"Moon, Elizabeth - Deed Of Paksenarrion - 02 - Divided Allegiance V1" - читать интересную книгу автора (Moon Elizabeth)

"It's no trouble; I'm already up here."
Sevri peered up at her. "I didn't think soldiers knew how to care for animals."
"I grew up on a farm," said Paks shortly. "How much more hay?"
"Just pitch it down, and I’ll tell you." Sevri disappeared from the hold, and Paks threw down several armloads. "That should do it. We have just the two big horses in." Paks climbed down, brushing off the hay.
"Who does your milking?" she asked, wondering if Sevri did everything but the inside work.
"My brother Cal," said Sevri. "He's got bigger hands; it takes me too long, and Brindle is a crabby cow." Paks laughed.
"We milked our sheep," she said.
"Sheep?"
"Yes. I've never milked a cow, but I've milked my last sheep. I hope." Paks watched as die girl dumped hay into each feeder. She noticed a blaze-faced black horse that laid its ears back when Sevri neared the stall: obviously one of the "big horses" she'd mentioned. "When can I ask for breakfast, without being rude?"
"There won't be anything cooked, yet," said Sevri doubtfully. "The bread's out, and you could have eggs and cold roast and bread, if that's enough."
"It's plenty." Paks felt her stomach churn in anticipation.
"Just tell Father, then."
"Thanks." Paks returned to the common room to find the innkeeper waiting.
By the time she had finished breakfast, the other guests were stirring. First down was a man in dark tunic and trousers over soft boots. He gave Paks a look up and down that lingered on her sword-hilt, and sat down to his meal with no comment. Then came two heavily built men that Paks classified as merchants, followed by a tall man in a stained leather tunic over patched trousers. He had a longsword at his hip, a dagger at his belt, and the hilts of two daggers sprouted from his boot tops. Paks noticed that he chose a seat against a wall, far from the others.
After breakfast, she managed a private word with Hebbinford. He was willing to tell her about the moneychangers in town, and described them for her.
"Well," he began slowly, "as you ask me, I'd say Senneth. He's a Guild member, but the northern guild's not the same as that in Aarenis, if that means anything to you."
"Which guild?" asked Paks.
"The moneylenders, of course. I've heard that down south they were mixed up in a lot of—well—all sorts of trouble, let's say. But Master Senneth is as honest as any of that sort, say what you will. He's given me honest weight, at least. Or there's Master Venion—some prefer him. He's not a Guild member, but some say his commission's less. But for myself, I'd see Senneth."
Paks did not know what he meant by commission, and asked.
"Well, if he takes your raw gold and gives coin, say, or changes southern coin for local, he's got to make something on the trade. Or if he arranges a transfer far away—you said you wanted your dowry to go home. If you don't want to take it yourself, he could arrange it for you. But it would cost you. Now Venion might charge you less, but—how would you know it got there? The Guild, now, it'll see things are done right. It's whether you want to pay for it, that's all."
Paks nodded. "Where is Master Senneth?"
"Just across from the Hall." Paks looked blank, and he explained. "When you went to the Grange last night, before you crossed the bridge: did you see the large building on your left with a fenced yard?"
"Yes."
"Well, that's the Hall. Master Senneth is right across from it. It's easy to find. He's got a guard at the door." Paks raised her eyebrows. "And you won't be able to take your weapons in, either. The guard stacks them for you."
Master Senneth was a brisk, trim man in a tight-sleeved gown of black wool. He smiled at Paks as she came through the door. "Yes? What may I do for you?"
Paks explained her needs.
"Hmmm. Valuation, yes. It would be better for you, actually, to take anything really valuable to a larger town, or to V&ella. For one thing, you can get several appraisals, and for another, they can offer more who have a market to hand. HI tell you frankly that I probably can't give you the best price you could get, except for southern coin. That's because we trade coin across the mountains each year. Some items I may not be able to take at all; those, of course, I'll note as we go along. Now transfer—if it's money alone, that's the easiest. If it's specific items, that can be quite expensive. Have you brought it all along?"
"Yes," said Paks. "But most of it's outside; your guard said he would watch the packs." She had tied Star to the railing outside.
"Well, let's bring it in and take a look, if you wish." Paks nodded and he came from behind his counter to the door. "Arvid, bring this lady's packs in, please." The guard unloaded Star, staggering a bit at the weight, and carried the packs inside. As he left, Master Senneth called after him. "And see that we're not disturbed until we're through, Arvid." Then to Paks. "I suppose you don't want half die town wandering in as we're counting, and knowing just what you have."
"I hadn't thought of that," admitted Paks.
"Ah, they would," he said darkly. "They saw you come in yesterday, and watched you come here with a loaded pony. If they could look through walls—" He made a warding sign. "But they can't. Now, what's first?"
