"Phyllis Eisenstein - Elementals 02 - The Crystal Palace" - читать интересную книгу автора (Eisenstein Phyllis)

In the kitchen, a creature made of cloth, with trews for legs and gloves for hands, served Cray his meal.
As he tore into the fowl, Delivev seated herself on the edge of the table. She said, тАЬDid you find what you
were looking for?тАЭ

He shook his head. тАЬJust ordinary greenery. Not a single plant with gold in its structure.тАЭ

She pursed her lips a moment. тАЬPerhaps ... the deposits you located were too small? Or not close
enough to the surface?тАЭ

тАЬI wish that were true.тАЭ

тАЬWell ... тАЭ She lifted her shoulders in a slight shrug. тАЬThen youтАЩve created something new in the world.тАЭ

He sighed. тАЬI would rather have found a natural model to give me some guidance. Still, I think I
understand whatтАЩs wrong now. I always assumed that at worst gold would be an innocuous addition.
Now I think that the gold itself is stunting my poor treeтАЩs growth.тАЭ

Delivev stroked a stray lock back from his forehead. тАЬIt isnтАЩt so very stunted.тАЭ

тАЬI wanted it to be taller.тАЭ

тАЬItтАЩs tall enough. I wouldnтАЩt care for it to shade too much of the garden.тАЭ

He smiled up at her, a wry smile. тАЬMother, you are too satisfied with things as they are. You have no
ambition.тАЭ
She laughed. тАЬMy ambitions have all been fulfilled.тАЭ Playfully, she tweaked a tuft of his close-cropped
beard. тАЬAs you well know.тАЭ

Cray finished the last of the fowl, then wiped his hands on the cloth servantтАЩs empty sleeve. тАЬCome,тАЭ he
said, pushing away from the table, тАЬnow that IтАЩve a full belly and can think clearly again, letтАЩs see how my
little beauty is doing today.тАЭ

The tree grew in a corner of the garden. It was not a tree whose identity was easy to discern; rather, it
was a composite of many different kinds of trees, fused together while still in seed by the power of
CrayтАЩs sorcery. It was not tall or many-boughed or densely leafed, yet it would have stood out in any
forest. It fed, as all trees did, on the nourishment of the soil, but to that soil Cray had added ensorcelled
gold, which the tree had taken into itself. And so its bark was shot with flecks that sparkled in the
sunshine; its leaves, whose upper surfaces were glossy green and broad as a sycamoreтАЩs, shone a rich,
translucent red when held up to light, with veins like golden wire; and its flowers resembled daffodils, but
grown huge, the petals deli-cately edged with gilt.

The leaves rustled softly as Cray pulled one trumpet-shaped blossom close to his face and breathed of
its perfume. Compared to the other flowers of the garden, the scent was faint, but he found it sweet. For
him, it was the best part of the tree.

He had learned the sorcery of woven things from his mother, learned of spiders and caterpillars, of
nesting birds, of twining snakes, of thread and cloth. And then he had moved beyond that knowledge, to
per-ceive the structure of living things, to recognize that they, too, were patterned, but on some level
deeper than the surface, deeper than the human eye could see. Life itself was woven of a multitude of
twisting strands, of interlocking pieces, as surely as a tapestry, as surely as a suit of chain mail. Feeling