[ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]
found out that a lot o' the grain they'd been buyin' afore'and existed only in Tilo's 'ead.
"They gets together, cornerin' 'im in this 'ere grove, and strings 'im up neat. At that point a couple o'
travelin' craftsmen... woodworker and a silversmith, I think, or maybe one was a cobbler... decided that
this 'ere valley with its easy water would be a nice place t' start a craft's guild, and the town sort o' grew
up around it.
Generated by ABC Amber LIT Converter, http://www.processtext.com/abclit.html
"When folks from elsewhere wanted t' locate the craftsmen, everyone around told 'em t' go t' the place
where they'd lynched Tilo Bany, the confidence ferret. And if you 'aven't noticed yet, guv, you're
breathin' right easy now."
Much to his surprise, the queasiness had receded. The smell no longer seemed so overpowering.
"You're right. It's not so bad anymore."
"That's good. You stick near t' me, mate, and watch yourself. Some o' the local bully-boys like t' toy
with strangers, and you're stranger than most. Not that I'd be afraid t' remonstrate with any of 'em, mind
now."
They were leaving the shade of the forest. Mudge gestured ahead. His voice was full of provincial pride.
"There she be, Jon-Tom. Lynchbany Towne."
IV
No fairy spires or slick and shiny pennant-studded towers here, Jon-Tom mused as he gazed at the
village. No rainbow battlements, no thin cloud-piercing turrets inlaid with gold, silver, and precious gems.
Lynchbany was a community built to be lived in, not looked at. Clearly, its inhabitants knew no more of
moorish palaces and peacock-patrolled gardens than did Jon-Tom.
Hemmed in by forest on both sides, the buildings and streets meandered down a narrow valley. A
stream barely a yard wide trickled through the town center. It divided the main street, which, like most of
the side streets he could see, was paved with cobblestones shifted here from some distant riverbed. Only
the narrow creek channel itself was unpaved.
Generated by ABC Amber LIT Converter, http://www.processtext.com/abclit.html
They continued down the path, which turned to cobblestone as it came abreast of the rushing water.
Despite his determination to keep his true feelings inside, the fresh nausea that greeted him as they
reached the first buildings generated unwholesome wrinkles on his face. It was evident that the little
stream served as community sewer as well as the likely source of potable water. He reminded himself
firmly not to drink anything in Lynchbany unless it was bottled or boiled.
Around them rose houses three, sometimes four stories tall. Sharp-peaked roofs were plated with huge
foot-square shingles of wood or gray slate. Windows turned translucent eyes on the street from see-ond
and third floors. An occasional balcony projected out over the street.
Fourth floors and still higher attics displayed rounded entrances open to the air. Thick logs were set
below each circular doorway. Round windows framed many of these aerial portals. They were obviously
home to the arboreal inhabitants of the town, cousins of the red-breasted, foul-mouthed public servant
they had met delivering mail to Clothahump's tree several days ago.
The little canyon was neither very deep nor particularly narrow, but the houses still crowded together
like children in a dark room. The reason was economic; it's simpler and cheaper to build a common wall
for two separate structures.
A few flew pennants from poles set in their street-facing sides, or from the crests of sharply gabled
rooftops. They could have been family crests, or signals, or advertisements; Jon-Tom had no idea. More
readily identifiable banners in the form of some extraordinary washing hung from lines strung over narrow
alleyways. He tried to identify the shape of the owners from the position and length of the arms and legs,
but was defeated by the variety.
At the moment furry arms and hands were working from upper-floor windows, hastily pulling laundry off
the lines amid much muttering and grumbling. Thunder rumbled through the town, echoing off the
cobblestone streets and the damp walls of cut rock and thick wooden beams. Each building was
constructed for solidity, a small home put together as strongly as a castle.
Shutters clapped hollowly against bracings as dwellers sealed their residences against the approaching [ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]
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found out that a lot o' the grain they'd been buyin' afore'and existed only in Tilo's 'ead.
"They gets together, cornerin' 'im in this 'ere grove, and strings 'im up neat. At that point a couple o'
travelin' craftsmen... woodworker and a silversmith, I think, or maybe one was a cobbler... decided that
this 'ere valley with its easy water would be a nice place t' start a craft's guild, and the town sort o' grew
up around it.
Generated by ABC Amber LIT Converter, http://www.processtext.com/abclit.html
"When folks from elsewhere wanted t' locate the craftsmen, everyone around told 'em t' go t' the place
where they'd lynched Tilo Bany, the confidence ferret. And if you 'aven't noticed yet, guv, you're
breathin' right easy now."
Much to his surprise, the queasiness had receded. The smell no longer seemed so overpowering.
"You're right. It's not so bad anymore."
"That's good. You stick near t' me, mate, and watch yourself. Some o' the local bully-boys like t' toy
with strangers, and you're stranger than most. Not that I'd be afraid t' remonstrate with any of 'em, mind
now."
They were leaving the shade of the forest. Mudge gestured ahead. His voice was full of provincial pride.
"There she be, Jon-Tom. Lynchbany Towne."
IV
No fairy spires or slick and shiny pennant-studded towers here, Jon-Tom mused as he gazed at the
village. No rainbow battlements, no thin cloud-piercing turrets inlaid with gold, silver, and precious gems.
Lynchbany was a community built to be lived in, not looked at. Clearly, its inhabitants knew no more of
moorish palaces and peacock-patrolled gardens than did Jon-Tom.
Hemmed in by forest on both sides, the buildings and streets meandered down a narrow valley. A
stream barely a yard wide trickled through the town center. It divided the main street, which, like most of
the side streets he could see, was paved with cobblestones shifted here from some distant riverbed. Only
the narrow creek channel itself was unpaved.
Generated by ABC Amber LIT Converter, http://www.processtext.com/abclit.html
They continued down the path, which turned to cobblestone as it came abreast of the rushing water.
Despite his determination to keep his true feelings inside, the fresh nausea that greeted him as they
reached the first buildings generated unwholesome wrinkles on his face. It was evident that the little
stream served as community sewer as well as the likely source of potable water. He reminded himself
firmly not to drink anything in Lynchbany unless it was bottled or boiled.
Around them rose houses three, sometimes four stories tall. Sharp-peaked roofs were plated with huge
foot-square shingles of wood or gray slate. Windows turned translucent eyes on the street from see-ond
and third floors. An occasional balcony projected out over the street.
Fourth floors and still higher attics displayed rounded entrances open to the air. Thick logs were set
below each circular doorway. Round windows framed many of these aerial portals. They were obviously
home to the arboreal inhabitants of the town, cousins of the red-breasted, foul-mouthed public servant
they had met delivering mail to Clothahump's tree several days ago.
The little canyon was neither very deep nor particularly narrow, but the houses still crowded together
like children in a dark room. The reason was economic; it's simpler and cheaper to build a common wall
for two separate structures.
A few flew pennants from poles set in their street-facing sides, or from the crests of sharply gabled
rooftops. They could have been family crests, or signals, or advertisements; Jon-Tom had no idea. More
readily identifiable banners in the form of some extraordinary washing hung from lines strung over narrow
alleyways. He tried to identify the shape of the owners from the position and length of the arms and legs,
but was defeated by the variety.
At the moment furry arms and hands were working from upper-floor windows, hastily pulling laundry off
the lines amid much muttering and grumbling. Thunder rumbled through the town, echoing off the
cobblestone streets and the damp walls of cut rock and thick wooden beams. Each building was
constructed for solidity, a small home put together as strongly as a castle.
Shutters clapped hollowly against bracings as dwellers sealed their residences against the approaching [ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]