"Peter David - Sir Apropos 01 - Sir Apropos Of Nothing" - читать интересную книгу автора (David Peter)

I threw myself across the floor, skidding on my stomach, and grabbed the fallen pigsticker. If I could
keep the bastard at sword-point, I might just be able to reason with him somehow. I angled the sword
upward, and was about to issue a warning to him to stay right where he was. I then realized just how
profound an effect the crystal ball had had upon Granite, for the knight chose that moment to fall forward
like a great tree.

Naturally he fell on the sword.

Rosalie emitted a shriek, as her husband's fine, teeth-bladed weapon suddenly appeared protruding
from his back. Granite, for his own part, hadn't said anything especially useful in the past few minutes,
and his record didn't change. He gave off a confused-sounding grunt. He slid down the length of his blade
without having any true awareness that he had just managed to kill himself. There seemed to be a sort of
blubbery surprise in his face. Having slightly broken his fall by catching himself on his elbows, he saw that
I was clutching the sword's hilt. He batted me away, as if annoyed that I was handling his beloved
weapon. He clutched the hilt himself then, pulled slightly, and it was at that point that he truly understood,
I think, that his entire upper torso was serving as the blade's new scabbard. He managed to spit out a
profanity, which is not the most noble of last words, but probably among the more common, and then he
slumped over, unmoving.

There was now a repeated thud against the chamber door. Several of the knights were obviously
putting their shoulders into it in an organized fashion.

"This is not going to look good," I observed. Considering the circumstances, I sounded remarkably
sanguine. The truth was that I was terrified, and it was all I could do not to vomit.

Rosalie made small whimpering noises, not appearing to be of much help. I was going to have to do
the thinking for both of us. Unfortunately, my brain somewhat locked up at that moment, but I forced it to
unfreeze as I whispered sharply, "My tunic! Quick!" Rosalie grabbed my fallen clothing and tossed it to
me. I threw it on so that I would have the appearance, at least, of propriety.

"Hide! Hide!" she urged.

"No time! Just yell what I'm yelling, and do it as loudly as you can!"

"But they'll hear you!"

"That's the point!" And without further explanation, I began bellowing, "Don't do it, milord! You
have so much to live for!" Bless the old fool, he'd had the grace to die with his cold, dead fingers
wrapped firmly around the hilt. All the more convincing for my needs as I wrapped my own fingers
around his dead ones (a nauseating sensation, that) and kept calling out, "Please don't! Don't do it!
They're not worth it! We need you! This isn't the way!"

Rosalie appeared clueless as to what I was about, but she went along with it. At first she spoke with
clear hesitation and uncertainty, but within moments she yowled as well, "No, my darling! Don't do it!
Listen to Apropos! Don't do it!" Obviously she wasn't quite clear on what it was he wasn't supposed to
do, but that didn't stop her from participating with considerable gusto.

At that point, the door cracked open, the bolt shooting across the room and ricocheting off the far
wall, and the knights fairly stumbled over each other to get into the room. Sir Coreolis of the Middle