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23

Ninth day of the month of the First Thunders

Ka-Yi in the constellation Ma-Lonn, four points to the Sun, confluence with the Archer

Rules of the day: “A posthumous rest is bought by a fulfilled destiny. Called salmon - climb into the smokehouse.

"Lotion of Star Rivers" warns:

“The ninth day of Ka-Yi, it would be better if it didn’t happen, however ... An event always happens that disrupts the usual course of life and leads to a loss of power over one’s own feelings. It is easy to fall into the web of your own delusions. A battle within and around the soul.

The day is not suitable for making decisions, doing important things, treating diseases. The day of payment of spiritual and financial debts is rough and hard. If you can, give yourself a day of rest."

Antrea, the suburb of Holt, the mansion of daneke Tarma Thoris,

start of the morning watch

The morning turned out to be just as nasty as the previous ones.

To begin with, although I ordered myself to wake up exactly at the end of the night watch (and I am an accommodating guy, despite my laziness, and I follow my orders ... that is, I try to follow), my awakening was taken care of for me: Mikis began to stomp on the bed is still dark, alternating heavy steps with insinuating meowing. I wanted to eat, scoundrel, I fully understand him: in a certain state of mind, I myself am not capable of meaningful actions until I stuff a piece of food into my stomach. Preferably tasty, but usually a simple porridge made from white grains of sair, undercooked and undersalted, also comes off.

I had to tear my eyes, get up, feel the closet for household utensils and the drawers in it (because someone forgot to add another portion of oil to the home lamp the day before, without which little magic in the world can dispel the darkness of the night with light), go back, putting bruises on the parts of the body that do not want to move smoothly and in full accordance with the intentions of the half-awakened mind, fill the vessel (spilling most of the oil on their own feet), and only after all this command: “Light!” To some time later be horrified by the debacle that befell the decoration of the room along the entire route of my journey, and be surprised at the absence of the moon in the sky. However, the latter was easily explained by low and dense clouds, which promised to make rain at the earliest for dinner and at the latest for supper. Still, after so many consecutive days of heat! I love rain: when water pours from the sky, I don't have to go to work. And because the ships prefer to wait out the bad weather in the roadstead, and because the moisture in the air greatly reduces the clarity of my sensations. According to the official conclusion of the council, which determined my suitability for carrying out hereditary service, of course, and not the real state of affairs ...

Breakfast was thoughtful. Mine, which was used by Mikis, who brazenly climbed right onto the table and for no reason decided that my plate was his plate. True, the cat did not encroach on vegetables, but the pieces of smoked salmon were killed willingly and quickly. At first I made feeble attempts to drive away the gluttonous animal or to impress upon it that human food is no better than cat food. Three whole tries. Then he spat (mentally, so as not to stain the kitchen floor, which was already not too clean after my cooking) and gave all his strength to thinking.

They say there is nothing worse than waiting. Lie. There is one thing much more disgusting: when the waiting ends. Moreover, it is also much more dangerous, because the lulling rhythm of days and nights is replaced by shaking. At best, a disappointment of unfulfilled hopes, at worst, a meeting with unforeseen circumstances. Of course, it is possible (and, perhaps, even necessary) to prepare oneself for any possible development of events, but on one condition: to imagine these very developments at least approximately. I just couldn't figure out the right line of waiting for myself.

The most unpleasant thing: until Callas finds out something from his friends about the beauty that has disappeared over the centuries (for example, her name or description of her appearance: ink sketches, of course, shed light on the stranger’s features, but I would like to have information about the “color” incarnation ), I have neither the need nor the opportunity to rock the boat with my own fabrications. Yes, and where to rock the boat? The family archives contain regrettably little written evidence of the life of the first Guardian. No, there were reports of the identification of fools, moreover, in sufficient numbers to have enduring respect for the ancestor. But more... There was nothing more. No correspondence with his wife (although, according to the stories of his grandfather, who, in turn, was told by his grandfather - already very close in time to the first Rayden Ra-Gro, The “spouses involuntarily” could not stand each other and turned out to be close only when absolutely necessary). No notes of contemporaries (to be honest, the letter found in the cache, most likely, was the only one left from those distant days). I didn’t know anything about my great-great-great-grandparent, and this annoyed me a little, although ... If I were in his place, perhaps I would also try not to leave any traces that could put me in an inappropriate light in front of posterity, because the legend should remain a legend. The only way. able to expose me in an improper light before posterity, for the legend must remain a legend. The only way. able to expose me in an improper light before posterity, for the legend must remain a legend. The only way.

