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

She was the midwife the night that I was born.

When Madelyne went into labor, it was not a quiet affair. Oh, she described herself as being brave
and silent, but that wasn't how Astel described it to me in later years. In point of fact, Madelyne howled
like a tornado. Her caterwauling was so loud that it supremely disturbed the customers. So Stroker
exiled her to the stable for the duration of the labor in order to spare the delicate sensibilities of his usual
crowd of drunkards, layabouts, and petty criminals.

Considering the set of lungs Madelyne possessed, they likely would have heard her from the damned
moon, if not for the fact that a hellacious storm showed its face that night. Astel told me that it was one of
the most terrifying nights of her life, and I do not doubt it. Horses belonging to various patrons reared up
in their stalls, whinnying fearfully, as Madelyne lay sprawled on a bed of straw and huffed and puffed
away.

The calm that she had displayed all during the pregnancy, the quiet certainty that she was fulfilling
some magnificent part of a greater plan, all evaporated during that stressful night. She bellowed
profanities, she cried out for mercy, she cursed the knights who had done this to her, she cursed my
name and she didn't even know what my name was. She just cursed it in spirit.

During all that, the dedicated Astel stayed by her side. Madelyne clutched Astel's hand so tightly that
she nearly broke her fingers, but that didn't stop Astel from remaining right where she was, determined to
help Madelyne see it through. She wiped the sweat from her brow, gave her small drops of liquid, spoke
gentle words of support and endearment even though there were times that she was convinced Madelyne
didn't hear a word.

Madelyne thrashed and screeched some more, and the horses were going mad with fear. It was a
damned good thing they were tied to their place, otherwise they might have stampeded and my existence
on this sphere would have been abruptly truncated as my newborn form was ground to pulp beneath
panicky horses' hooves. Thunder smashed overhead, God apparently desiring to make a personal
statement about the agonizing birth process that he had chosen to inflict upon humanity. Sort of like
affixing one's signature to a particularly grisly masterpiece.

With one final, hair-raising howl that she seemed to be channeling from damned souls confined to the
lowest recesses of hell, Madelyne's muscles convulsed and I was spat out of her nether regions into
Astel's waiting arms.

It was not an auspicious debut.

Apparently not satisfied having exiled a woman in need to a stable filled with the pungent smell of
sweaty animals and their droppings, Stroker felt the need--moments after my birth--to see for himself
why something as simple as a woman trying to force something the size of a grapefruit through a bodily
orifice the size of a grape should be causing such a hullabaloo. The door to the stable banged open,
thunder cracking to accentuate the nominal drama of his arrival, and he stared at the scene in front of him.

My mother was gasping, covered with sweat, still not having quite recovered her senses. Astel was
cradling me in her arms and cooing softly. She looked up at Stroker and, apparently expecting him to
share in the joy of the moment, said, "It's a boy."

"Good. He can pull his weight around here--" Stroker started to say, and then he caught sight of me. "