Paks began unstrapping the packs. "I don't know what—some of this is weapons, but fancier ones than I'd use." She pulled out the pair of jewelled daggers sheathed in silver. Senneth caught his breath.
"My—those are lovely. Where did you say—no. No matter. Only—" he looked at her sharply. "Were these stolen, somewhere in Aarenis?"
"No." Paks shook her head. "I didn't steal them. You can ask Marshal Cedfer or Master Oakhallow, if you like."
"You're not a Girdsman nor a kuakkgannir."
"No, I'm not. But they know where they are from, and how."
"I see." He returned to the daggers. "What lovely tracings. And these gems are valuable in themselves, not just in this design."
Paks pulled out the small battle-axe. She had forgotten the gold inlay tracing runes along the blade.
"That's dwarf-work!" Senneth shook his head. "A rare piece, though I don't know where I'd find a buyer. That's the sort of thing you'd get a better price for in V6rella." Looking at it again, Paks wished she could keep it. But she knew she had no use for a battleaxe, one weapon she'd never handled. She pulled out the ivory-handled dagger with a red stone set in the pommel, and the matching sheath with the dragon carved around it, and two red stones for eyes. Laying these aside, she pulled out one of the sacks of coins.
Master Senneth looked at the treasure, then at Paks, with dawning respect. "Young lady, that's a remarkable amount of wealth you have there. Are you sure you're not an elf princess in disguise, checking to see if humans are still greedy? I assure you, my honest commission for handling all this will well repay my time."
Paks sat back on her heels, grinning. "No, Master Senneth, I'm no princess, elf or human. A very lucky young warrior, yes. And my old sergeant said, if ever we got a chance to set some aside, to do it. If there's enough, after sending my dowry home, that's what I'll do."
"Not spend it all on new clothes and wine, eh? Wise head on young shoulders—and a fighter, at that. You're a new one on me. What was your name again?"
"Paksenarrion."
"Lady Paksenarrion, what other surprises have you?" He smiled over the coins, sorting them quickly into heaps of like kind, while Paks pulled out everything else. When all the coins had been counted, he turned to the jewels, rolling them out on a square of black velvet on his counter, and angling a mirror to catch sunlight from the window. His fingers moved among them deftly, turning them this way and that. At last he looked up.
"Unless your father was a very wealthy man, I'd say you have ample to repay any dowry, and my commission for the transfer, and enough over to live well for a long time. Let me start making notes. If you don't accept my value for anything, just retrieve it: as I said, you can get more for many of these things in a city. Now—" He opened a tall book, fetched a pen and a soft piece of chalk to mark the slate that topped one end of his counter. "Let me start with the coins. You realize that those are all quite old. I don't even know the issue on the ones where the imprint is visible. They have value only for the metal content; they 11 have to be melted and re-struck. So I use the weight to determine the value—" He pulled out a set of scales.
As Paks walked back toward the inn, leading Star, she tried to think how much money she actually had. She was hungry; by the sun it was long past time for lunch. How many hours, then, had she been closeted with the moneychanger? She had seen the spiky columns of figures climb up the pages of his account-book, as he added the value of coins, jewels, the small pieces of weaponry. But she couldn't make sense of it in terms of her salary in the Duke's
Company. He spoke of gold crowns and silver coronets and halflings instead of the natas and nitis she was used to. She couldn't manage to convert it, in her head. But it seemed she could send home twice what she thought her dowry had been and have plenty left. She need not take the first guard job that came along. She could buy a riding saddle for Star—perhaps even a full-sized horse. She had left most of her money on deposit with Master Senneth, but she had enough with her to order a few new clothes, and eat the best the Jolly Potboy offered for that night's dinner.
On the way back, she remembered Sevri's directions to die smithy, where Master Doggal shod all the horses for miles around. Now she turned from the main road, and led Star between two small stone buildings down an alley that led to the forge. In the paved courtyard before the blacksmith's shop, the tall, rough-looking man from the inn was haggling with the smith over the cost of shoes; his black warhorse, its ears twitching nervously, stamped and shifted, the shoes in question ringing on the stones. Paks recognized it by the blazed lace; it had tall white stockings on all four legs.
"I charges iair," the smith rumbled. "Nobody says but what I charges fair. That beast of yours has feet so big, and stands so bad—aye, he come near tearing loose, that he did, and kicked me as near as maybe. It's not the shoes being set wrong has him titrupy like that: he's a wrong 'un, and too handy with them white socks." The smith was a head shorter than the other, but his massive arms and shoulders made his hammer look small.
The tall man put his hand to the hilt of his sword, but the smith hefted his hammer.