We all have moments in our lives that we are embarrassed about. Then. And while they are happening, we, intoxicated by the excitement of imaginary omnipotence, sometimes have unspeakably fun and good. But when a hangover sets in... I want to forget everything myself, and make sure that the others forget too. Surely my ancestor was just as naughty as I was, if not more, since he was forced to take care of the whole city by force. And the pranks, I swore, were evil. Very angry, because it is impossible to take and fall in love with a wife imposed by circumstances, a tedious and dangerous job, a life painted up to death and a fate that is the same for all future generations in one breath. I don't think he did. He did his duty as required, but did not like. And since he saved a few sheets of parchment, he did it for a reason, in memory of a friend and his love. And those earrings.

Lilies. What did they mean to that Raiden? Perhaps, it is precisely because of his rejection in the city that there are legends about the aroma of these flowers, which is destructive for the Ra Gro family. Perhaps... But it's better to know for sure than to assume. Ask yourself? Climb upstream, to the spurs? I'll probably take a chance. But not now, but in early autumn, when shipping becomes more measured and I will have free days.

Today…

Antrea, Small harbor,

last third of the morning watch

What cannot be denied to daneke Amira is the adherence to traditions: from the very first visit to Antreya, visits were made exclusively on the day dedicated to Glendo, the patron saint of merchants and ... thieves. True, there is almost no difference between the two: not a single self-respecting merchant will sell you goods without profit for himself, therefore, a theft is committed, albeit mutually acceptable and recognized, but this does not change the essence, right?

Although the boundaries of the months are outlined with extreme precision, within these boundaries significant days move, one might say, godlessly. But it’s a sin for me to complain about the First Thunderstorms: with the light hand of the priests, Glendo’s day fell into its very beginning last month, so the pause between meetings with the “woman of my dreams” turned out to be happily long. So long that I even began to forget the bulky "lines" ...

No, it didn't, as it turned out.

The scarlet-gold spot that flashed over the side of the kayana [14] instantly resurrected the details and details that made me grit my teeth and quicken my pace, because if I am at the same time as daneke Amira, and not five minutes earlier, I will be waiting a shame. Eternal.

True, you don’t have to go that far: go down to the area of ​​​​the Trade Port, to the berths of the First Line, where the most successful merchants who carry out royal orders moor. And today it is empty there - only one wide-bodied kayana is planned, and this cannot but rejoice, since Amira, as usual, is unlikely to bring anything with her. No, at best, he will buy here, in Antrey, and drag the next silks or skins to his south. By the way, a curious way of trading… I won’t say it’s wrong: in the merchant’s business, it’s important to both acquire goods that can be profitably sold from one’s hands, and, in fact, to find someone to hand it to. It is quite possible that at home my “beloved woman” has an assistant who is versed in the art of clouding the minds of customers, and she only selects the right ingredients for this sorcery. Yes, most likely it is. And then,

Unloaded ... So, it will take at most a pair of six-oared boats to pull the ship to the pier. I could even stop at the inner roadstead, as those who do not need to transport cargo do. Fesses, for example, do not go further than the outer raid. What for? Deliver a courier with a message - the boat is enough. Do not row on the oars? You can go a mile and sail, especially if the wind does not suffer from laziness on this day. And to drag yourself to the pier, trusting your safety to the mooring boats and their teams ... Not every captain will dare. By the way, we have such craftsmen that after their labors a considerable penalty falls on the royal treasury. Yes, it is to the treasury, because all port services are subordinate to Her Majesty and are owned by the throne. Since the establishment of this very throne.

Unloading is not expected: there is a chance to quickly and quietly hold a meeting and get out. But when did I succeed? In memory, never. Let there be few spectators, but even one pair of curious eyes is enough for the last port servant to know in detail the circumstances of the arrival of Amira's daneke in the evening, and not only know, but also color them in his own way. When it becomes completely dreary and boring for me, in order to gain healthy anger, I am interested in the latest gossip about myself. I have to admit it helps. The main thing is not to overdo it: some stories are overgrown, like the bottoms of ships with shells, with such obscene fantasies, for which even stuffing your face will seem too philanthropic punishment. And is there any point in beating? Better not to notice.

And it soars well: by the evening you can expect rain to visit with all confidence. Although the clouds that had been hanging in the sky since the night were slightly worn out, like a worn cloak, allowing the sun to coquettishly peep at what is happening on the ground through rare gaps, the haze has not gone away. Well, and for the better. I don't sweat as much as I might think.

