"David Drake - The General 2 - The Hammer" - читать интересную книгу автора (Drake David)

Raj made himself meet his friend's eyes. "Thom, there's one last thing. AboutЧ"
"Des, yes. Center told me." Thom met the gaze. "He was my brother; he was also an idiot. Letting himself be sucked into that scheme to overthrow Barholm was suicide, Raj. He ran onto your sword."
Actually I burned him alive, Raj thought, swallowing and remembering the sound and the smell from the room below. Him and about a hundred others. Most of them had deserved it, although not the haplesstroopers who'd gotten caught up in the coup attempt. Des Poplanich had been no more guilty, so naive he didn't even know he was a puppet. And Spirit knew Barholm had done enough to deserve enemies . . . .
"That'll leave Ehwardo as the head of the family Ч since I'm effectively dead down here," Thom went on; that was his first cousin, and the only adult male Poplanich left. "Raj . . . look out for him if you can?"
"I'll try. He's never shown any interest in politics, or anything but commanding the House battalion, anyway. I've got some capital with the Chair . . . I will try." He drew himself up and saluted, fist to brow. "Goodbye, Thom. I'll be back, if I can."
Even as he turned, Thom Poplanich was freezing into immobility, a statue in the perfect mirrored sphere, nothing alive but his mind.
***
"Great Spirit, Raj, the War Council meeting is starting in five minutes; where have youЧ" Suzette halted, forced a smile.
Her eyes flicked over the dirt and ancient dust on her husband's clothes.
In the tunnels, she knew with a chill. Raj had never told her exactly how Thom Poplanich had disappeared down there with his oldest friend . . . which meant he had told nobody.
Barholm thinks Raj shot him in the back and left the body, she knew. Which shows how much our esteemed Governor knows about my husband.
Suzette would have done that Ч Thom had been getting too dangerous to know, with the succession uncertain and so many of the old nobility still loyal to the House of PoplanichЧbut her family had been City dwellers, court nobles until they lost their lands a generation ago. The Whitehall estates were secure and far enough from East Residence to afford luxuries like honor.
"Well, no matter," she said brightly. "Come on, you useless girls, attend to the master! You don't have time for a real change, darling, butdo get that rag off!"
"They'll have to wait for me, then Ч or more likely they won't," Raj said harshly; the new lines graven from either side of his nose to the corners of his mouth deepened. Then he forced relaxation and smiled at her. "I've had other things on my mind," he said more gently.
The maids descended on him in a twittering horde of perfume and rustling linen and soft hands; there were a lot more of them, now that he had bought the rights to the old House Poplanich section of the Palace. Four courtyards, a reception hall, a dining room with enough seating for a forty-guest banquet, servants' quarters . . . and this pleasant terrace with glass-door walls overlooking the gardens. There was a view through tall cypress trees, down across velvety lawns and marble statuary Ч mostly religious, spaceships and terminals Ч fountains, topiary and winding paths of colored gravel. The air was cool and fresh from last night's late spring rain, clearer than usual in this smoky city; a tumbled majesty of red-tiled roofs and low square towers spread down to the great warehouses and the docks to the south, a distant surf-roar of noise from the streets.
"Just the jacket," he grunted. Two of the maids knelt and did their best with damp cloths on his boots; others stripped off his coat, brought the walking-out uniform tunic with its epaulets, buckled him into it, fastened the belt and shoulder-strap with the dress saber and ivory-handled revolver, dropped the sash with its orders and decorations over his head, combed his hair, handed him the dress gloves and gilded plumed helmetЧboth of those were seldom worn but it was de rigueur to carry them at Court functions . . . .
"At least I don't have to wear those damned tights and codpiece," he grumbled. Full-dress uniform was not required for business meetings. Pity poor Barholm, he thought ironically. The Governor had to wear twenty pounds of gold embroidery every time he got out of bed. Of course, he probably enjoys it Ч he spent enough time scheming to get it.
"Oh, I think they bring out your . . . assets quite well, my sweet," Suzette said, sinking into her chair and considering him with her chin on one fist
Raj gave an unwilling snort of laughter, meeting the tilted green mockery of his wife's eyes. His heart gave a little lurch as he watched her, even then; Suzette Emmenalle Forstin Hogor Wenqui Whitehall had that effect on most men. Small, scarcely up to his shoulder, greyhound-slim and graceful, breeding showing like light through fine porcelain. And alive, so alive . . .
"Will you take it?" she asked quietly.
"Probably. Spirit of Man knows nobody else with any experience wants the Expeditionary Force. This is a formality, really . . . unless I screw up."
"Can you do it?"
Raj slapped his gloves into the palm of one hand. "I think so."One more thing I love about you. You never give me an optimistic lie, and you think, my angel.
"A lot depends . . . We don't know enough about the Squadron. The Ministry of Barbarians hasn't been expending enough effort in that direction. Orbit of Righteousness! We've had little enough contact with them for a couple of generations now. At least the Governor has picked the right man for the civil side."
Suzette's brows arched a question.
"Just heard," he said. Was that Center? Sometimes I can't tell, these days. "Mihwel Berg; he's from Cyudad Gut, his family trades heavily all through the central Midworld Sea, he's got friends and relatives outside the CivilGovernment area too. He'll be invaluable . . . if he cooperates."
