[ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]
value your life."
"Now, when a crony of the Old Man's comes to me and asks me real nice, if I'd
be so kind as to sail my boat to Larn, I'm not about to refuse. Sure, it's all
amiable. They even see I'm well paid, say I'll be recommended to the right
people. But what they and I both know is that I can't refuse. I can't afford
to upset the plans of the Old Man. My business relies on word of mouth and, if
I might say so, my own good reputation. If I was to refuse a favor to the Old
Man, I might as well sail off into the sunset and never return." Quain drained
his cup and looked Tawl straight in the eye.
Tawl was beginning to realize he had misjudged the man. "Captain Quain, I had
no idea of the position you were in."
"Don't get me wrong, boy. I don't mind heading to Larn. I've sailed this ship
Page 132
ABC Amber Palm Converter, http://www.processtext.com/abcpalm.html
through waters more treacherous and shallow than any Larn has to offer. But
Larn's more than just dangerous water. My crew has heard tales of Larn--tales
to set your hair on end. Now I can't say if these tales are true, but what is
real is the effect on my crew. They're all feeling a little edgy, though they
won't admit it, and a nervous sailor is a bad sailor. That's what I'm worried
about, boy, not the island itself." Quain downed more rum.
Tawl was beginning to feel a little guilty for feeding the crew raw turnips.
As if reading his thoughts, the captain said, "Here, boy, get someone to light
the stove. I'll eat no more raw turnips. Ask Fyler to bring up some decent
stuff from the hold and tell him Captain Quain says no hoarding. I'm sure he
was one sailor who ate better than turnips yesterday." Quain motioned to Tawl
to finish his cup of rum. "Don't rush it, boy. Rum's for savoring not for
gulping."
Melli wished with all her heart that she was back at the castle. Surely
marrying Prince Kylock could be no worse than this.
Following yesterday's trial, the magistrate had first led Melli into a small
room, where he'd then insisted on searching her. Melli grew hot with anger as
his hands lingered excessively over her legs and buttocks.
It was obvious she was hiding nothing there! The magistrate had taken this
particular duty very seriously, though, mumbling words to the effect that
Melli might have a weapon concealed anywhere on her person.
When the magistate was satisfied that Melli had no hidden weapons on her, he
led her back out onto the street. To Melli's surprise a small crowd had
formed. As she walked down the street, people started shouting names at her.
They called her a whore and a thief. One of them threw an egg at her, and then
someone else threw a rotten cabbage.
Melli could bear no more, and so she spoke to the magistrate: "Unhandle me. I
will no longer be treated as a common criminal. I am Lady Melliandra, daughter
of Lord Maybor." She held her head high.
"Be quiet, you stupid girl. Do not make things worse for yourself with foolish
lies. You are a common trollop, that much is obvious to me." The magistrate
then twisted Melli's arm nastily and proceeded on.
Their destination was the town square. The crowd gathered round as the
magistrate pronounced Melli's evildoings to the crowd: "This girl here, known
as Melli of Deepwood, is guilty of the crimes of robbery, assault,
prostitution, and deceit. She is sentenced to twenty lashes with the rope. The
sentence will be duly carried out at two hours past noon on the morrow." The
small crowd jeered at Melli. The magistrate
then marched her a short distance, and with no warning pushed Melli into a
deep pit.
Melli fell badly, landing hard on her shoulder and side. Pain burst through
her shoulder and pelvis. She looked upward and was greeted by the sight of the
crowd gathering round the top of the pit peering in.
They seemed well pleased that she had taken a bad fall.
"Serves the dirty little thief right," called one woman. "That'll teach her to
go around stealing horses."
"A good whipping is just what her kind needs."
"It will show her we don't take kindly to filthy whores in our town."
Melli was almost positive the last voice belonged to Mistress Greal. Before
she could confirm her suspicions, she was met with a barrage of rotting
vegetables and meat. Most of the objects were smelly but soft, until someone
started pelting her with turnips. Whoever it was had a good aim, and Melli was
forced to shield her face from the barrage.
This action delighted the vicious crowd and only served to increase their
enthusiasm. Someone dumped a large quantity of sour milk on her head, and then
she was bombarded with crab apples. There was nothing Melli could do: she was
trapped. She hung her head low and prayed that no one would start throwing
rocks. After a while the crowd began to either lose interest or run out of
Page 133
ABC Amber Palm Converter, http://www.processtext.com/abcpalm.html
things to throw. They slowly withdrew, with shouts of "whore!" and "thief!" on
their tongues. Someone threw one last thing: a large melon. It landed right on
her tender shoulder. Melli winced with pain.
She looked up to find the crowd had left. Tears welled in her eyes. Her body
was battered and bruised, and she was terrified at the thought of being
beaten. Everyone had believed what Mistress Greal had said. They even seemed
to believe'more-she had not stolen a horse, or been a prostitute.
Melli tried to remove what she could of the rotten vegetables, brushing slimy
cabbage leaves and moldy fruit from her dress. There was nothing she could do
about the smell.
She looked around her grim surroundings. The pit was about two times the
height of a tall man and barely wide enough for Melli to lie down. The walls
were smoothed stone and the bottom was cold earth. Judging from the amount of
vegetation in various stages of decay, the pit must have been used often.
Melli tried to move her shoulder a little and pain shot through it. She
managed to curl herself up in a ball and sobbed herself to sleep.
She was wakened several hours later by the shouts of men. Night had fallen
while she slept.
"Hey there, missy! How's about flashing us your udders."
"Give us a look at your melons, or we'll throw our ale all over you." Melli
could only stare wildly at the men. "Little bitch! I expect she's only willing
to do it for money."
"Dirty whore!" With that the men dumped the contents of their jug of ale over
Melli's head. "Waste of good ale, if you ask me." Melli shivered as the ale
soaked through her clothes.
The men obviously found the sight of Melli soaked hilarious and they laughed
merrily. One of the men was carrying a lit candle, and as he held it over the
pit, hot wax dripped on Melli's bare arms. The men were oblivious to this, and
Melli felt it best not to speak out in case they decided it would be a good
way to torture her further. The men, having run out of ale, soon moved away.
Melli breathed a deep sigh of
relief.
She was freezing, the night was cold, and she wore, thanks to Mistress Greal,
the flimsiest of dresses.
Now, to make matters worse, she was soaking wet. Every inch of her body ached:
the turnips and crab apples had been thrown with cruel precision, and Melli's
[ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]
