"McKenna,.Juliet.E.-.Einarinn.03.-.Gambler's.Fortune" - читать интересную книгу автора (Dragon Stories)

Laughter swelled. 'I don't think Daddy's little treasure will be coming home untarnished,' I commented to Sorgrad with mock disapproval.
The masquerade romped down comfortably predictable
paths: the improbable lovers chasing in and out of the back-cloth with the clowns, the dog, the cook and the miser raising ever louder laughter as the double-edged jests flew thick and fast. The miser made the mistake of trying to enter his own house by the back gate in an attempt to foil the heroine's escape and was duly stripped of breeches and, shirt tails flapping, was chased off by his own dog. The knife-grinder seized his opportunity, first to rescue the heiress and then to get his boots under the cook's table. The dancers came on to draw down the pace with a sedate display of lace and ankles and the piece ended with our hero and heroine emerging from the backcloth in their wedding clothes, her hair duly cut and laid on Drianon's altar.
The Explanatory raised 'his voice determinedly above the people stirring and calling for ale, proclaiming the moral conclusion, even if the tales would have shocked any priest who stumbled across the threshold by mistake. I was quite surprised that Niello hadn't cut that, as so many companies do nowadays, but this was a festival after all, when people like to see the old ways duly observed.
As the company came out to take a bow, Niello waved and mimed taking a drink, pointing at our table.
'Are we staying?' I looked at the others.
'Definitely,' answered 'Gren promptly. The dancing girls were emerging from the backcloth in twos and threes, slippers in hand, warm shawls draped over their costumes. 'It's too early to go to bed, without company anyway.'
He strolled towards the stage, collecting a pitcher and a handful of cups from a serving maid. The dancers barely registered him at first, a slight figure in nondescript buff jerkin and breeches like half the men in the city. I watched as the girls' heads turned one by one, golden ringlets brassy next to 'Gren's flaxen head. Curious glances were replaced by demure giggles and 'Gren ended up sitting on the edge of the stage, four lasses round him sipping their wine and giggling flirtatiously as he praised their performance with flattering detail.
Niello sauntered over, swinging his hook-nosed mask idly from its ribbons, a tattered rainbow jerkin unbuttoned over a sweaty shirt. The masculine scent of him wasn't unpleasant as he dropped on to the bench and gave me a warm smile. He ran a hand through the tangle of his chestnut hair and heaved a gratified sigh. 'So, what did you think?'
'Most entertaining,' Usara pushed a drink towards him. 'First rate.'
'Good enough for the Looking Glass,' I agreed.
'Hardly that,' shrugged Niello but his expression betrayed his pleasure. 'I think we could still make more of the business with the dog.'
'Not without you stripping naked and really giving the girls an eyeful,' I retorted.
'Is that a sacrifice I could make?' he mused, mock serious. 'Perhaps not; I don't think the Watch would see the funny side of it. What did you think of my scene with the cook?'
'Where was the letter?' demanded Sorgrad.
'What letter?' Niello was perplexed.
'The letter that either has some crucial significance and gets mislaid, or that brings a vital piece of intelligence to solve everyone's problems.' Sorgrad's smile teased. 'Every good story has to have one or the other, surely?'
We discussed the masquerade in general and Niello's part in particular for some while. Gradually the courtyard emptied until only we four were left with the players as they relaxed. The five chimes of midnight sounded from some distant tower.
'So whereabouts are you staying?' Niello's eyes slid from me to Usara with an obvious question.
'We have rooms at the Six Stars,' I laid a gentle emphasis on the word 'rooms'.
Niello whistled soundlessly. 'You've come up in the world, my dear. I'll escort you back when you're ready to go to your bed.'
I smiled but shook my head. 'No need, thanks all the same.'
His hazel eyes clouded with enough disappointment to flatter me but he recovered his poise in the next breath. 'If you'll excuse me, I really should speak to some of the company. It was a good performance, but there are always improvements to be made.'
We watched as he went straight as a scenting hound for the lass who'd played the heroine, her own face showing none of the innocence of the mask she'd worn earlier.
'You turned him down last time as well,' observed Sorgrad slyly. 'Keeping yourself free for your swordsman?'
'Keeping myself free of the itch,' I replied with some asperity. 'That's what I got the last time I let him talk me into a tumble.'
I caught an expression of frozen distaste on Usara's face and was about to challenge it when commotion erupted by the stage. 'Gren had his arm around the waist of a pretty dancer whose face glowed with the vacant sensuality that so often causes trouble. The second clown, his own face nigh as fat as his mask and red with wine and anger, was reaching for the lass's arm. 'Come on, Lalla! I said we're going. You're coming with me tonight.'
'Gren swung the girl backwards out of the clown's grasp. 'Lalla wants to stay, don't you, pet?' He tightened his arm around her waist and smiled up at her.
'Go away, Vadim,' one of the other girls interrupted unwisely. 'Lalla's no more your property than any of the rest of us. When are you going to get that into your wooden skull?'
Vadim thrust a warning finger in her face. 'Shut your mouth, Kelty, unless you want me to shut it for you.'
