"Raymond E. Feist - Kingdom of the Isles 2 - The King's Buccaneer" - читать интересную книгу автора (Feist Raymond E)

a pennant, a small version of the Prince of Krondor's naval ensign. Two young
men frantically worked the sails and tiller, one attempting to hold as strong
a line to the dock as possible while the other furled a jib. Both laughed at
the impromptu race.

"Nicholas!" shouted Amos, as the boy lowering the jib waved at him. "You
idiot! We're cutting your wind! Turn about!" The boy- at the helm turned to
look at Amos and threw him an impudent grin. "I should have known," said Amos
to die assistant pilot. To the grinning boy, Amos shouted, "Harry! You
lunatic!" Glancing back, seeing the last of the sails reefed, Amos observed,
"We're coasting to the docks, we don't have room to turn if we wanted to, and
we certainly can't stop."

All ships coming into Krondor dropped anchor in the middle of the harbor,
waiting for longboats to tow them to the docks. Amos was the only man with
rank enough to intimidate the harbor pilot into allowing him to drop sail at
the proper moment and coast into the docks. He took pride in always reaching
the proper place for the land lines to be thrown out and in having never
dashed the docks or required a tow. He had coasted into this slip a hundred
times in twenty years, but never before with a pair of insane boys playing
games in front of the ship. Looking forward at the small boat, which was now
slowing even more rapidly, Amos said, "Tell me, Lawrence, how does it feel to
be the man on the bow when you drown the Prince of Krondor's youngest son?"

Color drained from the assistant pilot's face as he turned toward the small
boat. In a high-pitched voice he began shrieking at the boys to get out of the
way.

Turning his back on the scene below, Amos shook his head as he leaned back
against the railing. He ran his hand over his nearly bald pate, the grey hair
around it—once dark and curly —now tied back behind his head in a sailor's
knot. After a moment attempting to ignore what they were doing, Amos gave in.
He turned around, leaning forward and to the right so he could see past the
bowsprit. Below, Nicholas was leaning into the oar, one leg braced firmly
against the base of the mast, the oar firmly planted against the bow of the
ship. He looked

THE K/NG'S BaccANesn 9

terrified. Amos could hear Nicholas shout, "Harry! You'd better turn to port!"

Amos nodded in silent agreement, for if Harry pulled hard to port, the small
sailboat would swing wide of the lumbering ship, getting banged around,
perhaps swamped, but at least the boys would be alive. If they drifted
suddenly to starboard, the boat would quickly be ground between the ship's
hull and the approaching pilings of the dock.

Lawrence, the assistant pilot, said, "The Prince is fending us off."
"Ha!" Amos shook his head. "Letting us push them into the dock, you mean."
Cupping his hands around his mouth, Amos shouted, "Harry! Hard aport!"