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

not so much theft as gambling, and I'll defend to the death a man's right to
gamble away whatever he's got, even his life."
Tobas had never been sure he accepted this justification entirely, but he
agreed that a man had a right to gamble with what was his. Well, Dabran had
gambled and lost his life, sure enough, and his son had turned thief as a
result, stealing a boat and a picnic dinner from an innocent pair of lovers.
Tobas quoted one of his father's axioms to himself as comfort. "A man has a
right to do anything that will keep him alive."
He still felt rotten and wished the Ethsharitic ship would come pick him
up so that he could let the boat go. It might yet wash up on shore where the
lovers could salvage it, minus the chicken dinner.
He looked around; the ship was definitely nearer now, its sleek,
streamlined hull visible beneath a great panoply of sails, but still a long
way off. He settled back, his head on a thwart that dug in uncomfortably,
hands clutching his belly, and wished that he could convince himself that
everything that had happened since he turned twelve was a bad dream.
The next thing he knew he was being rudely shaken awake; his exhaustion
had caught up with him once he had stopped moving and no longer had his hunger
keeping him awake.
"Who are you?" demanded a deep, oddly accented voice.
"Tobas," he said. "Tobas of... of Harbek."
"Harbek?"
"In the Small Kingdoms."
"Never heard of it."
Tobas could think of no answer to that, since he had made the name up on
the spur of the moment, assuming, foolishly, that the questioner would know no
more about the Small Kingdoms than he did. He looked up blankly at a broad,
sunburned face surrounded by thick black hair and beard.
"What are you doing here?" the man demanded.
"Uh..." Tobas was not yet sure just where he was.
"Oh, never mind; come aboard, and the captain can ask you the questions."
He pulled Tobas to this feet and half led, half dragged him across his little
stolen boat to the side of the Ethsharitic ship, where several hands reached
down to haul him up over the rail onto the deck.
It was a shock, somehow, to see that the ship's deck bore very little
resemblance to what he remembered of Retribution, his father's lost ship.
Retribution had been built for speed and for fighting, long and narrow, with
rope catwalks and platforms from which archers could fire and boarders could
leap down onto the enemy; this ship was fat so as to cram in as much cargo as
possible and, instead of platforms and walkways, it had nettings hung along
the sides to make boarding more difficult. Several immense hatchways took up a
large part of the deck, and much of the tackle on the spars overhead had
nothing to do with the sails, being intended rather for use as cranes in
loading and unloading. Furthermore, the deck was not one continuous surface,
but in three sections, with bow and stern higher than amidships.
Half a dozen burly, blue-kilted sailors surrounded him; what he saw of
the ship he saw in glimpses between shoulders or under arms. They smelled of
sweat. "This way," one of them announced, jerking a thumb in the direction of
the stern; he, too, spoke with a heavy accent.
Tobas followed silently and was escorted into a large, luxurious cabin