JК
The Floodgate :: Каннингем Элейн
Страница: 118 из 212"We forgot to pay! Run!"
He looked incredulously at her fora moment, then let out a whoop of incomprehensible laughter. Tzigone folded her arms and glared as she waited for his mirth to subside.
Matteo wiped a tear from one eye and reached down to touch his jordain medallion. A familiar pedantic expression settled over his face, but the rumble of an approaching ice wagon drowned out the ensuing lecture.
As the wagon pulled level with them, the heavy canvas curtain at the rear jerked open. Two men leaned out and seized Tzigone, jerking her up into the covered cart.
The attack was sudden, and completely unexpected. One moment Matteo was preparing to explain to Tzigone that jordaini seldom handled money, on the theory that they were less likely to be corrupted by its lure. Of course, the same reasoning kept the jordaini from forming close friendships, for fear that these might cloud their judgment and shape their counsel.
For one heart-stopping instant, Matteo understood how this could be so. The only thing that mattered to him at this moment was the small, fiercely struggling girl and the two thugs who laid hands on her. He kicked into a run.
The curtain twitched aside to reveal a leering, bearded face. A third man, big and hairy as one of the northland's barbarians, hurled a pale blue robe-identical to the one Tzigone wore-into the street. Though all this happened within the span of two heartbeats, Matteo noted that the robe was soaked with ominous red.
The message was clear.
Matteo ran full out, wishing for the first time that he had some magic in him, some way to slow the ice wagon. As if to mock him, the driver shook the reins over the horses' neck, and the cart leaped forward in a sudden spurt.
Desperate, Matteo put all his strength into a final, leaping lunge. He fell just short of the ice wagon, but his fingers closed on the dragging end of a rope meant to bind the rear canvas shut. Only faintly aware of his passage over bruising cobblestone, Matteo hauled himself hand over hand up the rope and onto the cart. He found a toehold on the back axle and hung on as the ice wagon careened through the streets.
As they thundered along, children pointed at him and passersby smirked, but no one raised an alarm. The cart moved fast, but not more so than was custom in a land so hot that ice disappeared quicker than a wizard's fireball.
Matteo took a calming breath and began to plan the battle ahead. There were at least four men-the two who snatched Tzigone, the leering thug, and the driver. The cart was a good size, though, and there could be many more inside. And Tzigone was alone with them.
He looked incredulously at her fora moment, then let out a whoop of incomprehensible laughter. Tzigone folded her arms and glared as she waited for his mirth to subside.
Matteo wiped a tear from one eye and reached down to touch his jordain medallion. A familiar pedantic expression settled over his face, but the rumble of an approaching ice wagon drowned out the ensuing lecture.
As the wagon pulled level with them, the heavy canvas curtain at the rear jerked open. Two men leaned out and seized Tzigone, jerking her up into the covered cart.
The attack was sudden, and completely unexpected. One moment Matteo was preparing to explain to Tzigone that jordaini seldom handled money, on the theory that they were less likely to be corrupted by its lure. Of course, the same reasoning kept the jordaini from forming close friendships, for fear that these might cloud their judgment and shape their counsel.
For one heart-stopping instant, Matteo understood how this could be so. The only thing that mattered to him at this moment was the small, fiercely struggling girl and the two thugs who laid hands on her. He kicked into a run.
The curtain twitched aside to reveal a leering, bearded face. A third man, big and hairy as one of the northland's barbarians, hurled a pale blue robe-identical to the one Tzigone wore-into the street. Though all this happened within the span of two heartbeats, Matteo noted that the robe was soaked with ominous red.
The message was clear.
Matteo ran full out, wishing for the first time that he had some magic in him, some way to slow the ice wagon. As if to mock him, the driver shook the reins over the horses' neck, and the cart leaped forward in a sudden spurt.
Desperate, Matteo put all his strength into a final, leaping lunge. He fell just short of the ice wagon, but his fingers closed on the dragging end of a rope meant to bind the rear canvas shut. Only faintly aware of his passage over bruising cobblestone, Matteo hauled himself hand over hand up the rope and onto the cart. He found a toehold on the back axle and hung on as the ice wagon careened through the streets.
As they thundered along, children pointed at him and passersby smirked, but no one raised an alarm. The cart moved fast, but not more so than was custom in a land so hot that ice disappeared quicker than a wizard's fireball.
Matteo took a calming breath and began to plan the battle ahead. There were at least four men-the two who snatched Tzigone, the leering thug, and the driver. The cart was a good size, though, and there could be many more inside. And Tzigone was alone with them.