[ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]
continues past the lancer officer carrying but a small duffel of white
shimmercloth. The seven passengers from the rear compartment all wear brown or
gray, except for a woman in the yellow of an entertainer.
All the passengers vanish into the streets of Syadtar.
As Lorn and the merchanter beside him wait, the two drivers and two porters
slowly unload crates and baskets, while a young enumerator watches.
Then another pair of drivers appears-one bald and the other with salt and
pepper hair. The driver with the black and gray hair begins to walk around the
firewagon, checking each of the six wheels, the fastenings, and the array of
chaos cells behind the rear compartment.
First compartment. Travelers westward! Travelers westward! announces the
bald driver. First compartment.
Lorn bends and lifts the two duffels, careful not to let sabre and scabbard
strike the one in his right hand. As he walks toward the open front
compartment door, the wind carries voices from the second platform to him.
& don t see why they get to travel first free&
Because half of them don t live long enough to get pensioned off, Vorkin.
They can t take consorts with them, if they can find one, and they never are
home. That s why. You want to live like that?
Still& wasn t that bad for your uncle.
You weren t there.
Saw enough, I did&
Hush!
A faint smile crosses Lorn s lips and vanishes.
Behind Lorn, the merchanter directs the porter toward the cargo bay of the
firewagon, the space separating the smaller front compartment from the larger
rear one.
Lorn has to bend forward to slide the duffels under the thinly padded curved
bench seat, and he pushes them to the far side. Then he has to unclip his
scabbarded sabre from his belt. After setting it against the outside wall of
the compartment, he takes the rear window seat on the left side, so that he
can see ahead.
Through the cupridium-braced white oak behind his head, he feels the rest of
the goods and crates being loaded, and then the clunk of the cargo doors being
closed.
The merchanter peers into the compartment, smiling as if in relief. A bit of
space here, captain. Until Coermat for certain, anyway. He takes the
rear-facing seat on the right side, as if to be seated as far from the Lancer
officer as possible, then stretches out his thick legs. Might not be so bad
this time. His words end with a yawn.
It s better not to be cramped, Lorn agrees pleasantly. Closing up, sers.
The bald driver peers into the compartment, before withdrawing and closing the
door.
You ll pardon me, captain. I had to do the accounts before I left, and there
wasn t much lamp oil left. The merchanter nods politely, leans his head back,
and closes his eyes.
The firewagon rolls forward slowly and smoothly picks up speed. Lorn watches
the white sunstone buildings of Syadtar pass and vanish behind him.
He will not return to Syadtar. That he knows.
XLIII
The firewagon rumbles through the twilight toward Chulbyn, the town that
exists only to serve as the station for transferring passengers and urgent
freight from the firewagons plying the Great Northern Highway to those using
the Great Eastern Highway. Even though the chaos cells that power the rear
wheel motors are behind the second compartment, Lorn can sense the waning of
the cells power. This trip will be the vehicle s last, until those cells are
Page 91
ABC Amber Palm Converter, http://www.processtext.com/abcpalm.html
replaced with the recharged cells periodically carried from Cyad to the
replenishment waystations.
Across from him snores a thin senior enumerator, while the Stitheth merchanter
sleeps quietly in the far corner of the firewagon s forward compartment.
The firewagon lurches ever so slightly, as if the wheels had struck something,
and then crushed it, before the faintly rumbling sounds of normal travel
resume. For a moment, the enumerator s snores cease. But only for a moment,
Lorn reflects.
The firewagons on the Great Northern Highway are smaller than those on the
Great Eastern Highway, for all that the travel distance from Cyad to Chulbyn
is less than a third the distance to Syadtar. Has it always been that way?
Leaning back in the seat that become harder and harder, Lorn fingers a chin
getting all too stubbly.
Will Cyad seem any different? Lorn smiles. Different it will seem, but in what
ways he does not know. He hopes he will be able to recognize those differences
and that he can spend some time with Ryalth.
A frown replaces the smile. Has Myryan been able to deal with being Ciesrt s
consort? He takes a long and slow breath. Should he have taken matters in hand
there? Will he ever know? Does he want to know?
