"Gray, Julia - Guardian 01 - The Dark Moon" - читать интересную книгу автора (Gray Julia)

Terrel found the spectacle both bewildering and fascinating. He had never seen anything like it. Having already spotted a good deal of drunkenness and a few genuine fights, he could not help wondering whether the entire gathering might not spiral out of control once dusk came and the bonfires were lit. He had seen only a few soldiers - hardly enough to ensure law and order - but the air of imminent danger just seemed to add to the general atmosphere.
Unlike Terrel, Babak was in his element in the midst of this colourful chaos, and was already doing a brisk trade - but he was getting close to the moment when, with Terrel's unwilling help, he would reveal his masterstroke. The boy fidgeted, despising himself for having agreed to play his part in the deception, but knowing he would have to go through with it now. He owed Babak that much at least.
When the signal came, he adjusted his sling and tucked the crutch beneath his twisted arm, then lurched over towards the pedlar's cart, exaggerating his limp. Most people made way for him to pass, but some regarded him contemptuously and forced him to wait or go around them - while a few made callous remarks about cripples being allowed to spoil the festive mood. When he judged he was close enough, he stopped and joined Babak's audience.
'This precious elixir,' the self-styled apothecary cried, holding up a small stone phial, 'is distilled from over a hundred essences, and has been mixed to a recipe that's been in my family for many generations. It can restore vigour to every part of a man's body.'
'Every part?' a woman's voice called out, provoking a round of laughter.
'Indisputably!' Babak replied, winking at the heckler. ''Every part. Even one that has atrophied and gone soft from lack of use. Tonight of all nights a lover should be fervent and tireless - and this will make him so. But that is not all,' he went on, overriding the crowd's buzz of speculation. 'It can effect marvels upon the limbs of those afflicted by the palsy, or who have not recovered their agility and strength after breaking a bone.'
Babak looked around his audience, ignoring their cries of disbelief, until his gaze fell - apparently by chance - on Terrel.
'You, sir!' he called, pointing. 'How long has it been since you walked without a stick?'
Terrel made a pantomime of surprise at being so addressed, then replied in a deliberately hoarse voice.
'Many years.'
'Then drink this,' the pedlar cried, tossing the phial in the boy's direction.
As he had been instructed, Terrel lunged awkwardly at the bottle, missed hopelessly, then staggered and almost fell. The phial clattered to the ground, where it was picked up by another onlooker. The man unstoppered it, took a sniff, then recoiled as if the smell was vile.
'You look healthy enough to me, sir!' Babak called. 'Give the elixir to one who needs it.'
'Gladly,' the man said, passing it over.
Terrel took the bottle and emptied it into his mouth. It did indeed smell - and taste - vile, and it scorched his throat as he swallowed convulsively. He gagged, his eyes watering, but then, as the spectators watched, an extraordinary change came over the cripple. His crutch fell to the ground unheeded, his back straightened so that he stood taller, and even his withered leg seemed less deformed. He tore off the sling that held his right arm and threw that away too, flexing his twisted fingers as though this was the first time he had been able to move them. Then he performed a stuttering, lopsided jig on the spot. His face was a mask of astonishment and joy - and his eyes glittered in the strangest fashion.
After that Babak could hardly take the money in fast enough. Terrel wandered away, aware that people were still watching him, and wanting to put the entire episode behind him. During his performance he had dreaded being recognized by someone who had seen him at the tavern, or on his early morning walk, but there'd been so many people milling about that the chances of this happening had been very small. Now, feeling ashamed and humiliated, he almost wished that the fraud had been exposed. And yet another small but insistent voice inside his head was exclaiming with pride at his success. He had done it! At least his debt to the pedlar was paid now. And the funny thing was, the elixir had seemed to give him more energy.
What was more, knowing that Terrel would have to fend for himself for most of the day, Babak had given him some money, and he was now free to spend it any way he chose. He found one of the flower sellers - who regarded him suspiciously until he saw the coins in his hand - and spent some time picking out the right bloom. A rose was beyond his means, but he was able to buy a fiery-red snapdragon.
Having completed his transaction - the merchant seemed surprised when the boy paid without haggling - Terrel became aware that many people in the square were now looking up expectantly at the roof of one of the surrounding buildings. The time of the festival was approaching, and a lookout was stationed there, ready to give the signal for the fires to be lit as soon as the Red Moon was clear of the horizon. Terrel wished he could see for himself as it rose above the ocean, but there was no chance of that. He had to bide his time, like everyone else.
They did not have to wait long. A great cheer went up when the signal came, and moments later flames were rippling through the piles of wood. As night drew in, the square was lit by the fires of love, and a procession of pilgrims began to make their way towards Kativa's Shrine. Terrel went with them, not hurrying or pushing forward like some, knowing that this should be a solemn moment. When he finally reached the towering sculpture, the Red Moon was visible to all in the sky above, and the lower parts of the shrine were already festooned with a blanket of red flowers of all shapes and sizes. The scent was overwhelming.
Terrel had been feeling light-headed ever since drinking the elixir and now, as he laid his delicate offering among all the others, and whispered Alyssa's name, he began to feel a kind of detachment - as if there was some kind of invisible barrier between himself and the rest of the world. It was disorientating for a while, but then he got used to it and began to enjoy floating through the crowds, observing everything in minute detail: the way a couple's fingers intertwined as they held hands; the twisting pattern of sparks as they rose into the sky within swirls of smoke; flames reflected in a child's eyes; a drunken kiss; a single shoe lying discarded on the ground. He was fascinated by all these things and many more, before finding himself outside an inn that was doing a roaring trade. Several trestle tables had been set up in the open air and, while all the benches were occupied, Terrel returned from purchasing a jug of wine to discover that a seat was readily available amid a group of revellers. Sharing his wine gained him acceptance, and he in turn had his cup filled several times from other flagons and jugs. The conversation around the table was good-natured and ribald, and Terrel only took in about half of what was said. But that did not seem to matter. He was euphoric now, laughing with all the rest, just aware enough to realize that he was drunk for the first time in his life.
The bonfires had died down to a glowing mass of embers by the time he finally rose from his seat, intending to make his way back to the tavern where he and Babak were staying. Time had ceased to mean very much, but the night was growing colder, so Terrel made his way closer to the dying fires and warmed himself, before looking round for familiar landmarks. Somewhat to his surprise, he couldn't find any. All four corners of the square now looked exactly the same. He spent some time wandering aimlessly, even as the revels continued about him. His head was spinning, from wine or tiredness or both, and in the end he had to sit down on the ground, leaning his back against the cool stone of one of the buildings. And there, without feeling more than a moment's alarm, he slowly toppled over to one side and fell asleep.
On his second morning in Tiscamanita, Terrel woke to the sound of snoring. But this time the noise was muffled and faraway, and when he opened his eyes, he saw not the tavern room but bare stone walls, with the only light coming from a tiny barred window set in a door. And he was not lying in a soft bed but on a hard, unforgiving floor. His entire body felt bruised and stiff, and his clothes reeked of smoke. Memories of fantastical dreams assailed him, but those were forgotten as soon as he tried to move and his head threatened to implode. The pain and the immediate wave of nausea that accompanied it made him gasp for breath and then groan aloud. He had never felt so ill in his life. There was a dull pounding in his ears, someone seemed to be sticking needles in the back of his eyes, and his tongue felt too big for his mouth.
The fact that he had no idea where he was a secondary problem. There was no way he could call out or even speak, and movement was clearly impossible. He would just have to lie there and wait.
Time passed with agonizing slowness, and in the end Terrel managed to overcome his body's reluctance and sit up. Every movement made him wince, but after a while he felt a bit better, and when he heard footsteps on the far side of the door he forced himself to shout. Nothing more than a croak emerged from his ravaged throat, but the noise served its purpose, and a face appeared in the window.
'So you're awake, are you?'
'Where am I?' Terrel grated.
'You're in prison. And likely to be here for a while.'
'Prison? What for?' He was afraid now, as well as bewildered. 'I can't stay here.'
'You're lucky the seneschal locked you up in here, my lad,' the man replied. 'After you burnt down Kativa's Shrine, most people wanted to string you up.'

