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

Lands was the first one in, with Sir Justus of the High Born directly behind him. Others were crowding in,
and I could even spot my master--my alleged master, in any event--Sir Umbrage trying to get a look.
There was gasping and muttering, and suddenly the words "Make way! Make way!"

They parted like priests in a fart factory as the king stepped through them to examine the situation
personally. At his right elbow, as was not unusual, crouched the court jester, Odclay. They could not
have been a more disparate twosome. The king, for all that I might have held Runcible in contempt, was
nonetheless a regal figure with great bearing and presence. He looked somewhat like a hawk, his entire
face almost pushed forward as if he was in flight and seeking out prey with his beak. His reputation as a
just and fair man, and supernaturally canny opponent, preceded him. Preceded him so much, in fact, that
oftentimes he had to run to keep pace with it. His queen was a gentle, doting, and relatively inoffensive
thing, and had produced for the king his sole heir (heiress, I suppose), the Princess Entipy, whom I had
never met.

Odclay, on the other hand, was bent and misshapen. A few tufts of light brown hair stuck out at odd
angles on his equally misshapen head, and his eyes were mismatched colors...and the colors kept
changing. He was good for capering about and drooling every now and then. He was screamingly
unfunny and therein lay the humor.

Runcible did not speak immediately. That was his way. I was never quite sure whether he did it
deliberately so that he would appear great and wise as people waited for him to utter a few words (as
was the general perception) or whether he was just so clueless that he never knew what the hell to say
and had to strive mightily to manufacture even the most rudimentary of pronouncements.

"What..." he finally asked in slow, measured tones, " happened?"

Rosalie looked panic-stricken. She had been babbling about how Granite should not do it, whatever it
was. But now faced with the question, she had no clue as to how to proceed. Fortunately enough, my
mind was already racing. Near-panic tends to focus me.

Letting out a long sigh, clearly not wanting to be the bearer of bad news, I slumped and only at that
point released the hilt. I made no endeavor to hide the fact that my hands had been on it. Only a guilty
man would feel the need to hide his involvement, and I was anything but guilty. At least, that's what I had
to put across.

"Sir Granitz," I began, using his more formal name rather than his popular nickname, "was devastated
over the outcome of the Pell uprising."

"Go on," the king said slowly.

"Well...his presence here makes it obvious, doesn't it," I continued. "I mean, you, Highness, sent him
on a mission...but yet, he has returned here. He did so because...because he felt that he was not..." I
bowed my head. "...not worthy. Not worthy of the trust that you had put on him."

I paused then, waiting to get some measure of how this was going down. The king considered the
words long and hard.

"Go on."

Clearly the king was not going to be of much help.