JК
The Magehound :: Каннингем Элейн
Страница: 190 из 216Near sunset, a narrow side road beckoned to the village beyond, a small farming village perched on the side of a hill and visible from the trade road.
Matteo found his way to the inn and asked about Kiva and her band. No one had seen her, but his white garments did earn him some unusually suspicious scrutiny.
Finally one of the farmhands came over to his table. The man was huge, grimy with soil from the day's labors. He looked none too pleased. He picked up the saltcellar and dumped the contents on the table. With one thick, dirty finger, he drew a circle separated by a jagged bolt-the symbol of the jordain order.
"This look familiar?" he demanded.
Matteo suppressed a smile of delight and relief. Judging from the hostile expression on the man's face, Tzigone had been through this way.
"It does indeed. A young woman-or perhaps a boy, a street urchin-may have taken my pendant. I seek this person."
"Woman or boy?" The man frowned, confounded by this unexpected choice.
"A woman," Matteo guessed. "She may have been dressed as a jordain, but she is not. Her fingers tend to be a little light."
The farmer snorted. "Don't I know it."
Matteo leaned forward eagerly. "Tell me what you know of her. And tell me also what you have lost, and I will see that you receive recompense."
"Will you, now?"
The expression on the man's face puzzled Matteo. It was not relief or gratitude, not disbelief, not greed or cunning. Try as he might Matteo had no name to give it.
"As best I can," he added with newfound caution. After a moment the man nodded and pushed back from the table. "Follow me."
Matteo claimed Cyric the Second from the stables and followed the man out of the village and into the hills beyond. His home was a small stone dwelling that had been carved into the side of a hill, more a cave than a cottage. A separate entrance led out into a pen, suggesting that livestock shared the shelter.
The farmer nodded toward the empty pen. "Beat me at dice, she did. When I didn't put the coin on the table fast enough to suit her, she agreed to come here and take a pig."
Matteo saw where this was going. "She took more than one, I gather?"
"You might say that." The man shook his head in disgust. "Never saw anything like it. Them pigs flew off after her like a flock o' swans."
The unlikely analogy made Matteo blink, as did the image it conjured in his mind. "Your pigs flew off," he repeated. "like swans."
"Sounds barmy, don't it? Don't suppose I could go to the magistrate with that one, or you take it to the jordain order?"
"Ah.
Matteo found his way to the inn and asked about Kiva and her band. No one had seen her, but his white garments did earn him some unusually suspicious scrutiny.
Finally one of the farmhands came over to his table. The man was huge, grimy with soil from the day's labors. He looked none too pleased. He picked up the saltcellar and dumped the contents on the table. With one thick, dirty finger, he drew a circle separated by a jagged bolt-the symbol of the jordain order.
"This look familiar?" he demanded.
Matteo suppressed a smile of delight and relief. Judging from the hostile expression on the man's face, Tzigone had been through this way.
"It does indeed. A young woman-or perhaps a boy, a street urchin-may have taken my pendant. I seek this person."
"Woman or boy?" The man frowned, confounded by this unexpected choice.
"A woman," Matteo guessed. "She may have been dressed as a jordain, but she is not. Her fingers tend to be a little light."
The farmer snorted. "Don't I know it."
Matteo leaned forward eagerly. "Tell me what you know of her. And tell me also what you have lost, and I will see that you receive recompense."
"Will you, now?"
The expression on the man's face puzzled Matteo. It was not relief or gratitude, not disbelief, not greed or cunning. Try as he might Matteo had no name to give it.
"As best I can," he added with newfound caution. After a moment the man nodded and pushed back from the table. "Follow me."
Matteo claimed Cyric the Second from the stables and followed the man out of the village and into the hills beyond. His home was a small stone dwelling that had been carved into the side of a hill, more a cave than a cottage. A separate entrance led out into a pen, suggesting that livestock shared the shelter.
The farmer nodded toward the empty pen. "Beat me at dice, she did. When I didn't put the coin on the table fast enough to suit her, she agreed to come here and take a pig."
Matteo saw where this was going. "She took more than one, I gather?"
"You might say that." The man shook his head in disgust. "Never saw anything like it. Them pigs flew off after her like a flock o' swans."
The unlikely analogy made Matteo blink, as did the image it conjured in his mind. "Your pigs flew off," he repeated. "like swans."
"Sounds barmy, don't it? Don't suppose I could go to the magistrate with that one, or you take it to the jordain order?"
"Ah.