JК
The Magehound :: Каннингем Элейн
Страница: 42 из 216Matteo listened politely but with scant interest as he watched the barmaids swiftly set the tavern to rights.
A few of the patrons stumbled out, perhaps to seek healers or to face scolding spouses, but most simply resumed their seats and paid little heed to swelling jaws or blackened eyes. Matteo didn't suppose that most of the tavern's patrons considered such things novelties, much less inconveniences.
He watched the mixed crowd with interest. Many of the patrons wore the blue-green uniform of Halruaa's navy, and an equal number sported the colors of various local militia. Sailors were plentiful, notable for garb as colorful as it was salt-encrusted. Matteo suspected that not a few of them were pirates, but forbearance was the rule at dockside taverns. Here there was no such thing as an innocent question. Asking a man's business was an insult that could result in a challenge to a duel. Most taverns in Khaerbaal had an alley behind kept remarkably free of debris for just such a purpose.
Many sorts of people came to the Falling Star. Matteo noted a pair of merchants, a blacksmith still wearing the apron of her office, and a dour trio of dwarf miners who hunkered down over their mugs, squat and silent as toadstools. There were a few foreigners as well. A tall, fair-haired man on the far side of the room was certainly a barbarian from some far northern land. The woman with him was a cleric. Matteo couldn't make out her deity's symbol from this distance, but he could see the faint red glow of the tattoo that marked it upon her forehead. Priests of all strange gods were so marked in Halruaa as a condition of entry. They were admitted to the port cities under certain strictures. They could not venture inland or attempt to proselytize. Either offense would activate the magic of the temporary tattoo, causing the mark to burn through the cleric's skull and into his or her brain. Matteo had seen this happen during his last visit to Khaerbaal in this very tavern. The grim process had taken a long time, and it had sent every one of the tavern's hardened patrons reeling into the alleys with green faces. It was that, even more than Andris's battle strategy, that had enabled Themo to walk away from the brawl with no more lasting harm than a broken jaw and a reprimand from Dimidis.
The house wizard's eyes suddenly brightened. He nodded to a table near the back of the room. "Now we shall have a disputation worth hearing!"
Matteo frowned, puzzled by the implication. Jordaini often held public debates or monologues, but always at the behest of their patrons and never in so rude a place.
A few of the patrons stumbled out, perhaps to seek healers or to face scolding spouses, but most simply resumed their seats and paid little heed to swelling jaws or blackened eyes. Matteo didn't suppose that most of the tavern's patrons considered such things novelties, much less inconveniences.
He watched the mixed crowd with interest. Many of the patrons wore the blue-green uniform of Halruaa's navy, and an equal number sported the colors of various local militia. Sailors were plentiful, notable for garb as colorful as it was salt-encrusted. Matteo suspected that not a few of them were pirates, but forbearance was the rule at dockside taverns. Here there was no such thing as an innocent question. Asking a man's business was an insult that could result in a challenge to a duel. Most taverns in Khaerbaal had an alley behind kept remarkably free of debris for just such a purpose.
Many sorts of people came to the Falling Star. Matteo noted a pair of merchants, a blacksmith still wearing the apron of her office, and a dour trio of dwarf miners who hunkered down over their mugs, squat and silent as toadstools. There were a few foreigners as well. A tall, fair-haired man on the far side of the room was certainly a barbarian from some far northern land. The woman with him was a cleric. Matteo couldn't make out her deity's symbol from this distance, but he could see the faint red glow of the tattoo that marked it upon her forehead. Priests of all strange gods were so marked in Halruaa as a condition of entry. They were admitted to the port cities under certain strictures. They could not venture inland or attempt to proselytize. Either offense would activate the magic of the temporary tattoo, causing the mark to burn through the cleric's skull and into his or her brain. Matteo had seen this happen during his last visit to Khaerbaal in this very tavern. The grim process had taken a long time, and it had sent every one of the tavern's hardened patrons reeling into the alleys with green faces. It was that, even more than Andris's battle strategy, that had enabled Themo to walk away from the brawl with no more lasting harm than a broken jaw and a reprimand from Dimidis.
The house wizard's eyes suddenly brightened. He nodded to a table near the back of the room. "Now we shall have a disputation worth hearing!"
Matteo frowned, puzzled by the implication. Jordaini often held public debates or monologues, but always at the behest of their patrons and never in so rude a place.