I hate uniforms, but not at all because they are uncomfortable, but because they are uniform! Firstly, the black color of the camisole and pants. Warm weather, which prevails in Antrey for the vast majority of the year, protests in general against any dark color, and even jet black ... Just a mockery. This, they say, is a tradition, from the sea, they say, uniforms, and the paint is easier to prepare. Yes. Easier. But who said that simple means the only correct one? I like the uniform of the City Watch much more than the Coast Guard. In addition, amiter's subordinates are assigned different clothes for patrolling and for sitting in offices, which, you see, is important, since it is very difficult to adapt one outfit to different circumstances. But it's easier for the "urban" ones, they have Vig, who himself is not a fool to feel comfortable in the service. And who do I have? Callie

For what merits Hellen Ra-Van received control of the Coast Guard, one can only guess. Interested - no, no! Incompatible with life and health. No, I have nothing against this guy: God forbid everyone copes with the position. But petty harm, which consists in forbidding lower-ranking officers to wear uniforms made of fabric that is more pleasant than double-weaving cloth ... Does not deserve forgiveness. In my humble opinion. He himself flaunts silk camisoles, and all the rest have to carry extra weight on themselves both in the rain and in the sun. And if you also take into account that sweat, absorbed and dried, leaves white stains on black fabric ... I am sure: if Kallas can only be suspected of a business conspiracy with daneke Mara only with difficulty and great tension of the imagination, then Ra-Van certainly receives his permanent (and believe me

Well, at least the collar is not deaf, and on occasion you can completely unbutton the buttons to the waist - when the captain appointed for the weekly check of the type of subordinates is on the other side of the port. However, now I myself will not risk giving freedom and fresh air to my chest, because ...

Still, he managed: he clicked his heels and lowered his chin, depicting a bow, at the very moment when the guest appeared on top of the gangplank.

“Ai-tai, how kind of you to personally meet an old sick woman!

How. Old and sick? With such smooth skin? With shining eyes, the whites of which are like milk in their color? With movements deceptively clumsy, but speaking of complete control over an immense body? Do not make me laugh. Old and sick... Hhag! If it were coquetry, so be it. I would reconcile. But time after time, with annoying stubbornness, behave like a court lady spoiled by attention? Although…

She is, after all, something like that. Court. As far as I can trust the information of Kallas, daneke Amira is one of the few southern female merchants who received the right to trade precisely at the insistence of the khaiff, whose beloved son she was a nurse. Probably, in those years, fifteen years old, being married and having just given birth to her own child, she was pretty. However, the ghost of beauty still hovers in her features, but beauty is somehow wrong. Harsh. It was as if this woman had long ago put aside the idea of ​​liking, loving and being loved by someone, giving all of herself to other aspirations. Yes, perhaps it is. But why the heck then bring me ridiculous coquetry?!

- Happy to greet you, daneke.

— How dry, dear dan! What did I do to deserve such coldness? But I hope my fault is not so serious that you will not help me descend to solid ground?

I would gladly help. Get into the habit of making an idiot out of me in crowds. Now, out of the corner of my eye, I see that the mooring crews are already struggling to contain their laughter. But they are holding back, and a little further along the pier, the “coastal” and sailors, who have an idea of ​​\u200b\u200bmy relationship with the lady who has newly arrived in Antreya, chuckle almost out loud. I know why: waiting for a grand performance. And it will take place. Where can I go?

Trying to keep a calm and slightly indifferent expression on my face, I went up the gangplank and gave the woman my hand. In fact, if we compare our sizes, it is still unknown who should help whom: Amira is almost as tall as me, and three times larger and heavier, respectively. This volume, of course, is hidden from view in a heap of silk, the panels of which are wrapped around an impressive figure, but the illusion does not help much when confronted with rough reality, which ...

I knew it. Well, bitch!

Approximately in the last quarter of the similar, the southerner decided that the right moment had come to slip (and this was on completely dry and moderately rough boards!). Slip, with all the weight falling on me. I drove down on my heels - to the stone slab of the pier, contriving to lock one foot on the cross-beam: if you really fall, it is better to fall on a wooden floor than on a rough stone. And in order to stop Amira from sliding, I had to grab her by ... let's call THIS waist, because somewhere in this place above ground level she really can be located.

The silk flew up, for a few moments depriving me of visibility and dousing with a wave of the suffocating aroma of southern ointments, and a full palm playfully slapped my cheek:

“Ai-tai, what a playful boy!”

And then prove to everyone that your face was red not from embarrassment, but from effort ...