Міжзірковий мандрівник
Chapter 11
FortinismiledlazilyatmewhileIthuspausedforthemomenttodebate,butinhissmilewastheessenceofallinsolence.
This,ofalltimes,wasthetimeIshouldhavebeencool.Buttheoldredangerbegantokindleinme.Thiswastheworkofthepriest.ThiswastheFortini,poverishedofallsavelineage,reckonedthebestswordcomeupoutofItalyinhalfascoreofyears.To-nightitwasFortini.Ifhefailedthegrayoldman’scommandto-morrowitwouldbeanothersword,thenextdayanother.And,perchancestillfailing,thenmightIexpectthecommonbravo’ssteelinmybackorthecommonpoisoner’sphilterinmywine,mymeat,orbread.
“Iambusy,”Isaid.“Begone.”
“Mybusinesswithyoupresses,”washisreply.
Insensiblyourvoiceshadslightlyrisen,sothatPhilippaheard.
“Begone,youItalianhound,”Isaid.“Takeyourhowlingfrommydoor.Ishallattendtoyoupresently.”
“Themoonisup,”hesaid.“Thegrassisdryandexcellent.Thereisnodew.Beyondthefish-pond,anarrow’sflighttotheleft,isanopenspace,quietandprivate.”
“Presentlyyoushallhaveyourdesire,”Imutteredimpatiently.