I saw 'Gren's expression harden. With all the delight he takes in the company of pretty girls, he has an exaggerated sense of the courtesy due to women. He lifted Lalla up and sat her on the edge of the stage, his unexpected strength surprising her into a witless little giggle.
'I don't think these ladies require your company any further this evening.' 'Gren squared up to Vadim, mocking him
with the accents of the masquerade. 'Why don't you take yourself off?'
It took Vadim, a man of Col by his accent, a moment to grasp the meaning of the north-country obscenity. Lalla was a breath quicker and giggled but Kelty and the others had the wit to get 'Gren between themselves and Vadim. The fat clown's face twisted in a furious scowl and he lashed out at 'Gren with a fist the size of a donkey's hoof. 'Gren avoided the blow with ease, dodging round to land a mocking slap on Vadim's back. 'Over here, lard arse!'
Usara braced his hands on the table, rising and ready to intervene. 'Don't,' I laid a firm hand on his arm.
'Oh come on,' objected Usara. 'It's hardly a fair fight, is it?'
'No, it's not, but the fat man started it, so he'll have to take what's coming to him.' I tightened my grip.
The wizard sat down, bemused face begging an explanation. I directed his attention to the fight. 'Gren was deftly evading Vadim's clumsy swings, landing stinging slaps on the clown's puce face. The idiot girl Lalla was fluttering with distress, trying to catch the sleeve of either one despite the urgent hisses of Kelty and the others telling her to get clear.
'I'll throttle you with your own tripes, you little shit,' raged Vadim, grabbing a stool to fling it at 'Gren, who dodged it easily before throwing a platter of bones and scraps back to catch Vadim full in the chest, spattering him with grease. Enraged, the big man lunged forward, mad as a taunted bear. A fruit rind under 'Gren's foot betrayed him, dropping him to one knee. With a roar of triumph, Vadim swung at the side of 'Gren's head. Moving away even before the blow connected, 'Gren had an arm out to cushion his landing and rolled with a grace most tumblers would envy. Back on his feet, he split Vadim's lip with a lightning punch before the fat man knew what had hit him. A second blow to the gut doubled the clown up. He'd made the same mistake as so many others, thinking 'Gren's size meant an easy mark. I'd lost count of the men who'd learned to their considerable cost that skinny
frame was strong as seasoned wood and whipcord. There was also the fact that 'Gren never imagined he could be beaten. I caught Sorgrad's eye and he nodded; we'd both seen 'Gren was upping the pace.
'Gren took a step backwards, ready and waiting. When Vadim straightened up, he promptly kicked the big man in one shin. I winced, knowing 'Gren still favours the steel-capped boots of the sensible miner. Vadim howled and hopped as he clutched his leg, as comic as anything he'd shown us on stage. The witless Lalla was stupid enough to laugh and with a speed he'd have been better employing against 'Gren, Vadim lashed out, knocking the daft blossom clean off her feet. Kelty darted forward to drag the weeping chit clear.
The mocking amusement on 'Gren's face was lit with bright anger and a blade glinted steely in one hand.
'He won't kill him, will he?' Niello tapped Sorgrad on the shoulder, faint concern wrinkling his forehead. 'I'll have no end of trouble finding another clown who knows that part, now the festival proper has started.'
Sorgrad didn't answer and I was watching the fight. Vadim was moving more cautiously now, eyes flickering to 'Gren's knife hand. 'Gren was coming closer, eyes shining with a pale blue fire and a faint smile curving the corners of his mouth. He was enjoying himself and my heart sank; that made him so very dangerous. The two of them circled round and around, feet scuffing up the rushes and rubbish. Vadim spread his hands, checking behind for tables and benches at every other step. 'Gren followed, poised like a cat.
Usara made some faint murmur of frustration. 'Can't we put a stop to this?'
'You won't succeed, and if you spoil 'Gren's fun you'll make an enemy for life.' The mage's mouth hung open with questions he couldn't quite frame. I spared a glance for Sorgrad, to reassure myself he was ready to intervene. He was the only one who could stop 'Gren killing the idiot now.
Vadim made his play in that same breath, fat face creased with vicious cunning. He edged round a table where lamb
bones lay in a puddle of sauce. Snatching up a carving fork, he lunged at 'Gren, a swerving move to stay beyond the sweep of the smaller man's knife. What Vadim didn't expect was 'Gren instantly swapping the knife to his other hand, a sideways step taking him out of danger and round to Vadim's unprotected back. The knife flashed in the lamplight, the swiftness of the move deceiving my eye and I had been watching for it, knowing it of old.
Vadim's yell mingled pain and outrage and blood oozed between his fingers as he clutched a deep gash in the meat of his shoulder. Stumbling round in shock, he gaped at 'Gren, who was grinning broadly, daggers in both hands now. Vadim dropped his weapon from nerveless fingers, not the only one to see his death in the Mountain Man's bright eyes.
'Nia mer es! Als verget.' Sorgrad's curt command in the Mountain tongue cut through the tense silence. The fire in 'Gren's face faded and he looked at his brother, puzzled, then at Vadim, almost as if seeing him for the first time. I breathed a quiet sigh of relief.