Читать онлайн «The Scribe»
Автор Антонио Гарридо
Also by Antonio Garrido:
The characters and events portrayed in this book are fictitious. Any similarity to real persons, living or dead, is coincidental and not intended by the author.
Text copyright © 2011 Antonio Garrido
English translation copyright © 2013 Simon Bruni
All rights reserved.
No part of this book may be reproduced, or stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise, without express written permission of the publisher.
Published by AmazonCrossing
PO Box 400818
Las Vegas, NV 89140
ISBN-13: 978-1477848838
ISBN-10: 1477848835
Library of Congress Control Number: 2013911777
CONTENTS
Start Reading
I know not…
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EPILOGUE
AUTHOR’S NOTE
DEDICATIONS AND ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
ABOUT THE TRANSLATOR
Gorgias set his wax tablet on the ground and lay on the old bed. Before closing his eyes he prayed for his daughter’s soul. Then all he could think about were the terrible days leading up to the famine.
NOVEMBER
1
There was no sunrise in Würzburg on All Saints’ Day.
In the half-light of morning, farm workers started to emerge from their homes. Heading for the fields, they pointed at the grubby sky, swollen like the belly of a great cow. Dogs sniffed the coming storm and howled, but the men, women, and children continued their weary, silent parade like a soulless army. A whirl of dark clouds soon obscured the heavens as if heralding the end of the world. Then, such a torrent of water came that even the most hardened country folks trembled.Theresa’s stepmother roused her from a deep sleep. The young girl listened in astonishment to the drumming of the hailstones threatening to bring down the wattle roof and immediately understood that she must hurry. In a blink, mother and daughter gathered up leftover bread and cheese from the table, wrapped a few clothes in an improvised bundle, and—securing doors and windows—left to join the desperate mob running for shelter in the high part of the city.
As they climbed the arched street, Theresa realized she had forgotten her wax tablets. “You carry on, Mother. I’ll be right back. ”
Ignoring Rutgarda’s shouting, Theresa disappeared into the crowd of peasants fleeing like sodden rats. Many of the streets had already turned to rivers cluttered with broken baskets, lumps of firewood, dead chickens, and soiled clothes. She negotiated the crowded tanners’ passageway by clambering over a cart jammed between two flooded houses, then she ran down the old street to the rear of her home, where she surprised an urchin trying to break in. She gave him a shove, but—instead of fleeing—the boy merely scampered off to another house where he had better luck climbing in through a window. Cursing him, Theresa went inside. From a chest she took her writing tools, her wax tablets, and an emerald-colored bible. She crossed herself, stashed everything under her cloak, and ran back as quickly as possible through the downpour to the place where her stepmother was waiting for her.
