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

able to do something as simple as basic mathematics, but he suddenly appeared to figure out just
precisely when it must have been that the conception occurred. He turned back to her, his hand still on
the door handle, and he said, "The knights. The knights did this."
 She said nothing, but there must have been something in her eyes--a fleeting look--that convinced him
of the accuracy of his surmise.

"A child borne of rape." Amazingly, even the seemingly unflappable Stroker appeared daunted by
that. "An ill-omened thing. You would have been wise to try and stop it from blossoming in your belly the
moment you realized it." Such a thing would easily have been possible, and they both knew it. There
were certain mixtures of herbs that, when consumed, could flush an unborn child from its resting place
with alacrity, at least in the early stages.

"It's not an ill omen," she said sharply.

"It is. A child of violence only begets violence, and brings disaster to whatever it touches."

"I saw my own omen," she informed him, and for the first time, she spoke of the phoenix bird.

He stared at her skeptically, and when she finally told the tale, he said, "Even assuming it's true...of
what interest is that? Of what moment?"

"It was a sign to me," she said firmly. "A sign of birth and rebirth. A sign of great things that were
going to happen to me as a result of a birth. I asked a soothsayer about it," which was a flat-out lie, but
she wanted to bolster her credibility.

"A soothsayer," he said with a snort. "A soothsayer will say whatever sooth you desire to hear if the
money's right." But he didn't appear to want to press the point after that, settling for walking out with a
final look of cold disdain, the loud banging of the door intended to signal his annoyance and opinion of
the entire matter.

The thing was, even though she was lying about the soothsayer, my mother spoke the truth about her
beliefs. She was of the firm conviction that her pregnancy was part of some grand plan. That her having
witnessed the birth of the phoenix was indeed an omen, and that I was the centerpiece, the payoff, of that
omen. In a sick sort of way, it's almost amusing.

My mother's carnal activities were curtailed after that. I was an active sort, you see, and since I had
stumbled upon my motor skills, I became rather adept at letting my presence be known at inopportune
times. Plus, several weeks after that, it became a moot point as my mother's belly began to swell in a
distinctive manner, so much so that even a blind man would have seen the truth of things. So my mother
restricted her activities to serving drinks and waiting for me to make my arrival upon the scene.

In a perverse sort of way, a family almost formed around her. There was another serving wench,
named Astel, and she was a kindhearted young thing. Surprisingly bright for a mere server, Astel was
younger than Madelyne, and yet seemed to take her under her wing. Astel had thick curly blond hair and
a musical laugh, which I would have cause to hear later on in my life any number of times. She also had
wide hips and an ample bosom, but when she ran she did it so lightly that it seemed she was made of
mist. She heard of my mother's tale about the phoenix, and seemed entranced by it. She fancied herself a
diviner of mythic matters, and told my mother that as far as she was concerned, Madelyne's reading of
the situation was absolutely on target. This excited Astel somewhat, for she said she had never been in
the presence of future greatness, and appreciated the opportunity that fate had afforded her.