JК
The Magehound :: Каннингем Элейн
Страница: 191 из 216She was tested for magic in the inn, I take it?"
"The village midwife," the mansaid shortly. "Near as good as a magehound, is Granny Frost. I swore the wench witched my dice, and Granny Frost mumbled over her to test the truth o' things. Said there wasn't a drop of magic in the wench, that she was a true jordain. If I complain that the girl witched my pigs, I'd be going up against Granny Frost. That ain't a thing for a man unwed to be doing. I'd sooner wed one o' my own sows than whatever Granny might pick for me."
"I see," Matteo mused. "How can I help?"
"If you have coins, take payment for my pigs. If not, I'll take the girl." The farmer grinned unpleasantly. "You're bound to find her soon or late, and bein' a jordain, you got no good use for her. Might as well bring her here. Me, I don't like to leave any job unfinished."
Wrath flamed hot and bright as Matteo understood that what Tzigone had done here probably had less to do with theft than diversion, with a bit of vengeance thrown in. As he recalled, Tzigone had an aversion to familiar sayings. He would not be at all surprised if the expression "when pigs fly" had come into play. Well, pigs had flown, and Tzigone had gotten away, leaving the farmer with "unfinished business." Matteo found enormous relief in that.
"I will pay," he said shortly. "How many pigs were there in your… flock?"
The farmer's eyes narrowed at the gibe, but he named a number far higher than the pen could possibly contain.
Matteo glanced at the small enclosure and then back at the farmer, one eyebrow lifted. He reached into his bag and produced the rest of the coins Tzigone had left for him. By his measure, it was a generous amount.
"This ain't the price o' twenty swine," the farmer protested.
"That may be. But it is all I have, and more than you'd get at market for the number of swine that pen could truly hold."
The man's face turned a deep, angry red. His fist came toward Matteo's face in a blur. The jordain leaned to the left and did a half-pivot on his left foot. Two quick steps brought him around behind the farmer, who was still off-balance from the first punch. He hit the man on the back of the neck, hard.
The blow would have felled any of Matteo's sparring partners, but the big man shrugged it off. He ran for the pitchfork that leaned against the front wall of his dwelling, whirled, and kicked into a running charge with weapon leveled.
Matteo let him come. He dropped to the ground just short of impalement. As he fell, he twisted and reached up to seize the long wooden shaft. The weapon tipped down, and the tines plunged into the hard-trodden muck of the farmyard.
"The village midwife," the mansaid shortly. "Near as good as a magehound, is Granny Frost. I swore the wench witched my dice, and Granny Frost mumbled over her to test the truth o' things. Said there wasn't a drop of magic in the wench, that she was a true jordain. If I complain that the girl witched my pigs, I'd be going up against Granny Frost. That ain't a thing for a man unwed to be doing. I'd sooner wed one o' my own sows than whatever Granny might pick for me."
"I see," Matteo mused. "How can I help?"
"If you have coins, take payment for my pigs. If not, I'll take the girl." The farmer grinned unpleasantly. "You're bound to find her soon or late, and bein' a jordain, you got no good use for her. Might as well bring her here. Me, I don't like to leave any job unfinished."
Wrath flamed hot and bright as Matteo understood that what Tzigone had done here probably had less to do with theft than diversion, with a bit of vengeance thrown in. As he recalled, Tzigone had an aversion to familiar sayings. He would not be at all surprised if the expression "when pigs fly" had come into play. Well, pigs had flown, and Tzigone had gotten away, leaving the farmer with "unfinished business." Matteo found enormous relief in that.
"I will pay," he said shortly. "How many pigs were there in your… flock?"
The farmer's eyes narrowed at the gibe, but he named a number far higher than the pen could possibly contain.
Matteo glanced at the small enclosure and then back at the farmer, one eyebrow lifted. He reached into his bag and produced the rest of the coins Tzigone had left for him. By his measure, it was a generous amount.
"This ain't the price o' twenty swine," the farmer protested.
"That may be. But it is all I have, and more than you'd get at market for the number of swine that pen could truly hold."
The man's face turned a deep, angry red. His fist came toward Matteo's face in a blur. The jordain leaned to the left and did a half-pivot on his left foot. Two quick steps brought him around behind the farmer, who was still off-balance from the first punch. He hit the man on the back of the neck, hard.
The blow would have felled any of Matteo's sparring partners, but the big man shrugged it off. He ran for the pitchfork that leaned against the front wall of his dwelling, whirled, and kicked into a running charge with weapon leveled.
Matteo let him come. He dropped to the ground just short of impalement. As he fell, he twisted and reached up to seize the long wooden shaft. The weapon tipped down, and the tines plunged into the hard-trodden muck of the farmyard.