"Gordon R. Dickson - Dragon Knight 08 - The Dragon in Lyonesse" - читать интересную книгу автора (Dickson Gordon R)

“Well, how did he get into the Castle, then?”

But John was looking helpless.

There was nothing to be done with a Steward who looked helpless. With a less important servant, you
could turn to his or her superior and say, “See if you can get an answer that makes sense,” and walk off.
Jim never did that, however, except in an emergency-the questioning of the less important one that
followed tended to be a rough process.

“Magic,” said Angie. “I’ll bet you.”

“Certainly not!” said Jim. “Dafydd’s not a magician; and anyway, why would he need magic to get in
when all he’s ever needed to do was hail whoever was on night guard at the main gate? They all know
him here.”

“In this world magic probably had something to do with it,” said Angie darkly. “If you hadn’t got
yourself mixed up in it-“

“The only reason I did it was because I had to rescue you from the Loathly Tower-remember?”

“True,” said Angie. “I’m sorry, Jim. Forgive me-I’m vicious before I’ve had breakfast. Let’s go down
and get some; and find out for ourselves about Dafydd.”

She linked her arm in his, and they headed toward the door. John Steward nipped through it ahead of
them and stood aside.

“Anyway, I thought he was at an archery meet right now, in the North Country somewhere,” Jim said as
they started down the hall-John decorously following, five paces behind them.

At the High Table, raised on its dais at the inward end of the Hall, the cloth had been laid and foods set
out. No longer working on a bowstave, Dafydd himself was eating; but he stopped politely and got to his
feet as a mere archer should when Jim and Angie came toward him.

“Dafydd!” said Jim. “How did things go at that meet in the north?” Angie kissed the archer in the
customary polite greeting of the age, in defiance of the fact that, officially, she was a lady and here he was
only an archer, in spite of his great skills. Gentlemen, in obedience to the custom, could kiss women
innkeepers and female servants-in fact, they often did-but ladies were not ordinarily obliged to lower
themselves in that fashion.

For his part, Jim held back. Dafydd was an old friend, almost as much so as Sir Brian, who was the
closest thing to a blood brother that Jim had in this fourteenth-century world, after their battle at the
Loathly Tower. Dafydd, of course, had been there, too. Moreover, he was a guest, and, in principle, was
owed a kiss of welcome. But Brian had never seemed to think that Dafydd would expect the courtesy
from him-any more than any other archer might-and Jim was uncomfortable with the practice, anyway.
He cleared his throat and seated himself at the table.

Angie and Dafydd also sat down.

“There were many good archers there, James,” said Dafydd. “I saw much to admire.”