Chapter Twenty-Seven

'You really are an innocent, aren't you?'
Terrel shook his head, looking up at his inquisitor.
'I'm not an innocent. I am innocent. I didn't do it!'
'Then why do I have more than a dozen witnesses ready to swear that you did?' Seneschal Cadrez appeared calm, and his tone was mild, but he was an imposing figure nonetheless. He had had to stoop under the doorway of the cell.
'I don't know,' Terrel replied helplessly. 'It must have been someone else they saw.'
'You're a pretty distinctive figure,' Cadrez pointed out.
'But hardly unique.' He knew this was a feeble argument - and yet he could not explain what had happened. Claiming to have been asleep wasn't much of a defence but, much to the seneschal's scorn, Terrel hadn't been able to come up with anything better. 'Besides,' he added, 'most of the people in the square were drunk. They're hardly going to be the most reliable witnesses.'
Cadrez nodded thoughtfully.
'Some of them did come up with one or two rather fanciful tales,' he conceded. 'A few even claimed to have seen you breathing fire from your mouth - like a dragon!'
Terrel felt a glimmer of hope. Even if he had little in the way of an alibi, no one could possibly give much credence to such obvious nonsense. And, for all his stern countenance, the boy instinctively believed that Cadrez was a fair man.
'Of course,' the seneschal went on, 'you could have been using liquid spirit, like the circus fire-eaters, but we found no evidence of that.'
'Then how can you believe anything these witnesses say?' Terrel persisted.
'They also said that the fire might have been coming from your eyes, that they were shining like stars,' Cadrez added, his measuring gaze fixed upon his prisoner. 'But your eyes are blue, aren't they?'
Terrel looked back at him as boldly as he was able, grateful for the fact that the glamour still seemed to be working for him. If the citizens of Tiscamanita ever found out he had the eyes of an enchanter, his fate would be sealed. Even so, he had caught the note of doubt in the seneschal's final words, and felt he should respond.
'Don't you trust your own eyes?'
'Where you're concerned,' Cadrez replied, 'I'm not sure I do.'
'Then you must be drunk too.' Terrel regretted the words as soon as they were out of his mouth, but his interrogator seemed unmoved by the insult. 'I mean ..' the boy stammered. 'I mean . . .'
'Unfortunately for you, the seneschal went on, ignoring the interruption, 'some of the witnesses were soldiers. Most of my men are chosen because they're sober characters by nature.' A slight smile touched his wide mouth. 'And they were under strict orders not to touch a drop of liquor last night. So they are reliable, and they are just as adamant as the other witnesses that you were responsible for the fire.'