"C. J. Cherryh - Fever SeasonUC - Compilation" - читать интересную книгу автора (Cherryh C J)

Chris Morris
HEARTS AND MINDS
"Fine." Chamoun hadn't lit his smoke. Magruder lit his ostentatiously and exhaled a blue cloud with obvious satisfaction.
Still, Chamoun didn't move. Magruder prodded: "Something else?"
"No, m'ser. ButЧ"
Magruder threw Chamoun matches. The youth caught them and lit the smoke, his eyes darting everywhere but Magruder's face.
"What if," Mike Chamoun said, "Romanov's faction was ... is hooked up, somehow, with Boregy House?" His voice was trembling.
"Then you've warned me," said Magruder casuaily. "I'll check h out." The youth was probably seeing enemies everywhere. Romanov gutted on the DetfishЧit was a wonder the youngster hadn't cast off and been headed home to Nev Hettek by morning. "Give your wife my bestЧand youf best." Magruder had other things to do, and a meeting with Tatiana for which he had to change clothes.
Merovingian etiquette was a pain in the ass, time consuming and foolish. But Tatiana called the shots here, literally and figuratively. Magruder was surviving on her patronage.
And that thought made him look up at Chamoun, poised halfway to the door like a dog who didn't know whether it was going to be beaten or petted next. "Mondragon part of your problem, son?" Not that wild a guess . . .
Chamoun stared at his feet. "Sir," he said, shedding the patois so many had spent so long drilling into him, "1 gotta talk to you. About Vega Boregy and Mondragon, and what's goin* on out at Megary."
The tone of Chamoun's voice and the words he spoke told Magruder that he wasn't going to like what Chamoun said next, and that when he got to Tatiana Kalugin's dinner party, if he managed not to be late, the census was going to be the last thing on his mind.
But then, he already knew what he wanted to do about the census. What he didn't know was what he was going to do about whatever compromised position this Chamoun had got-
ten himself into. But he'd do something. That was why he was the Sword's strategic officer in Merovingen. And its action officer, whenever he decided action was called for.
He said to Mike Chamoun, "Look, sonny, whatever mess you're in, we can turn it to our advantage as long as you tell me everything. There's nothing Mondragon can do we can't counter. Just trust in the Sword, and the Cause." And put your life in my hands willingly, Chamoun, because that's where it's been all along. "We're here to win the hearts and minds of these Merovingians," Magruder continued with a feral grin when Chamoun didn't respond, "and we're going to do it if we have to put the fear of sharrh in heaven into 'em."
Chance had promised Michael that he'd "be part of the Sword's tit for tat," whatever that was going to be. Some sort of retribution for the census decree, Magruder had alluded. And while Chance had been talking, it occurred to Michael that both Cardinal Ito and Chance Magruder had used the phrase "hearts and minds" to him that night.
But now it didn't matter. Now he was coming up the water-gate stairs into Boregy House, and he could hear Cas-sie's tinkling laughter as he made the main floor landing.
He couldn't wait to see her. He couldn't wait to tell her about his wonderful previous life . . . not just because Mickey had been a warrior against the sharrh and a hero, but because he, Michael Chamoun, had had a previous life.
There was nothing more wonderful he could share with his new bride than the revelation that he, too, believed in reincarnation. Now they wouldn't have to avoid the topic of religion so carefully, now they could share even more together.
And although Ito had warned him not to tell anyone, not Vega Boregy or any of his ilk, surely that prohibition couldn't extend to Chamoun's wife. . . .
Cassie was in the blue room, a formal parlor, and there were other voices emanating from it. One of the liveried Boregy servants minced up to Michael and took his cloak, damp with the chill mist of imminent winter. So exhilarated
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by his spiritual revelation was Michael Chamoun that he smiled at the retainer, who blinked in surprise.
Normally, the Boregy servants made Chamoun so nervous and guilty that he tried to ignore them. In Nev Hettek, his parents had been barely better off than any of these menials, until the Sword had lifted them out of poverty for reasons of its own. . . .
