted his own
door,
and put his back to it.
He began to shake.
Of all the people who could have wanted Jass dead, the only one with the money
to get the job done quietly was the smooth-voiced man in the cemetery. What
had
the sell-sword said? You're in deeper waters than you can swim , or
something
like that. Deep waters his knees went weak at how close he'd come last night
to
joining Jass under that crate. If he'd been caught down in that crypt
Skif sat down on his bedroll and went cold all over. There was at least one
person in Haven who knew that there was a connection between Skif and Jass.
And
that craggy-faced sell-sword just might come looking for him, to find out
exactly what, and how much, Skif knew.
I got to get out of here. Now!
The thought galvanized him. It didn't take him long to bundle up his few
belongings. More and r. ore people were showing up to hear the news directly
from the girls, and the more people there were moving around, the better his
odds were of getting away without anyone noticing. He watched for his chance,
and when a group of their fellow lightskirts descended on Desi and Trana and
carried them off to the nearest tavern, the better to console them, he used
the swirl of girls and the clatter they generated to his advantage. He slipped
out behind them, stayed with them as far as the tavern, and then got moving in
the opposite direction as quickly as he could.
He didn't really have any ideas of where he was going, but at the moment, that
was all to the good. If he didn't know where he was going, no one else would
be
able to predict it either.
The first place that anyone would look for him would be here, of course, but
as
Skif trudged down the street, looking as small and harmless as he could
manage,
he put his mind to work at figuring out a place where someone on his track was
not likely to look. What was the most out of character for him?
Well a Temple. But I don' think I'm gonna go lookin' t' take vows was his
automatic thought. But then, suddenly, that didn't seem so outlandish a
notion.
Not taking vows, of course but
Abruptly, he altered his path. This was going to be a long walk, but he had
the
notion that in the end, it was going to be worth it.
* * * * * * * * * *
Skif made his eyes as big and scared as he could, and twisted his cap in his
hands as he waited for someone to answer his knock at the Temple gate. This
Temple was not the one where his cousin Beel was now a full priest; it wasn't
even devoted to the same god, much less the same Order. This was the Temple
and
Priory of Thenoth, the Lord of the Beasts, and this Order took it on
themselves
to succor and care for injured, sick, and aged animals, from sparrows and
pigeons to broken-down carthorses.
It existed on charity, and as such, was one of the poorest Temples in Haven.
And
one thing it could always use was willing hands. Not everyone who worked here
in
the service of Thenoth was a priest or a novice; plenty of ordinary people
volunteered a few candlemarks in a week for the blessing of the God.
Now, what Skif was hoping was that he could hide here for the sake of his
labor.
He hoped he had a convincing enough story.
The door creaked open, and a long-nosed Priest in a patched and dusty brown
robe
looked down at him, lamp in one hand. If you be seekin' charity, lad, this
be'nt the place for ye, he said, wearily, but not unkindly. Ye should try
the ,
Not charity, sor, Skif said, putting on his best country accent. I be a
norphan, sor, mine nuncle turn me out of the far-um, and I come here t'city
a-lookin' for horse-work, but I got no character. I be good with horses, sor,
an' donkeys, an' belike, but no mun gi' me work withouten a character.
The Priest opened the door a little wider, and frowned thoughtfully. A
character, is't? Would ye bide in yon loft, tend the beasts, and eat with the
Brethren for say six moon, an' we give ye a good letter?
Skif bobbed his head eagerly. Ye'd gi' me a good character, then? Summut I
can
take fer t'work fer stable?
He's taken it! he thought with exultation.
If ye've earned it. The priest opened the gate wide, and Skif stepped into
the
dusty courtyard. Come try your paces. Enter freely, and walk in peace.
Skif felt his fear slide off him and vanish. No one would look for him here
and
even if they did, no one would dare the wrath of a God to try and take him
out.
So what if his story wasn't quite the truth?
I don' mind a bit'uv hard work. God can't take exception t'that.
The priest closed the gate behind them, and led Skif into and through the very
simple Temple, out into another courtyard, and across to a stabling area.
As he followed in the priest's wake, Skif was struck forcibly by two things.
The
first was the incredible poverty of this place. The second was an aura of
peace
that descended on him the moment he crossed the threshold.
It was so powerful, it seemed to smother every bad feeling he had. Suddenly he
wasn't afraid at all not of the sell-sword, not of the bastard that had
arranged
for Bazie's building to burn
Somehow, he knew, he knew, that nothing bad could come inside these walls.
Somehow, he knew that as long as he kept the peace here, he would not ever
have
to fear the outside world coming in to get him.
That should have frightened him& and it didn't.
But he didn't have any leisure to contemplate it either, once they entered the
stable. Skif had ample cause now to be grateful for the time he'd spent living
in that loft above the donkey stable where he'd gotten acquainted with beast
tending because it was quite clear that the Order was badly short-handed. One
poor old man was still tottering around by the light of several lamps, feeding
and watering the motley assortment of hoof stock in this stable.
Skif didn't even hesitate for a moment; this, if ever, was the moment to prove
his concocted story, and a real stableboy wouldn't have hesitated either. He
dropped his bedroll and belongings just inside the stable door, and went
straight for the buckets; reckoning that water was going to be harder for the
old fellow to carry than grain or hay. And after all, he'd had more than his
share of water carrying when he'd been living with Bazie&
The old man cast him a look of such gratitude that Skif almost felt ashamed of
the ruse he was running on these people. Except that it wasn't exactly a ruse&
he was going to do the work, he just wasn't planning on sticking around for
the
next six moons. And, of course, he was going to be doing some other things on
the side that they would never know about.
As he watered each animal in its stall, he took a cursory look at them. For
the
most part, the only thing wrong with them was that they were old not a bad
thing, since it meant that none of them possessed enough energy or initiative
to
try more than a halfhearted, weary nip at him, much less a kick.
Poor old things, he thought, venturing to pat one ancient donkey who nuzzled
him
with something like tentative affection as he filled its watering trough. And
these were the lucky ones beasts whose owners felt they deserved an honorable
retirement after years of endless labor. The unlucky ones became stew and meat
pies in the cookshops and taverns that served Haven's poor.
Bless ye, my son, said the old priest gratefully, as they passed one
another.
We be perilous shorthanded for the hoof stock.
Just in stable? Skif asked, carefully keeping to his country accent.
The priest nodded, patting a dusty rump as he moved to fill another manger. [ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]