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

He laughed to himself at the last thought. He didn’t put any faith at all in
such a god. Tyrbel did. With a rueful smile, he kept walking.
Two blocks down toward the harbor, he came to the upper market square, although
most of the peddlers and vendors had already packed up their wares and left. A
one-handed beggar was seated on the low stone wall that surrounded the
near-empty square. Topped with redstone with rounded edges, the wall was a good
place for sitting and resting.
“A copper, ser, just a copper for a poor fellow.” The bearded beggar,
in a tattered gray tunic and trousers, held his cap upside down, lifting it
toward Kharl.
The cooper ignored him and kept walking. “Just a copper, ser. Just a copper…”
Another thirty cubits down Crafters’ Lane, also seated on the wall, was a young
woman, with short-cropped dark hair and wearing a tan tunic and trousers. Her
skin was pale, but unblemished. Her boots were sturdy and brown, and beside her
was a canvas pack, against which rested a shimmering black staff. She was small
enough that her boots did not touch the cobblestones beneath the wall.
As Kharl neared her, he took in the blackstaffer, then nodded politely. She
looked up. “Good day to you, ser.” Her brown eyes smiled with her mouth.
“And you as well,” Kharl replied, almost in spite of himself. But her expression
had been warm and friendly on a cloudy afternoon, and not asking for anything.
He found himself smiling as he left the square behind and made his way the last
hundred cubits to Hyesal’s apothecary shop, clearly marked with the crossed
pestles above the door.
Kharl entered and stepped up to the long counter, time-aged golden oak, on which
were arrayed various health tinctures. He looked around the small front room,
but didn’t see the apothecary. “Hyesal?” There was no answer. “Hyesal!”
“Just a moment!” came the querulous reply. “If you’re someone I know, just wait.
If you’re someone I don’t, you can take that chance, too.” Kharl grinned and
stood there, waiting, his eyes going over the bottles lined up at the back of
the counter, taking in the labels—Morning Tonic, Digestive Tincture, Rheumatism
Salve ...
The small but angular apothecary appeared behind the counter, as if by magery.
“Well, Kharl… what is it that won’t wait but a moment?”
“Sealant, the one you make for the good barrels. Arthal was supposed to come
by—”
“Never did. I would have had it waiting here for you.”
“Do you have any ready?”
“I can’t say as I do, Kharl, and it’s not something I can slop together while
you stand there. ‘Sides, it’s got to stand overnight.”
Kharl could feel his anger rising, but Hyesal hadn’t created the problem. Arthal
had. So he held his tongue.
“Tell you what. After I finish this tincture, I’ll get to work on it, and you
can pick it up first thing in the morning.”
“I’d appreciate that. I would. I’ve been working on these fancy fifth-barrels
for Yualt… Arthal… he told me he’d come by…”
“And you never forgot anything when you were young and starstruck over some
lass?”
“He doesn’t have enough brains to be starstruck at the moment.” Kharl snorted.
Hyesal laughed. “Be ready in the morning.” The apothecary turned and left Kharl
standing at the counter.