"04 - Emperor and Clown 1.0" - читать интересную книгу автора (Duncan Dave)

"If he'th here behaving himthelf, then he'th not looting thomewhere elsh."
There was a long, shocked silence, then the consul bowed. "As your Majesty
commands." The senators were glaring.
"When he leavth, tell the Navy," Grandfather said wearily.
Smiles flashed among ministers and secretaries and heralds. Ripples of mirth
rolled through senatorial ranks. The jotnar scowled angrily. Ythbane even put on
his smile face, briefly-which wasn't a smile like anyone else's.
Shandie heard a sort of groan from Grandfather and desperately wanted to turn
and look, but he daren't, and besides, he was suddenly feeling awfully sick in
his stomach. There was a funny ringing in his head, too.
"Safe conduct for Thane Kalkor and how many men, Ambassador?" the consul
inquired with icy politeness.
"Forty-five jotnar and one goblin."
Ythbane had already turned to give orders, but at that he spun back to Krushjor.
"Goblin?" Grandfather was snoring again. The sunlight was fading.
"A goblin," the ambassador said, "male, apparently."
"What's he doing with a goblin?"
"No idea. Perhaps he looted him from somewhere? You ask-I won't! But his letter
was very insistent that he will be bringing a goblin with him to Hub."
Suddenly the ringing in Shandie's ears swelled to a roar. The step swayed
beneath him. He staggered and heard himself cry out.
As he pitched forward, the last thing he saw was Ythbane's dark eyes watching
him.

2
Far, far to the east, evening drew near to Arakkaran. Yet white sails still
sprinkled the great blue bay, and the bazaars were thonged. Palms danced in the
warm, and salty winds-winds that wafted odors of dung and ordure in through
windows and scents of musk and spices and gardenias along foul alleys. All day,
as every day, by ship and camel, mule and wagon, the wealth of the land had
flowed into the shining city.
Jotunn sailors had toiled in the docks, while elsewhere a scattering of other
folk had plied their trades: impish traders, dwarvish craftsmen, elvish artists,
mermaid courtesans, and gnomish cleaners; but these outsiders were very few amid
the teeming natives. Tall and ruddy, swathed mostly in flowing robes, the djinns
had argued and gossiped as always in their harsh Zarkian dialect; they had
bargained and quarreled, laughed and loved like any other people. And if they
had also lied and cheated a little more than most-well; anyone who didn't know
the rules must be a stranger, so why worry?
At the top of the city stood the palace of the sultan, a place of legendary
beauty and blood-chilling reputation; and there, upon a shaded balcony, Princess
Kadolan of Krasnegar was quietly going insane.
Almost two days now had passed since her niece had married the sultan, and
Kadolan had heard nothing since. Inosolan might as well have vanished from the
world. Of course a newly married couple could be expected to treasure their
privacy, but this total silence was ominous and unsettling. Inosolan would never
treat her aunt this way by choice.
Kadolan was a prisoner in all but name. Her questions went unanswered, the doors
were locked and guarded. She was attended by taciturn strangers. She would never
have claimed to have friends in Arakkaran, but she did have many acquaintances