"Modesitt, L E - Recluse 12 - The Wellspring of Chaos" - читать интересную книгу автора (Modesitt L E)

“So you did.” The master of the Seastag hopped up into the wagon bed and began
to inspect the hogshead. Kharl waited.
Finally, Hagen jumped down and gestured to the three sailors—two men and a
hard-faced woman as well muscled as the men. “Take the cask up and set it just
aft of the mainmast for now.”
“Yes, ser.”
Kharl watched as the three eased the cask out of the wagon and carried it across
the pier, past the timber being loaded, and up the gangway. Hagen watched as
well, until the cask was on board the Seastag, before turning to the cooper.
“You charge a bit more than the Austrans, but no one makes a better hogshead.”
Hagen laughed and handed Kharl the three silvers, then added a pair of coppers.
“Thank you, ser.” Kharl inclined his head. Behind them the teamster finished
turning the wagon on the wide
pier and headed back toward the city proper. He gave the slightest of waves to
Kharl.
In return, Kharl nodded to the teamster.
“I’ll be thanking you, cooper,” said Hagen. “That I will. Next trip, it might be
sand barrels.”
“Sand barrels?”
“Been reports of raiders out of Lydiar, and the Black Brethren have those
rockets. A chaos-wizard’s teamed up with pirates out of a place called Renklaar.
Water doesn’t always stop those chaos-flames. We’re fortunate only one pirate’s
got a wizard.”
“How long before you come back this way?” asked Kharl.
“I’m only making a short voyage this time. Maybe half the ports in Candar before
we return to Valmurl. Then, after an eightday there, we’ll be headed here on the
long trip of the winter.” He laughed. “We’ll end up in Hamor, where it’s warm.”
The cooper nodded. “You thinking of oak for the sand barrels?”
“The only thing for a vessel. The only thing.” The graying Hagen tipped his
battered cap to Kharl. “Be seeing you next trip, cooper.”
“I look forward to it, ser.”
Hagen nodded and turned.
Kharl walked past the timber, careful to avoid the empty sling coming down.
Halfway back along the pier from the Seastag, he stopped as he noted—and
recognized—the low vessel moored at the outboard end of the second pier, a ship
entirely of shimmering black, without masts and with but one gun in a single
forward turret. Two guards in the black of Reduce marines stood at the foot of
the gangway.
The cooper studied the warship for a moment, then shook his head as he continued
back along the pier for the kay-long walk back to the cooperage. He just hoped
that no one had come by in his absence, but he wouldn’t have dared to send
Arthal with the hogshead.
“Youth…” he muttered under his breath. “Not what they used to be. Paid attention
to my da. They’d just as soon spit.”
He squared his shoulders and stretched out his stride. He could have paid the
teamster for a return ride, but he had better uses for his coppers.
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From the angle of the light slanting through the front windows of the cooperage,
Kharl could tell it was getting on to late afternoon. He checked the brass
spigot he’d set into the first barrel. He’d augured the hole almost perfectly,