Outside the forward compartment of the firewagon, as chaos powers the vehicle [ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]
zanotowane.pl doc.pisz.pl pdf.pisz.pl fopke.keep.pl
continues past the lancer officer carrying but a small duffel of white
shimmercloth. The seven passengers from the rear compartment all wear brown or
gray, except for a woman in the yellow of an entertainer.
All the passengers vanish into the streets of Syadtar.
As Lorn and the merchanter beside him wait, the two drivers and two porters
slowly unload crates and baskets, while a young enumerator watches.
Then another pair of drivers appears-one bald and the other with salt and
pepper hair. The driver with the black and gray hair begins to walk around the
firewagon, checking each of the six wheels, the fastenings, and the array of
chaos cells behind the rear compartment.
First compartment. Travelers westward! Travelers westward! announces the
bald driver. First compartment.
Lorn bends and lifts the two duffels, careful not to let sabre and scabbard
strike the one in his right hand. As he walks toward the open front
compartment door, the wind carries voices from the second platform to him.
& don t see why they get to travel first free&
Because half of them don t live long enough to get pensioned off, Vorkin.
They can t take consorts with them, if they can find one, and they never are
home. That s why. You want to live like that?
Still& wasn t that bad for your uncle.
You weren t there.
Saw enough, I did&
Hush!
A faint smile crosses Lorn s lips and vanishes.
Behind Lorn, the merchanter directs the porter toward the cargo bay of the
firewagon, the space separating the smaller front compartment from the larger
rear one.
Lorn has to bend forward to slide the duffels under the thinly padded curved
bench seat, and he pushes them to the far side. Then he has to unclip his
scabbarded sabre from his belt. After setting it against the outside wall of
the compartment, he takes the rear window seat on the left side, so that he
can see ahead.
Through the cupridium-braced white oak behind his head, he feels the rest of
the goods and crates being loaded, and then the clunk of the cargo doors being
closed.
The merchanter peers into the compartment, smiling as if in relief. A bit of
space here, captain. Until Coermat for certain, anyway. He takes the
rear-facing seat on the right side, as if to be seated as far from the Lancer
officer as possible, then stretches out his thick legs. Might not be so bad
this time. His words end with a yawn.
It s better not to be cramped, Lorn agrees pleasantly. Closing up, sers.
The bald driver peers into the compartment, before withdrawing and closing the
door.
You ll pardon me, captain. I had to do the accounts before I left, and there
wasn t much lamp oil left. The merchanter nods politely, leans his head back,
and closes his eyes.
The firewagon rolls forward slowly and smoothly picks up speed. Lorn watches
the white sunstone buildings of Syadtar pass and vanish behind him.
He will not return to Syadtar. That he knows.
XLIII
The firewagon rumbles through the twilight toward Chulbyn, the town that
exists only to serve as the station for transferring passengers and urgent
freight from the firewagons plying the Great Northern Highway to those using
the Great Eastern Highway. Even though the chaos cells that power the rear
wheel motors are behind the second compartment, Lorn can sense the waning of
the cells power. This trip will be the vehicle s last, until those cells are
Page 91
ABC Amber Palm Converter, http://www.processtext.com/abcpalm.html
replaced with the recharged cells periodically carried from Cyad to the
replenishment waystations.
Across from him snores a thin senior enumerator, while the Stitheth merchanter
sleeps quietly in the far corner of the firewagon s forward compartment.
The firewagon lurches ever so slightly, as if the wheels had struck something,
and then crushed it, before the faintly rumbling sounds of normal travel
resume. For a moment, the enumerator s snores cease. But only for a moment,
Lorn reflects.
The firewagons on the Great Northern Highway are smaller than those on the
Great Eastern Highway, for all that the travel distance from Cyad to Chulbyn
is less than a third the distance to Syadtar. Has it always been that way?
Leaning back in the seat that become harder and harder, Lorn fingers a chin
getting all too stubbly.
Will Cyad seem any different? Lorn smiles. Different it will seem, but in what
ways he does not know. He hopes he will be able to recognize those differences
and that he can spend some time with Ryalth.
A frown replaces the smile. Has Myryan been able to deal with being Ciesrt s
consort? He takes a long and slow breath. Should he have taken matters in hand
there? Will he ever know? Does he want to know?
Outside the forward compartment of the firewagon, as chaos powers the vehicle [ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]