"Lawrence Watt-Evans - Dus 1 - Lure Of The Basilisk" - читать интересную книгу автора (Watt-Evans Lawrence)

disrepair unequaled anywhere in the kingdom of Eramma. It was on this alley
that the King's Inn faced.
Garth's face, having no nose to wrinkle, showed no sign of disgust at
his unhygienic surroundings as he led his mount into the stable beside the
tavern, but he was disgusted nevertheless; no community of overmen, he told
himself, would ever allow such feculence. Trying to ignore his environment, he
made sure the warbeast was as comfortable as could be managed, removing the
battle-axe from the saddle to prevent chafing where its haft slapped the
creature's flank and cleaning the beast's catlike ears with the wire brush
designed for that task. The creature accepted these attentions silently, as
always. That done, the overman leaned the axe and his broadsword against one
wall of the stall, as neither was suitable equipage for a visit to a tavern;
his only weapon would be the foot-long dirk on his belt. Looking around, he
spotted the stable-boy who had tremblingly refused to approach the monstrous
beast, and strode over to him. The frightened youth cowered, but stood his
ground.
"My warbeast will need feeding. See that he is brought meat, as much as
you can carry, raw, and as fresh as possible. If he is not fed before I
return, I will let him eat you instead. Is that clear?" The lad nodded, too
frightened to speak. "Further, if any of my belongings are disturbed, I will
hunt down and kill whoever is responsible. Here." He pulled a handful of gold
from the pouch on his belt and dumped it in the boy's hands. The youth's eyes
widened, his fear forgotten, though he remained unable to speak. Garth
realized that he had probably just given away as much gold as the entire
village possessed, but the thought did not bother him; he had plenty, and
could expect good service if he were generous. Leaving the boy staring in
disbelief at the wealth he held, the overman strode out of the stable toward
the tavern.
Stepping inside the taproom door, Garth stopped for an instant in
astonishment. Despite its ordure-coated, crumbling exterior, the King's Inn
was as clean and orderly within as a well-kept ship. The floor was
wellscrubbed oak, worn to a velvet smoothness by countless feet and shaped
into hills and valleys that showed the tables had not been moved in
generations; the walls were paneled in dark woods kept polished to a
reflective gloss; the windows, though the glass-was purple with age, were
spotless and unbroken. The tables and chairs were solid, well-made pieces of
the woodworker's art, worn, like the floor, to a beautiful softness. Most of
one wall was taken up by a stone fireplace where a friendly blaze danced.
Opposite it stood the barrels of beer and wine, their brass fittings polished
and bright. The far wall was partially obscured by a staircase leading to an
upper story, and various doors opened to either side.
Though it was too early in the day for even the lunchtime drinkers, half
a dozen customers were sitting about; they had been talking cheerfully, but
all conversation died when the overman entered. All eyes save two turned
toward the armored monstrosity that stood in the doorway, blinking in
surprise. The two that did not belonged to a figure that sat alone at a small
table in the corner between the fireplace and the stairs, a figure bent with
age whose only visible feature was a long white beard, the rest of his face
and form being hidden by the tattered ruin of a hooded yellow cloak that he
wore.