In the blue room, when the servant opened the door for him with a flourish, announcing him as if he were a stranger because there were non-family members within, was a sight that nearly drained the joy from Chamoun's soul.
Sitting around an inlaid card table were his lovely wife Cassie, all peaches and cream in a low-cut blouse; Rita Nikolaev, the woman whose body called to Chamoun in a way Cassie's never couldЧa woman forbidden by every law of Sword and common sense; and the pale duelist known as Mondragon, traitor, ex-Sword, master spy. t
"What are you doing here?" Chamoun blurted before he could stop himself. And then held his ground. He was a Boregy man, master of this house more than Mondragon. He had a right to know.
Cassie said, "Michael?" and pushed back her chair, a flush rising in her cheeks. "We're having a game of cards, please join us."
Cover the lapse, she would. Decorum was all to these people. Somehow, he found himself sitting at that table, one of his knees brushing Rita Nikolaev's, her dark hair rinsed with something that made it glow red as a beating heart. Somehow he found himself making small talk and picking up his cards and then, finally Cassie asked him, in front of both the guests, "Is something wrong, Michael? You look . . . pale."
"Not as pale as our friend Mondragon," Chamoun snapped. But it was true. Mondragon's handsome head seemed greasy; his skin was waxen; his eyes were red-rimmed.
"Not feeling my best tonight, ChamounЧyou're observant. But then, we knew that."
We. Mondragon and Cassie's father, Vega Boregy, were
thick as thieves; together, they'd compromised Chamoun and tried to use him against Magruder. Chamoun didn't need to be reminded of that. At that instant, Rita Nikolaev shifted and more of her thigh touched Michael Chamoun's than could have, by accident.
So he said, to answer his wife's question and put Mondragon in his place and impress Rita, whose every breath was a wonder and a miracle, even under a high-necked blouse of the sort Chamoun's wife should be wearing, "Nothing's wrong, CassieЧnot wrong at all. I was going to wait until we were alone to tell you, but . , ." He looked to his right, at Rita; then to his left, at Mondragon. Then at his wife again.
"Oh, come on, Michael. We're among friends. Tell us. We've been bored to tears all night, playing this stupid gameЧand losing all our allowance to Thomas." Cassie Boregy's sweet young face turned pouty. "Tell us."
And he was glad to, by then, because he saw the smirk dancing at the comers of Mondragon's lips and he wanted to wipe it away at any cost. "Tatiana Kalugin personally chose me to head a team of four people who'll be preparing the citizens of Merovingen-below to register for the census."
Thomas Mondragon's face went even paler. His eyes, opaque, stared steadily at his hands. Cassie beamed with delight, gave a squeal of joy, and came rushing around the card table to embrace him. Rita Nikolaev said in her throaty voice, "We're coming up in Merovingen society at a rapid rate; your karma must be excellent, m'ser Michael."
"Oh, please, RitaЧMichael's family," Cassie insisted, her arms still around his neck. "We don't need to be so formal."
"But we do need," interjected Mondragon, "to get Rita home before the hour grows later. Tell your father, Cassie, that I'll drop by again. And thank you for a pleasant evening."
There was an interval of coat-getting and leave-taking and all the while Chamoun measured the stiffness in Mondragon's spine with satisfaction. Got the bastard, that time. Scared the snot out of him. Chamoun knew he might pay for this moment of pleasure later, if he were called to Vega's office,
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where the scheming of the house was usually done. But now, it was sweet to see Mondragon so pale, as if he'd taken ill.
If Chamoun found out that Mondragon had put a hand on Rita Nikolaev, he'd be worse than ill. Sword cover or no Sword cover. And then Chamoun remembered that he'd finally been able to warn Magruder of what was afoot in Boregy House, and the glow of well-being that had followed him ever since his lesson at the College suffused him once again.
He was even able to say farewell to Mondragon and Rita as if he meant it. He was bold and brazen; he kissed Rita Nikolaev's hand.
Which irked Cassie, but not for long. Up in their aqua and peach bedroom, with its high bed and its deep quilts, he waited until she was brushing her hair before he began casually, "Cassie, you'll never guess who 1 was in a previous life