People of the Ark (Ark Chronicles 1) Read Online Free PDF Page A

merely wishing to put back the saw’s edge. Ham scooped water from a nearby pail, flinging droplets onto the saw edges as he scraped the slate over them.
    “ I’m going to eat an early lunch,” Jubal said.
    Ham ignored him as he filed with harder jerks, and before he knew it the stone slipped off a tooth and his palm swept over the sharpened bronze. With an oath, Ham glared at the pumping blood, and he ground his teeth in growing frustration. He plunged his hand into a bucket of water and wrapped a cloth around the palm. Oh, this was going to work fine. Blood already soaked the cloth. So he went to the linen shed and wadded up some, sticking it under his crude bandage. As he walked back to the saw, and while wondering if he should stitch the cut, the ram’s horn blew.
    H am looked up as the horn sounded a second time. Shem high up on the Ark pointed down excitedly at something outside the north gate.
     

2.
     
    The caravan master from Havilah, a small, sinister old man with cunning eyes like a hyena, smacked his lips with approval. “A fine wine, sir, a fine wine indeed. But do you have any with bite?”
    “ Only for ailments,” Noah said.
    “ Ah! Of those, I have many, sir, many indeed. Sore joints are an ailment, and a back stretched from sitting far too many days upon a donkey. Is that not an ailment of the first order?”
    They sat underneath a hastily erected awning, this sly ancient caravan master and several of his clan, together with Noah and his sons and several of their cousins. Leather sheets had been thrown upon the ground and two stools brought out, one for Noah and the other for the old caravan master of Havilah. The small nomad wore a thick quilted jacket, baggy pantaloons and fine mammoth-hide boots, with a golden ring upon each of his talon-like fingers. Dangling from his left ear hung two golden loops that clashed every time he turned his head. The caravan master, Kedorlaomer by name, wore a blue silk turban and had shrewd, slanted eyes. The eyes reminded Ham of a hyena that used to slink about the construction yard, one that would slip near and snatch your bread-sack if you weren’t watching closely enough.
    Behind the old nomad sat several of his grandsons in a semi-circle, all of them near Noah’s age, which was to say approaching six hundred. Lean and tight-lipped, with long mustaches and equally long glances, as if sizing up the yard for a raid, there hardly seemed to Ham a more distrustful and villainous crew. They hung decorated bow cases and quivers from their backs, and fingered jeweled daggers.
    Noah had wisely ordered the rest of the caravan to remain outside, although several husky servants carted water from the construction-yard well to their braying animals. Ham was certain they were slaves. Their heads looked recently shaved—one bore an evil-looking scab—and they shuffled and their shoulders slumped. A pretty woman scandalously dressed in a quilted jacket and pantaloons paced beside the servants. She threw Ham a smile once or twice.
    Kedorlaomer clear ed his throat. “It has been such a dusty trail, sir. Quite an adventure, I’m afraid, leaving a man thirsty for something with more…spirit.”
    Noah sent Jubal running, who hurried back with a jug and clay cups . Noah pulled the cork and poured for Kedorlaomer and his grandsons. Grinning, the old, caravan master raised his cup and was about to bring it to his lips, when he frowned and made a sharp snorting noise through his nose.
    The grandsons lowered their cups, their eyes narrowing as they burned silent accusations at Noah.
    “What of yourself, sir?” Kedorlaomer asked. “Is it not wrong for us to drink before you do?”
    They weren ’t merely suspicious, Ham realized, but insultingly paranoid.
    Noah splashed wine into several more cups and handed them to his sons and nephews . Ham gulped his. It was little more than enough to wet his mouth. But that seemed to satisfy suspicious Kedorlaomer.
    “ Ah, yes, thank you,