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.His service in the order had left hislegs crippled and barely able to move.His shoulders, though, were massive,and his arms thickly muscled, although when his sleeve slipped open, the scarsthat had severed tendons and left his right hand useless showed, and he hadretained only the thumb and forefinger of his left, beyond the stubs.But then there was the face.His beard had been neatly and properly trimmed,and the cheeks shaved although how Michael had managed to do that in abouncing palanquin without cutting the old man's face to ribbons was somethingthat Niko wouldn't have believed possible if he hadn't seen it himself, onmore than one occasion.Page 34ABC Amber Palm Converter, http://www.processtext.com/abcpalm.htmlBut there was Becket's face.It was, still, the face of a knight of theOrder, and it showed more in the eyes than the beard, eyes that missednothing, and could see right into the soul of a man or boy.Still, Becket smelled of piss and shit his injuries had long ago lost himcontrol of his bowels and bladder despite the earliness of the day.Niko wasvaguely familiar with all the details, although Becket had the novices attendto his needs, which included the sausage-skin tubes whose open ends that hadto be tied around the old man's penis, the tubes terminating in a formerwineskin bag tied to a leg, and which Niko quickly concealed with a blanket.Not that they could do anything about the smell at the moment, but thenovices were quickly erecting the portable screen from the back of thepalanquin.Given a few moments, they could give the old knight at least amodicum of a sponge bath, get him into fresh swaddling and clean robes.But for now, Niko belted Becket into the chair, and tucked a blanket tightlyaround Becket's lap and over the restraining strap, and left it at that.Save,of course, for the final step he quickly retrieved both of Becket's swordsfrom the palanquin, and set them in the boot on the left side of Becket'straveling chair.He was rewarded with nothing more than a glare from Becket's shockingly blueeyes.Becket surveyed the scene."Well, you handled it bloodily enough, I suppose."He cocked his head to one side."Any idea of the clans of the bandits?"Niko shook his head.There hadn't been any formal introductions.He didn'teven know the Christian names of the men he had killed, much less their clanaffiliations."I'm sorry, but no.""Hmmph," Becket said, his scowl making it clear he disapproved."The thingabout information, fisherboy, is that if you don't have it, you can't use it.You can't decide whether or not to share it, or conceal it, or " He shook hishead and snorted in disgust."Well, I guess it was about to be expected.Iknow that the abbot's been none too impressed with my reports on you."As always, Niko waited for the words he had been expecting for more than ayear:You'll not do as a knight, Niko.Go back to being a fisherboy.The abbot general, of course, would have supported Becket.Ralph FrancisWakefield, both archbishop of Canterbury and the abbot general of the Order ofCrown, Shield, and Dragon, had no use for Niko, and particularly no use forSir Niko Christofolous as a knight of the Order of Crown, Shield, and Dragon,and even more particularly no use whatsoever for the notion of Sir Niko beinga knight of the Red Sword.He had made that abundantly clear in their one interview, shortly afterBear's funeral, that one word from Sir Martin was all that it would take toPage 35ABC Amber Palm Converter, http://www.processtext.com/abcpalm.htmlhave Niko stripped of his knighthood and, of course, the sword and thatnothing that Baron Shanley, Cully, or anybody else could do or say wouldreverse that decision.His Majesty had decided to give Sir Niko a try but themoment that Becket found him wanting, well, that try would have beenaccomplished, that moment would be his last in the Order.But, once again, Becket just shook his head."And now, with the MacDonalds ontheir way.there wouldn't happen to be precisely fourteen of them, wouldthere?"Also as usual, Niko didn't know what Sir Martin was getting at."The McPheesaid forty, not fourteen, Sir Martin.""Forty." A quick nod."Good.Or, rather: it should be good, and it should bea curb on the McPhees' temper, if the damned Scots were capable of beingsensible.Which they aren't." He chuckled [ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]