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

from crotch to sternum. But he froze, his mustache bristling as if acquiring a life all its own. I thought for a
moment that it was going to rip itself off his lip and come at me. "Honor?" he growled. "You have my
wife...and speak to me of your honor?"

"Your honor, milord, not mine...I...I am nothing." I spoke as quickly as I could. "I am nothing, no
one...but that, you see...that's the point..."

"What is?" The sword, which had a far more formidable point than any points in my repertoire, hadn't
moved from its rather threatening position above me.

"Well, milord, obviously...when my corpse turns up, and you, as a man of honor, why, you'll have to
own up to your slaying of me...and explain why..."

"I have no intention of hiding it," he snarled. "Not a man in the court will deny my right as a husband!"

"No question." I felt the longer I kept it going, the more chance I had of talking him out of what was
clearly his intended course. "But look at the slaughter situation."

"The...what?" The snarl had slightly vanished; he seemed a bit bemused.

"Look at you...full in your leathers, your sword in hand, rippling with power...and here I am,
half-naked, on my back, unarmed...well, honestly!" I continued, as if scolding a recalcitrant child. I
couldn't believe the tone of voice I was adopting. One would have thought that, in some fashion, I
possessed the upper hand. "And a lowly, untitled squire with no land or privilege at that. Where is the
challenge in skewering me? Where is the redemption of honor? A stain on your status as husband and
man requires something more than mere butchery."

I would have felt just a bit better if the sword had wavered by so much as a centimeter. It did not. But
neither did it come slamming down. "What," he asked, "did you have in mind?"

"A duel," I said quickly, not believing that I had managed to get it that far. "Tomorrow...you and me,
facing off against one another in the proper manner. Oh, the outcome is foregone, I assure you. I'm but a
squire, and lame of leg at that. You're...well...you're you..."

"That is very true," he said thoughtfully.

"Certainly you'll massacre me. But if we do it in the manner that I suggest, no one can look at you
askance and say, 'So...you carved a helpless knave. Where is the challenge in that?'" I paused and then
added boldly, "I'm right, milord. You know I am. A husband's honor restored. A philanderer put to rights
in a way that no one can question. It is the thing to do."

I had him then. I knew that I did. I glanced at Rosalie, praying that she would keep her mouth shut
and say nothing to spoil the moment. Thank the gods, her lips were tightly sealed.

In point of fact, I had no intention of battling Granite on the field of honor. The man could break a
griffin in half. I wouldn't have had a chance against him; he would have driven my head so far down into
my body that I would have been able to lace my boots with my teeth. Fighting him man to man would be
suicide.
 I intended to use the night between now and tomorrow to bundle together everything that I owned in
the world--which was, admittedly, not much. Then, under cover of darkness, I would slip away. There