Magician’s End. Raymond E. Feist

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СКАЧАТЬ pleasures are a gift in times like these,’ said Martin, stripping off his clothing.

      Wrinkling her nose, Bethany gathered them up and tossed them outside the door. ‘Getting you clean is hardly a small pleasure. You positively reek.’

      ‘A week’s hard riding.’ A satisfied sigh followed as he lowered himself into the hot water. He lay back and slowly slid down the smooth porcelain tub until his head was completely underwater, then slid back up, his hair soaked. Instantly he felt Bethany’s fingers applying soap to his scalp, a creamy concoction she used. It had a floral fragrance, but Martin was too tired to complain. Besides, it did smell better than the usual harsh soaps his father had stocked at Crydee, composed of lye, tallow or oil, ash, and some attempt at a scent with whatever the soap-maker had at hand. This aromatic soap must be something Lily’s father had bought before the war from one of the finer soap-makers in Queg.

      Martin closed his eyes and let the warmth soak into his bones, thinking that whatever else one might say about the Quegans, they knew how to make luxury goods: silken garments to rival the finest in Kesh, wines equal to the best in the Kingdom, jewellery and cut gems without equal. His thoughts drifted off for what seemed a moment, until he felt Bethany push at him gently and whisper in his ear, ‘None of that, now. You’re off to bed for some rest.’

      He blinked awake and realized he must have dozed off for the water was cool. ‘I thought about climbing in with you,’ she whispered in his ear, ‘but you’re farther gone than I thought in the kitchen.’

      He grinned. ‘I might surprise you.’

      ‘Get to bed and maybe we’ll find out, but sleep first!’ Her expression was concerned as she handed him a towel. ‘You don’t plan on lingering, do you?’

      ‘I’ve got my orders,’ he said, drying off. ‘With the nasty business shaping up in the east, Lord James is desperate to know exactly what we face, and everything we can deduce from the madness of this last war tells us that whoever was behind that pointless bloodshed wants the bulk of the Kingdom’s army as far away from the Grey Towers as possible. So that’s where I need to go poke around.’

      Bethany tossed Martin an oversized nightshirt, belonging to Lily’s father, most likely, and said, ‘Get some sleep. If you wake for the evening meal, fine; otherwise I’ll let you sleep through.’

      ‘Don’t let me sleep through the night.’

      She came over and sat on the side of the bed. ‘As much as I’ve missed you, my darling, I think rest is what you need most now.’

      Bethany wasn’t clear at which precise point Martin had fallen asleep, but he was soundly sleeping by the end of her sentence. She shook her head, torn between slipping between the sheets with him and letting him rest, then let caution overrule desire. He needed whatever respite he could seize during this time in Ylith. Tomorrow he would undoubtedly be away on the Crown’s errand, and she wished him to be in possession of all his wits and resources.

      As she started to rise, he reached up and grabbed her belt, yanking her back into bed. She shrieked in surprise. Wrapping his arms around her, he whispered in her ear, ‘I’m not that tired.’

      The next morning it was a very refreshed if not entirely rested Martin who came down to break fast. He was pleased to see that the mayor had returned and quickly got brought up to date on conditions north of Ylith. Captain Bolton and Sergeant Oaks were already at the table. Martin looked around them and said, ‘I’m very pleased to see how well you’ve all done since I left.’

      The mayor said, ‘We try. Fishing is reasonable, given how far out the boats go – there are a great many warships still on the water – but with all the people who fled when the Keshians arrived, we don’t have as many mouths to feed as before the war.’ He fell silent for a second and Martin realized he was also considering those who had died. ‘Still,’ he added brightly, ‘we’re starting to see some farm produce coming into the city. Higher-than-usual prices have lured farmers previously reluctant to venture from home during the fighting, and while the produce is not of highest quality, it suffices.’

      ‘Some of the townswomen had vegetable gardens,’ said Lily. ‘Rather than merely store the produce for next winter, they’re selling it at market on Sixthday.’

      ‘We get along,’ said the mayor.

      ‘Well, if this peace lasts, we’ll see a return to normality, at least in Yabon,’ said Martin.

      ‘What of the Far Coast?’ asked the mayor.

      ‘We don’t know. Earl Robert—’ he glanced at Bethany whose expression turned sombre at mention of her father, ‘—and the other western lords are with Prince Edward. Until the new king is chosen, I don’t see any of them coming back.

      ‘I was told Carse and Tulan held fast as Crydee fell, so we can hope they’re still secured, but cut off from communication.’

      ‘I hope you’re right,’ said Captain Bolton.

      Martin paused, then asked, ‘What about the deployment of the Keshians along this front?’

      Bolton rose from the table and returned with a map. ‘They’re dug in along a line from here—’ he pointed to a game trail in the forest to the south of the road to Crydee, ‘—to here: just draw a line north and south a bit from their barricade at the rise.’ His finger stopped at another point a mile north of the road. ‘I think it’s for show, as if they were concerned we might mount some sort of offensive back into Crydee. They patrol, but their hearts aren’t in it.’

      ‘What makes you say that?’ asked Sergeant Oaks.

      ‘They send one patrol to the south in the morning and it returns by lunch. Then, after lunch, they send the same patrol to the north and it’s back by nightfall.’ He laughed. ‘We can see them from the western wall. It’s got so predicable my men place bets on which Keshians get sent out. My men are convinced it’s some sort of punishment duty, as the patrollers look either dejected or annoyed when picked. My lads have even given them names. There’s Fatty, Droopy, Thunder Gut—’

      ‘Thunder Gut?’ asked Martin.

      Bolton grinned. ‘Apparently he can fart so loud you can hear him on the wall.’

      ‘No? Really! That’s a quarter mile away!’

      Oaks didn’t look convinced. ‘I don’t know about the names, but soldiers get good at reading the mood of other soldiers. If they’re sending out patrols as a matter of punishment, the captain’s right; they’re doing it for show.’

      Martin thought about this, then said, ‘I had been instructed by Lord James and his grandson that a cautious approach was needed, a discreet bribe to get a small squad across the frontier on the excuse of needing to return to Crydee to recover some family heirlooms, as if any might not have been plundered already. I always thought a better approach would be for the Keshians to not know we crossed the line at all.’

      ‘That should be easy enough if you’re careful, Martin,’ said Bolton. ‘If you sneak out at night down the coast toward the Free Cities, just shy of the Keshians’ first checkpoint on the road to Natal, lie low for the day, then head up into the woodlands and find a game trail.’ He shrugged.

      ‘I think I have a better idea,’ said Martin. ‘How far behind the lines does that old bolt-hole from the castle extend?’

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