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The Magehound :: Каннингем Элейн
Страница: 114 из 216To his surprise, the young woman wore an expression of extreme self-satisfaction.
"That was easy," she said brightly. "All I had to do was mention in Cassia's hearing that you and that Frando person were planning a public debate, and she came right over. Did anything interesting come of it?"
"You might say that," he said shortly.
Tzigone frowned and handed him a small burlap sack. "You can carry this for me. That will help restore your image as a polite and proper jordain."
Matteo absently took the sack and slung it over his shoulder. "You have no idea what you've done, do you?"
"Of course. I got Cassia's attention for you. Again, there's no need to thank me."
Matteo cast his eyes toward the sky. "Again, I concur wholeheartedly."
She gave him a suspicious look. "You don't sound pleased. I must say, you're a hard man to repay. But I know just the thing-something not even you could fault or refuse."
She took off through the crowd, weaving through the throng of shoppers and buskers as she moved confidently toward her destination. Matteo followed, fearful of the trouble her next well-meaning act might cause.
They wound through the market to a small side street lined with stalls, each of which was shaded by silk awnings dyed in brilliant rainbow hues. The afternoon sun filtered down through the trees that shaded the street, providing pleasant shade for those who lingered for a midday meal.
Murmured conversations and savory fragrances filled the air. Tzigone came to a stop under a crimson canopy. She inhaled deeply as she eyed a row of braided pastries drying on a T-shaped wooden rack. Several more pastries swam in a cauldron of bubbling fat, rapidly turning plump and brown and filling the air with the scent of frying sweet bread. The baker was dredging a fresh batch in finely ground sugar mixed with rare spices: allspice and cardamom and mace. Tzigone patted her pockets and produced a few of the wedge-shaped electrum bits that passed as small currency.
"Two of the hangman's nooses," she instructed the baker, pointing to a long braided pastry with a loop at one end. "And can you swirl them around in the spice again? Make them good and sticky?"
Matteo shook his head when she offered him one of the powdery treats. He pointed to the cauldron's underside, which was red and glowing without the benefit of fire.
"The pastries are cooked by magical means," he explained. "Such things are forbidden to a jordain."
For a moment she gaped at him, then she shrugged and took a big bite of the sugary bread. “Tastes the same, either way. But there'll be no waste.
"That was easy," she said brightly. "All I had to do was mention in Cassia's hearing that you and that Frando person were planning a public debate, and she came right over. Did anything interesting come of it?"
"You might say that," he said shortly.
Tzigone frowned and handed him a small burlap sack. "You can carry this for me. That will help restore your image as a polite and proper jordain."
Matteo absently took the sack and slung it over his shoulder. "You have no idea what you've done, do you?"
"Of course. I got Cassia's attention for you. Again, there's no need to thank me."
Matteo cast his eyes toward the sky. "Again, I concur wholeheartedly."
She gave him a suspicious look. "You don't sound pleased. I must say, you're a hard man to repay. But I know just the thing-something not even you could fault or refuse."
She took off through the crowd, weaving through the throng of shoppers and buskers as she moved confidently toward her destination. Matteo followed, fearful of the trouble her next well-meaning act might cause.
They wound through the market to a small side street lined with stalls, each of which was shaded by silk awnings dyed in brilliant rainbow hues. The afternoon sun filtered down through the trees that shaded the street, providing pleasant shade for those who lingered for a midday meal.
Murmured conversations and savory fragrances filled the air. Tzigone came to a stop under a crimson canopy. She inhaled deeply as she eyed a row of braided pastries drying on a T-shaped wooden rack. Several more pastries swam in a cauldron of bubbling fat, rapidly turning plump and brown and filling the air with the scent of frying sweet bread. The baker was dredging a fresh batch in finely ground sugar mixed with rare spices: allspice and cardamom and mace. Tzigone patted her pockets and produced a few of the wedge-shaped electrum bits that passed as small currency.
"Two of the hangman's nooses," she instructed the baker, pointing to a long braided pastry with a loop at one end. "And can you swirl them around in the spice again? Make them good and sticky?"
Matteo shook his head when she offered him one of the powdery treats. He pointed to the cauldron's underside, which was red and glowing without the benefit of fire.
"The pastries are cooked by magical means," he explained. "Such things are forbidden to a jordain."
For a moment she gaped at him, then she shrugged and took a big bite of the sugary bread. “Tastes the same, either way. But there'll be no waste.