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[ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ] jagged line of mountains. Nother day, Kub. He grinned sleepily at the man who d come to relieve him on the tiller. Good flow, no snags, easy night. The Chasm awaits, my friend. Filled with dayglare. Better you nor me. Like many Nerodin bargeveks Kublics was a small wiry man; his mustache drooped past his chin and his lugubrious long face was a lie in every line since he had a quiet but intense enjoyment of the idiocies of life. But I won t be listenin to y verse, Marn s Blessing on the Ner who made the schedule. Gawn, get y some brekka, Poet. The Rekkavar was a long low riverbarge, her trian-gular sail sometimes the only thing that showed above the levees that ran along the Red Dan to keep its surge confined and out of the Zemyadel and the crops on the farms in that fertile district. She was bound south to Tuku-kul and the great Spring Fair the Fenekel called the Sawasika Sik, with a load of Calanda steel and leather goods from the North Dander shops. More and more Nerodin merchants were sending their goods by barge rather than caravan, though that did limit their markets and increase their expenses; the bloody raids on everything that moved outside the cities were making those limitations less important. Who could get at the barges out there in the middle of the Dan? And why would they try it? The Marn was taking no chances; during the past two years, she d had towers built in the few places where the river bent and the channel came close enough to one bank or another to bring the barges into reach. At first there were four Guards in each tower; now, as calls on the Marn s Guard grew every day, Page 26 ABC Amber Palm Converter, http://www.processtext.com/abcpalm.html there were only two, one to watch and one to sleep. Vyzharnos stood on the deck a moment longer, en-joying the wind in his hair and the loose sway of his body. He was tired after his stint at the tiller, alone with the night and the slap creak of the sail, watching the banks, reading the marks as he d been taught. His learning trips he d spent chanting them out blindfolded while old Velechny stung his arm with the varb whisk whenever he missed a call until he knew the Red Dan better than his own face. The smell of hot kava rose from the cabin, woke his hunger again and he left off dreaming, caught hold of the lintel and swung down into the narrow common room. Mohutny was still at table, leaning back, half asleep, his mug on his chest; now and then he lifted it, sucked a mouthful of kava past the brush that grew on his upper lip. Kublics plate and mug were washed and stowed already. On most barges it was turn and turn for who did the cooking; on the Rekkavar , they left that job to Falshev. He was so neat and so per-snickety and so loud about it, the crews he worked with would have drowned him long ago if he weren t a mage with a frying pan and a treasure of a house-keeper. He stood a watch in emergencies, but mostly he cooked, kept the living quarters spotless, and did little jobs for the crew: mending things, washing, whatever finicking, irritating business needed doing. It meant longer watches for the others, but they didn t mind. Thanks to Falshev, they lived very comfortably aboard the Rekkavar . Don t stand round dreamin , Poet, there s some got work to do. Falshev s long nose twitched and the bristles beneath it pretending to be a mustache changed color like leaves in the wind. He set the steaming plate in front of an empty chair, filled a mug with kava and stood back, waiting for praise. Ahhhh, Vyzharnos breathed, I should write an ode to your breakfasts, Falsha-eggmage. He settled in the chair and began eating; for several moments the only sounds in the cabin were the click of his fork and Mohutny s loud breathing. When the first edge of his hunger was gone, Vyz-harnos pulled a small, leatherbound notebook from his sleeve and began noting down the lines the night had produced for him, writing with his left hand and eating with his right. Behind him Falshev snorted, in-creased his clattering. Mohutny finished the last of his kava, clanked the mug down, and got to his feet. He had to stand hunched over, a bear of a man whose strength was useful when the river shifted on them down in Fenka Plain and they had to winch themselves off a sand bar. He set his big hand on Vyzharnos shoulder. Don t be too long at that, Poet. We ll be in Chasm soon and come nightwatch, I ve no mind to be pluckin m self off a rock cause y shut y r eye a bit and lost it. Pek, Moh, when We I ever done anything like that? Mohutny grinned, the coarse black hair of his mus-tache spreading like a pulled spring. Allus a first time. He went clumping up the steps and moved out onto the deck. Fancy s fine facility fades/in the face of ropes that fray the hands, Vyzharnos read aloud. Not right. Chert! Fancy, sprosh! Too fancy. The growl came from Mohutny who d stuck his head into the hatch to check on Vyzharnos. Thought you was still at it. Vyz, old s you be, do you need you mama to whip you tail and send you to bed? Praka prak, Mama Moh, I m goin . My head s sucked dry now anyway. He frowned at, the mess of scratches and cross-outs. Too fancy? Maybe you re right, got too wound up Page 27 ABC Amber Palm Converter, http://www.processtext.com/abcpalm.html in sound and forgot what I meant .... Poet! Prak, I hear y . He glanced at the page again, hesitated then shut the notebook firmly and tucked it back into his sleeve. Mohutny watched until Vyzharnos got his hammock hooked in place and was in it, wrapped in his blanket, the muffler wound round his eyes and ears, then he slammed the hutch shut and went clumping away. The Rekkavar jolted, heeled over, swerved vio-lently. [ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ] |