"Dave Duncan - Tales of King's Blades 6 - Paragon Lost" - читать интересную книгу автора (Duncan Dave)

eye, oozing dislike. “And be quick back. I need that sauce done right. Andsoon!”

With difficulty, Isabelle held back some truths as unpalatable as Mistress Snider’s food. The woman
skimped ridiculously, but all Chivians tried to get by with inferior ingredients smothered in peppery
sauces. In Isilond, one began with a good piece of meat and used only enough seasoning to bring out its
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natural flavor. She wiped her hands on her apron.

“Yes, mistress.”

“He’s waiting in the King’s Room. You hurry back. Don’t expect me to pay you when you’re not
working.”

No, Isabelle would be payingherfor the privilege of speaking with a potential client. She set off on the
perilous trek to the door, watching out for scavenging dogs and people hurrying with hot pans, for her
balance was not as certain as it used to be. Fortunately, the baby never made her nauseated, although
she lived in that horrible kitchen from before dawn until after nightfall. She had nightmares of giving birth
there. But agentlemanlooking for Beau might mean a client and real wages, instead of the pittance he
earned in the yard by day and serving beer at night.

Leaving the reek of boiling cabbage, she went into the big taproom with its smoky fog of yeast, people,
and cheap candles. Gossips’ Corner was, first and last, a tavern, where beer flowed like water—“and
for good reason,” Beau said. Lo


3Paragon Lost

cated in the heart of Grandon, not far from Greymere Palace, Gossips’ Corner was a universally
recognized address for people to rendezvous or leave messages or even dine, although Isabelle could
never understand why anyone who had any choice should choose to do that. It offered rooms by the
night or the week or the hour—she and Beau lived there, in a garret five floors up. It provided music and
singing and gambling. Those who sought to buy a horse, hire a servant, pick pockets, or contract odd
jobs could usually be accommodated.

The City Watch, bought off by Master Snider, turned blind eyes to shadier services: girl or boy
companions in the rooms, sinister conjurations not offered by honest elementaries, recovery of recently
stolen goods, collection of debts, or other forms of assault. Today the taproom was as noisy as the
kitchen, with a dozen carpenters competing in hammering. Riots were commonplace in Gossips’ Corner,
but last week’s had been unusually vigorous, climaxing in a party of public-spirited Baelish sailors
attempting to burn the place down.

The King’s Room was a cubicle for private conversation. Furnished with a timber table and two
benches, it was just as cramped and pungent as the taproom outside, but the pebbly glass in its
diamond-pane windows let in a fair light. The solitary occupant rose as she entered, an unexpected
courtesy. A gentleman, certainly. His hose, doublet, and skirted jerkin were of fine stuff and beautifully
tailored—not quite in the latest mode sported by court dandies, but quite acceptable on an older