Читать книгу Fleet of the Damned (Sten #4) - Allan Cole - Страница 22

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

“I COULD TELL you how to solve your Tahn problem,” the farmer said, “and we don’t need the damned government to do it!”

The farmer was a short man with an expansive waistline and soft hands. His spread was many times larger than the Tahn communal farm Mahoney had recently visited, and from what Ian could gather, the Imperial settler spent his days tapping in figures on his computer or huddled with his bankers.

Mahoney beetled his brows in deep interest. He was seated at the dinner table with the man, his tubby pink-cheeked wife, and their large brood of obnoxious children.

One of the snotty so-and-sos was trying to get his attention, tapping his sleeve with a spoon dripping with gravy.

“A moment, son,” Mahoney soothed, “while I hear what your father has to say.” Little clot, he thought, I’ll wring your bloody neck if you touch me with that thing again.

“Go on,” he told the farmer. “This is a subject that concerns all of us.”

“Clottin’ right,” the farmer said. “The Tahn are lower than drakh and bleeding us all.”

“Please, dear,” his wife admonished. “The children.” She turned to Mahoney. “I hope you’ll forgive my husband’s language.”

Mahoney gave an understanding smile. “I’ve heard worse.”

The woman giggled. “So have I. Still… If you had to live with these Tahn, you’d understand why my husband becomes so heated. They really are—” She leaned closer to Mahoney to make her point. “Different, you know.”

“I can imagine,” Mahoney said. He settled back with their good after-dinner port to listen to the farmer expand on his subject. It was enough to chill the blood of a tyrant.

Mahoney was absolutely sure what was going to be in his report to the Eternal Emperor. But he had decidedly mixed feelings about it. Like, who were the heroes and who were the villains?

“Yes, please,” he said. “Another splash of port would go down just fine.”