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

The nearer man, the one who had started to rip away Sanyle’s blouse, turned. A
blade hissed from the scabbard at his belt.
Kharl took another step and struck the blade and the man’s hand with the cudgel
before the man had finished turning toward the cooper. The shortsword dropped on
the cobblestones of the alley with a muffled clank.
“Ah… swine-slime… misbegotten…” The youth jumped back, cradling his hand. The
dark blue velvet of his tunic was almost lost in the dimness.
The second man let go of Sanyle, and his right hand darted toward
the hilt of his blade.
“Don’t…” growled the cooper. “ ‘Less you want a broken arm. Just let her go, and
back away and head back where you came from. Have fun with your own or those you
pay.”
As soon as the man had released her, Sanyle slipped away into the shadows. There
was a glint on the heavy brass key she held, and then the rear door of the
structure beside the cooperage opened, and quickly shut.
“You can’t do this.” The taller young man, who was still half a head shorter
than the cooper, kept his hand on the hilt of his blade, but did not draw it.
“You don’t know who you’re talking to…”
“Doesn’t matter,” growled the cooper. “Don’t force girls barely old enough to
know the difference ‘tween boys and men.”
“They’re all the same.”
Kharl raised the cudgel slightly. “Back off, little man, ‘less you never want to
use that arm again.”
The shorter youth scooped up the fallen blade with his left hand and backed
away. After a moment, the taller one followed.
Kharl stood watching until the two were out of sight, and until the alley was
quiet once more. Then he turned and reentered the cooperage, wondering from what
merchants’ houses had come the overdressed and
spoiled youths. With a snort, he set down the heavy cudgel and barred the door.
After reclaiming the lamp, he started up the steps to the quarters above the
cooperage. His boots thumped heavily on the wood, and the fourth step creaked,
as it had for years.
Charee stood just inside the door at the top of the stairs. Shoulder-length
black hair was bound back from her face, making it seem even narrower than it
was. Her green eyes were cool. “Your supper’s cold. Thought you were coming up
sooner.”
“I was. Heard something out back. Wanted to make sure that it wasn’t someone
trying to break in. Just a pair of youngsters thought they were men, drinking
too much for ones so young.” Kharl had no intention of saying more about the
would-be bravos. For all her virtues, Charee lacked one—that of circumspection.
The young men could scarcely have picked out one crafter in gray from another,
not unless Charee told the entire lane. Because she well might have, while
suggesting that Kharl was being foolish, Kharl saw little point in calling
attention to the incident. Sanyle would doubtless tell her widower father, but
the scrivener was more than taciturn, as were his children.
“Won’t you ever leave well enough alone, Kharl? Leave the roisterers alone. Or
if you must, call them to the attention of Lord West’s Watch. That’s what he
draws his tariffs for. You’ve got a consort and sons that need you…”
. “My hard-won coins, leastwise.” Kharl shut the door to the stairs and the shop
below and walked toward the washroom on the right side of the landing.