She came over to him, put her hands on his shoulders and stood tiptoe; he bent to take the kiss. Suddenly she gripped him fiercely.
"Youcan do it," she said, whispering in his ear. "You Ч sometimes I think the rumors are true, you know, and the Spirithas touched you."
He straightened, giving her a crooked grin and a salute.
***
MessaSuzette Whitehall stood as he left, blinking in thought and tapping her thumb against her chin.
"Leave me," she said to the maids. "Not you, Ndella," she added to a tall gawky Zanj woman as the others made their curtsy and rustled out. When they were alone: "Fetch kave, and get me Abdullah and . . . hmmm, Fatima. Bring them yourself. Be discreet."
"Messa."
The black left with silent efficiency. Suzette had been raised in a great household of East Residence, and she had her own ideas on how to manage here in the Palace. Raj would have been glad to find their servants from Hillchapel, the Whitehall family estate, but Descotters were too awkward in the city and free servants too easily corrupted, in her opinion. Like most, she bought her household staff, but unlike most she gave it personal attention. Only those from outside the Civil Government, with neither friends nor family here, only the strong, healthy, and intelligent, and only after careful personal examination. She saw to their training, and education in some cases. Each was paid a small wage, with promise of eventual manumission and enough for a dowry or a shop or a farm. The only punishment was the threat of sale.
Most people underestimated slaves, even more thanmen underestimated women. And they talked in front of their servants as if they were deaf, too.
Ndella entered bearing a tray. A man in nondescript but respectable clothing followed her, pewter-buckled shoes and dull-gold pants, black coat and plain linen cravat. A plumply pretty young woman carrying a year-old child followed him; she was dressed in the pleated skirt, embroidered jacket and lace mantilla of a respectable city matron, perhaps a bureaucrat or artisan's wife, but her looks were pure Arab. The child was darker, and even barely walking had something of the heavy-boned solidity of a Descotter.
"Peace be with you," Suzette said in fluent Arabic, a tongue they all had in common, and a little safer than Sponglish.
"And upon you, peace," they replied. Ndella served the others and then sank back on her heels. The tantalizing odor of fresh-brewed kave tinged the flower and incense scents of the room; bees murmured in the lilac bushes outside the window.
"Abdullah," she said.
"Saaidya," the Druze replied, rising quickly to check outside the window and back through the door before returning to the table. He had been born Abdullah al'-Azziz; technically, he would have been Abdullah cor Wenqui Ч freedman of the Wenqui family Ч if the records of that transaction had been in the register. "I have prepared a preliminary report on Messer Berg; his home, connections, wealth, and opinions."
The little Druze pulled a small role of paper from one sleeve of his jacket and handed it to her.
"My summation: Messer Berg is indeed the most promising man for the post. However, he was appointed primarily because he is in disfavor with Chancellor Tzetzas; a little matter of percentages from intervening fees in a tax-farming bid. He is furthermore under suspicion from the Anti-Viral Cleansers" Ч the investigative arm of the Church Ч "because relatives of his, living in Brigade territory, have converted to the cult of Spirit of Man of This Earth. All in all, this is a hardship posting for him, a punishment. He may recoup his position either by brilliant success Ч he probably considers this unlikely, sharing the general opinion of the military probabilities Ч or by ruining Messer Whitehall, thus gaining the favor of Tzetzas."
She nodded. It was quite possible hecould somehow contrive the expedition's ruin; and escape blame for it, too.
"Thank you, Abdullah," she said sincerely, tucking the sheaf of notes into her own sleeve. He bowed, smiling. Pleasure at her gratitude, and at the excitement of the task.
"Ndella," she continued.
The Zanj bobbed her head. Her flat black face was exotic to East Residence eyes, and Suzette had added gold snake-coils for her arms and neck to heighten the effect. People in the Civil Government rarely encountered Zanj, and knew them mostly through highly biased accounts from the Colony. The Colonists were commercial rivals of the southern continent's city-states, there were frequent military clashes Ч full-fledged war quite recently, which was how Ndella had ended up on a Sandoral auction-block Ч and the orthodox Sunni Muslims of the Colony detested the Reformed Baha'i heresy the Zanj practiced. To hear the Colonists talk, all Zanj were depraved savages who ate their young and mated with anything, carnosauroids included.
So nobody in East Residence would be likely to suspect that Ndella, for example, was literate in four languages . . . .
"Messa Whitehall, I have now access to Messer Berg's Palace household; a few matters of healing, and, ah" Ч she coughed discreetly Ч "I have become very good friends with one of the household servants, an undercook." Ndella liked girls, usually a matter of indifference but here rather useful. "Lorhetta has been adding thecapoyam to Messer Berg's chili, on the understanding it improves his digestion and temper.
"Add thebeyem ," she went on, briefly showing a small glass vial, "to anything he drinks, and . . . heart failure. Perfectly safe for those not sensitized by thecapoyam. Undetectable."
. . . and nobody would be likely to suspect Ndella was a doctor, either. Women could learn medicine in the Civil Government, although most who did were also Renunciate Sisters, but the Colony was very restrictive. Everyone would assume the Zanj were even more so.