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

“I said I was sorry, Da.”
Kharl held in a sigh. “Go on upstairs and see if your mother needs any help or
any coal for the stove.”
Arthal trudged past his father and started up the stairs. “… worse than Father
Jorum…”
The words were not supposed to reach Kharl.
“What did you say?” snapped the cooper.
“Nothing, ser. I was just telling myself that you and Father Jorum feel the same
way.”
“That’s about the only thing we agree on,” Kharl snorted.
Once Arthal shut the door to the upstairs, Kharl walked back to the front
window, looking out into the still-heavy rain. “Children,” he muttered to
himself, “so sure of themselves… so stupid.”
V
Carrying two covered buckets of sealant, Kharl left Hyesal’s so early in the
morning that few people were out on the lane. He had placed a broom in Arthal’s
hands before he had departed the shop, and told his older son to sweep the
stones before the shop clear of standing water and mud from the rain of the
night before. He’d even remembered to make it clear to his son that Arthal was
to sweep gently, so that mud and water did not splatter up on the glass of the
display window.
Because of the weight of the sealant, Kharl stopped at the uphill side of the
square to readjust his grip on the buckets. Early as it was, there were no
stalls or carts or peddlers set up. After a moment’s respite, he hurried up
Crafters’ Lane toward his shop. As he passed the short ser-viceway between
Fourth Cross and Fifth, a narrow passage little more than four cubits wide, he
slowed.
Had he heard someone? Was there someone lying in the shadows where he could not
see? Moaning? In early morning? He shook his head and continued the last hundred
cubits to the shop. But his thoughts drifted back—who could be in the
serviceway?
Once he reached the shop, he noted that the stones outside the door had indeed
been swept clean and were already dry—and that there was no mud on the bricks or
glass of the display window. After opening the door, he entered the cooperage
and lowered both buckets to the wooden floor.
Abruptly, he turned and walked out, closing the door behind him. On the lane, he
headed back down toward the serviceway.
“… a fool… that’s what you are… stupid…” But despite his own words, he stepped
into the darkness of the serviceway, checking carefully to make sure that no
ruffians or cutpurses might be lingering. For a moment, he saw nothing. Then his
eyes made out a bundle against the brick wall, a long bundle.
“… ooo…” An arm twitched.
Kharl glanced around, but the serviceway remained empty except for him and
whoever lay near the wall. He bent down, and, as his eyes adjusted to the
dimness, he could make out a slender figure—and the end of a smooth black staff.
The figure was that of the young woman blackstaffer. Blood and mud splattered
the tannish clothes, which had been partly ripped away from her for all too
obvious purposes.
Kharl glanced around again, then took a deep breath, and bent down. He pulled
her torn cloak back across her exposed body, then eased the nearly limp figure