Title:Inversions
Author(s): Iain M. Banks
Publisher(s): Pocket Books
Pages: 352
Year: 2007
Format:MOBI
Language: English
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DeWar grabbed at Perrund$prime;s arm just as she was about to step from the street-side into the path of a ten-team of mounts hauling a war carriage. He pulled her back towards him as first the panting, sweat-lathered team and then the great swaying bulk of the cannon-wagon itself raced past, shaking the cobblestones beneath their feet. A smell of sweat and oil rolled over them. He felt her draw away from it all, pressing her back against his chest. Behind him, the stone counter of a butcher$prime;s shop dug into his back. The noise of the wagon$prime;s man-high wheels resounded between the cracked, uneven walls of the two- and three-storey buildings leaning over the street.
On top of the huge black gun carriage a bombardier uniformed in the colours of Duke Ralboute stood lashing wildly at the mounts. The wagon was followed by two smaller carriages full of men and wooden cases. These in turn were trailed by a ragged pack of shouting children. The wagons thundered through the open gates set within the inner city$prime;s walls and disappeared from view. People on the street who had shrunk back from the speeding vehicles flowed back into the thoroughfare again, muttering and shaking their heads.
DeWar let Perrund go and she turned to him. He realised with a flush of embarrassment that in his instinctive reaction to the danger he had taken hold of her by the withered arm. The memory of its touch, through the sleeve of her gown, the sling and the fold of her cloak, seemed imprinted in the bones of his hand as something thin, fragile and childlike.
$prime;I$prime;m sorry,$prime; he said, blurting the words.
She was still very close to him. She stepped away, smiling uncertainly. The hood of her cloak had fallen, revealing her lace-veiled face and her golden hair, which was gathered inside a black net. She drew the hood back up. $prime;Oh, DeWar,$prime; she chided. $prime;You save somebody$prime;s life and then you apologise. You really are oh, I don$prime;t know,$prime; she said, readjusting the hood. DeWar had time to be surprised. He had never known the lady Perrund lost for words. The hood she was struggling with fell back again, caught by a gust of wind. $prime;Damn thing,$prime; she said, taking hold of it with her good arm and pulling it back once more. He had started to put his hand up, to help her with the hood, but now had to let his hand fall back. $prime;There,$prime; she said. $prime;That$prime;s better. Here. I$prime;ll take your arm. Now, let us walk.$prime;
DeWar checked the street and then they crossed it, carefully avoiding the small piles of animal dung. A warm wind blew up between the buildings, lifting whirls of straw from the cobblestones. Perrund held DeWar$prime;s arm with her good hand, her forearm laid lightly on his. In DeWar$prime;s other hand he held a cane basket she had asked him to carry for her when they$prime;d left the palace. $prime;Obviously I am not fit to be let out by myself,$prime; she told him. $prime;I have spent far too long in rooms and courtyards, and on terraces and lawns. Everywhere, in fact, where there is no traffic any larger or more threatening than a eunuch with an urgently needed tray of scented waters.$prime;
$prime;I didn$prime;t hurt you, did I?$prime; DeWar asked, glancing at her.
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