"Dave Duncan - Shadow" - читать интересную книгу автора (Duncan Dave)

Two quarterings! He was a molehill among mountains. His left side was
just
passable, four quarterings. His mother had once been a lady-in-waiting to the
queen herself, qualified by that breeding, but on the right, his father's
side,
there were only two. Sald Harl was privately convinced that this whole
horrible
experience must be the result of some error by a palace scribe who had
somehow
put the wrong name on the writ. Even Lady Harl had admitted that she had
never
heard of a man with only two quarterings being presented at a formal court
function.
He was apparently the youngest man summoned to the dubbings, which could
be
a source of pride if the summons were not an error. He was also the shortest,
which was equally gratifying. But he was by far the most lowly.
Mirrors did not normally bother him. He was young, slim, and fit--and
short.
But what he could see in this mirror was going to create a scandal if it were
allowed into the Great Courtyard. He had not even thought to bring a comb.
The valet beside him had a portable table littered with all sorts of
equipment, including at least three combs. Sald braced himself to address a
senior peer, and at that moment the duke decided that he was perfect. He
turned
from the mirror in Sald's direction, and Sald bowed.
It was as if he were not there. The noble eyes passed right through him
as
their owner continued his turn and then moved off toward the center of the
room.
The mirror showed Sald's face turning even more furiously red than before.
The valet was an elderly, wasted, and elongated man, but he had noticed.
Watery old eyes gleaming with amusement, he produced a damp cloth and
silently
wiped the goggle marks from Sald's face; Sald had not seen those. Then he
splashed some liquid into his hands and applied it to Sald's hair, briskly
and
efficiently.
A door opened, and the noisy hubbub died a lingering death. Out of the
corner of his eye Sald saw that Feather King of Arms had entered with
followers.
God! They were ready, then. The valet started doing hasty things with a
comb--evidently this ramshackle young trooper was an interesting challenge
for
him.
And all this for what? Ever since the courier had burst in on the Harls'
dinner, Sald had wrestled with that problem, and he kept coming back to the
same
answer: He was about to be named equerry to some snot-nosed juvenile
aristocrat,