"Lawrence Watt-Evans - Ethshar 2 - With a Single Spell" - читать интересную книгу автора (Watt-Evans Lawrence)

he would have no chance of catching it, and he dared not lose sight of the
land completely. He was no navigator; he might be lost at sea. Generally, of
course, he could find east and west by the sun, and he knew that the land was
to the north, but there might be clouds, or a current might carry him west
into the endless western ocean that extended from the south edge of the World
to the north, uninterrupted by land. He looked at the sail, decided that it
was, in fact, coming closer, and pulled the dripping oars inboard. He would
wait. Why tire himself out and go farther out than was safe or necessary?
After a moment of sitting quietly, hearing only the faint slapping of the
waves against the sides of his boat and the water dripping from the oars into
the bottom, he remembered the canvas sack in the stern. This, he decided,
would be an ideal time to see what was in it. Moving very carefully, he was
out well past the breakers, but the sea was still rolling the boat gently, and
he did not care to capsize it, he pulled the bag out and opened it.
A wonderful aroma wafted out at him as he peered inside, and he wasted no
time in pulling out its source -- half a roasted chicken. It was cold, to be
sure, but he was hungry enough that he would hardly have hesitated were it
raw.
As he gnawed on the drumstick, he explored further and hauled out a loaf
of sweet golden bread, a bottle of cheap red wine, and an assortment of
fruits.
He felt he was with the gods in Heaven as he poured the wine down his
throat, close behind a good-sized chunk of chicken.
He devoured almost the entire meal, obviously intended for two, in short
order, despite warning twinges from his stomach. At last he settled back as
best he could and let his food settle.
It didn't; he had eaten too much too fast after too long without, and his
belly ached. The boat's motion did not help at all. His conscience, too, was
uncomfortable. He had stolen the boat and the food from the couple on the
beach; he was a thief.
"Serves them right, losing their dinner," he said aloud in a feeble
attempt to laugh away his guilt. "Imagine bringing red wine with cold
chicken!"
He didn't laugh at his joke. It had been Indamara who had taught him that
one should drink white wine with poultry, his father's cousin, the woman who
had largely raised him and who had thrown him out as soon as Dabran was dead.
She had also taught him not to steal, or at any rate had tried to, and he had
never before stolen anything more than a few ripe apples from a neighbor's
tree
He had once brought up the question of theft when talking with his
father. After all, Dabran had made his living stealing.
"Piracy at sea is a special case," Dabran had said. "We rob merchants who
are fool enough to sail around the peninsula close in. They know we're here;
if they risk sailing our waters anyway, then they deserve what they get. They
have plenty of money to begin with, or they'd not be fitting out ships and
loading them with cargo, but they try to make more by sailing their goods
through dangerous waters; that makes them greedy fools who deserve to be
robbed. That's not the same as taking something from someone weaker than you
who was minding his own business, or sneaking about in the night, stealing. We
do our taking out in the open and we risk as much as they do. That makes it