"Gene Wolfe - New Sun 2 - The Claw of the Conciliator" - читать интересную книгу автора (Wolfe Gene)

As Jonas had discovered the night before, our water-ewer held wine. I used some to rinse my
mouth, and its astringency made it better than water; but I still wanted water to splash on my face and
smooth my hair. Before sleeping I had folded my cloak, with the Claw at the center, to use for a pillow. I
spread it now, and remembering how Agia had once tried to slip her hand into the sabretache on my belt,
thrust the Claw into my boot-top.
Jonas still slept. In my experience, people asleep look younger than they do awake, but Jonas
seemed older--or perhaps only ancient; he had the face, with straight nose and straight forehead, that I
have often noted in old pictures. I buried the smoldering fire in its own ashes and left without waking him.
By the time I had finished refreshing myself from the bucket of the inn-yard well, the street before the inn
was no longer silent, but alive with hooves that splashed through the puddles left by the previous night's
rain, and the clacking of scimitar horns. Each animal was taller than a man, black or piebald, rolling-eyed
and half blinded by the coarse hair that fell across its face.
Morwenna's father, I remembered, had been a drover; it was possible this herd was his, though it
seemed unlikely. I waited until the last lumbering beast had passed and watched the men ride by. There
were three, dusty and common-looking, flourishing iron-tipped goads longer than themselves; and with
them, their hard, watchful, low-bred dogs.
Inside the inn once more, I ordered breakfast and got bread warm from the oven, newly churned
butter, pickled duck's eggs, and peppered chocolate beaten to a froth. (This last a sure sign, though I did
not know it then, that I was among people who drew their customs from the north.) Our hairless gnome
of a host, who had no doubt seen me in conversation with the alcalde the night before, hovered over my
table wiping his nose on his sleeve, inquiring about the quality of each dish as it was served--though they
were all, in truth, very good--promising better food at supper, and condemning the cook, who was his
wife. He called me sieur, not because he thought as they sometimes had in Nessus that I was an exultant
incognito, but because a torturer here, as the efficient arm of the law, was a great person. Like most
peons, he could conceive of no more than one social class higher than his own.
"The bed, it was comfortable? Plenty of quilts? We will bring more." My mouth was full, but I
nodded.
"Then we shall. Will three be enough? You and the other sieur, are you comfortable together?"
I was about to say that I would prefer separate rooms (I thought Jonas no thief, but I was afraid the
Claw might be too much of a temptation for any man, and I was unused, moreover, to sleeping double)
when it occurred to me that he might have difficulty paying for a private accommodation.
"You will be there today, sieur? When they break through the wall? A mason could take down the
ashlars, but Barnoch's been heard moving inside and may have strength left. Perhaps he's found a
weapon. Why, he could bite the masons' fingers, if nothing else!"
"Not in an official capacity. I may watch if I can."
"Everyone's coming." The bald man rubbed his hands, which slithered together as if they had been
oiled. "There's to be a fair, you know. The alcalde announced it. He's got a good head for business, our
alcalde has. You take the average man--he'd see you here in my parlor and never think of a thing. Or at
least, no more than to have you put an end to Morwenna. Not ours! He sees things. He sees the
possibilities of them. You might say that in the wink of an eye the whole fair sprang up out of his head,
colored tents and ribbons, roast meat and spun sugar, all together. Today? Why today we'll open the
sealed house and pull Barnoch out like a badger. That will warm them up, that will draw them for leagues
around. Then we'll watch you do for Morwenna and that country fellow. Tomorrow you'll begin on
Barnoch--hot irons you start with usually, don't you? And everybody will want to be there. The day
after, finish him off and fold the tents. It doesn't do to let them hang about too long after they've spent
their money, or they begin to beg and fight and so on. All well planned, all well thought out! There's an
alcalde for you!"
I went out again after breakfast and watched the alcalde's enchanted thoughts take shape. Country
folk were stumping into the village with fruits and animals and bolts of home-woven cloth to sell; among
them were a few autochthons carrying fur pelts and strings of black and green birds killed with the