"Kerr, Katharine - Westlands 02 - A Time Of Omens" - читать интересную книгу автора (Dragon Stories)

"Well, aren't I right?"
"About the audience, yes. I wouldn't call Rimi a cow. Your father's right. We all fall now and then."
"I never did! And she hates me for it, too. You know what I'm afraid of? That she'll work on Father, and he'll sell me to a slave trader. That'd buy passage for all of you, wouldn't it? I bet I'd fetch a lot."
"Will you be quiet? That's the most awful thing I've ever heard anyone say! Your father would never do such a thing."
"Maybe not, but she would."
Keeta's silence spoke a scrollful of answers.
In the morning Marka slept late. She shared a tent with Keeta and Delya, but woke to find them long gone, their bedrolls neatly folded and stowed off to one side, the hot sun streaming through the canvas. From outside she could hear voices, laughter and amiable squabbling, snatches of singing and pretend-oaths, all the normal life of the camp. She dressed, found her bone comb, and wandered outside to stand blinking in the sunlight and work at smoothing her tangle of curls. Although everyone else was up and around, there was no sign of her father or Orima. Still in bed, probably. She made a face at the thought.
"There you are!" Keeta called out. "Fresh bread in that basket by the fire pit."
Together they sat down by a pile of firewood while Marka nibbled at her breakfast.
"I was talking to Vinto," Keeta said. "He's worried about money, too. Your father's been making hints about not having enough to give the acrobats their full wages."
Marka felt suddenly sick to her stomach.
"But if he shorts them, they'll leave. They're good enough to travel on their own."
"I know. I thought maybe you might have a word with your father. You've still got a lot of influence with him."
"If I say something, the cow will say the opposite, just to be mooing."
"Marka!" But Keeta hesitated, her mouth twisting in a bitter recognition of the truth. "Maybe I'll talk to him, then. I was stranded once, with another troupe, years ago now, but I remember it awfully well. Too well. I don't-" She hesitated again. "Wait a minute. Isn't that the barbarian?"
His face shaded by a floppy leather hat, the juggler was riding up to the camp on a beautiful-and expensive-looking-gray gelding. He dismounted just outside the circle of tents, stood looking round for a moment, then led his horse over to the fire pit while everyone else in camp strolled over to meet him. Marka felt her heart start pounding when he made them all a lazy bow, just because he was so lithe and graceful.
"Good morning, all," he announced with a grin. "My name's Salamander, and I was wondering if I could have a word with the head of your troupe. I might have a business proposition to lay before him."
"Um, well, he's still in his tent," Keeta said. "Should be up anytime now."
Salamander glanced at the sky as if to check the position of the sun. Vinto and Keeta exchanged significant looks and went on surreptitiously judging the cost of his beautiful clothes and horse gear.
"Well, I'm his daughter," Marka said. "Maybe you could tell me what you want."
"Perhaps you can help me, indeed. I was wondering where you were all heading to next, since it would seem that this town no longer provides afresh and profitable field for your talents to cultivate."
Again Keeta and Vinto glanced at each other, this time with a hint of agony.
"Er, we haven't exactly decided. Going back to Main Island, maybe, but I'm not sure."
"I see. Well, my companion and I are less than sure of our next destination, too, you see, and I thought that . . . " He let his words trail away.
Hamil was crawling out of his tent, and when he stood up, he lurched and swayed so badly that Marka at first thought he was ill. She bolted and ran to steady him, shocked at the inert force of his weight upon her shoulder as he leaned sideways. Dimly she was aware of the camp breaking out into a buzz of talk.
"Papa, what's wrong?"
For an answer he merely smiled, a slow, secretive smile, and his eyes turned her way slowly, too, all heavy lids and droop. Around him hung a smoky scent, like incense. Marka grunted as the ice-knowledge chilled her to the spine. For a moment she felt the earth turn beneath her.
"It's the white smoke again. Well, isn't it? Oh, Papa, you promised!" With a howl she thrust him away.
"Hey." He staggered and sat down heavily. "Little beast."
"Not again! Why . . . it was her, wasn't it? She's been getting it for you! Curse her guts!"
By then the rest of the troupe was hurrying over. Marka dodged away and ducked into her father's tent. Naked, on her hands and knees, Rimi was desperately scraping earth over a hole in the dirt floor. The stem of a pipe stuck up through it. Marka grabbed her by the hair, pulled her up, and slapped her across the face. She squealed like a pig and slapped back, all feeble and limp-wristed.
"Filth! You piece of gutter filth!" Marka hit her again. "You've been giving my father opium. I should turn you over to the archon. I should kill you."
Squealing and swearing, Rimi tried to writhe away. Marka went for her throat just as Keeta grabbed her from behind. There was no use struggling in those massive hands.
"Delya, get the little whore dressed and out here!" Keeta dragged Marka back. "You, young lady, are coming with me."
Outside, the acrobats were mobbing round Hamil, clamoring questions. Keeta marched Marka over to the fire pit, where Salamander was standing and studying the dead coals as if they interested him very much indeed. One or two at a time, the acrobats gave Hamil up as a bad job and drifted over. Marka began to sob convulsively, whether in rage or grief she didn't quite know. Keeta's icy voice cut through her hysteria.
"He's done this before, has he?"
"Not for years. He promised. Why do you think my mother left him?"
"She left you with him?" Vinto broke in.
"He wouldn't let me go. And he promised to stop. He promised."
She forced back tears and looked up. Keeta had turned away appalled, shaking her head over and over. Vinto ran both hands through his hair and stared at the ground for a long moment.
"Well," he said at last. "I'm sorry, little Marka, but me and the boys are pulling out. We can earn enough on our own to get back to Main Island, anyway, and we'll think of something to do then." He glanced at Keeta. "You and Delya are welcome to come with us."
Keeta sighed sharply, hesitated, then looked at Marka.
"Only if you come, too, little one. I can't just leave you here."
Marka felt as if her tongue had swelled to block her throat. She could only stare numbly at her friend's face.
"You little bitch, you viper!" Rimi marched over, dressed now and wrapped in dignity as well. "You'd better go with them! Do you think I'm going to put up with you after this?"
Marka could find nothing to say to her.
"Shut up," Keeta snapped. "Her father's got something to say about this."
"Father will listen to her." Marka heard her own voice whispering like a stranger's. "If they do the smoke together, he'll listen to her. He lost my mother over it, didn't he?"
She began to cry again, a helpless flutter that she hated for its weakness. Through her tears she saw Rimi leering and gloating, her face swimming like some dark moon. Marka raised her hands and stepped forward; then someone caught her firmly and pulled her back: the barbarian juggler.
"Satisfying though it would be, my turtledove, to rake your nails down her beauty, it would be both unprofitable and a waste of time. The opium itself will claw her for you."