"Eric Flint - 1634 - The Galileo Affair" - читать интересную книгу автора (Flint Eric)

Chapter 1
The palace was over-heated, Mazarini thought. That came of Cardinal Richelieu being a man who had
more than his share of ailments, despite being only in middle age. Richelieu felt the cold as an old man
did. He had his servants build fires if there was even the slightest chill in the airтАФand early spring in Paris
was considerably more than slightly chilly. Fortunately, the cardinal was a polite man. The wait in the
anteroom was brief enough that Mazarini was able to fight off drowsiness.

Now Mazarini was in the presence of Richelieu himself, trying to achieveтАФin spite of the heatтАФthat
chilly sharpness a diplomat needed. The cardinal's hard face, now that the pleasantries had been dealt
with, indicated that the real negotiation was about to begin.

After only four weeks in Paris, at that; Richelieu must, Mazarini thought, have something in mind. The
protocol of his nunciature had been brief. Mazarini had arrived from Rome with a retinue provided by
Cardinal Barberini and augmented it from the permanent nunciature in Paris. His American companion,
Harry Lefferts, had tried to pretend that he saw the likes of the procession through Paris every day back
in Grantville, but Mazarini could see him frankly staring at everything. Pressed afterward, Harry had
admitted that the twentieth century had not wanted for spectacle, but that it never came to country towns
like Grantville. As it was, Harry had gotten only these few short weeks of mayhem, debauchery and
drunkenness in Paris before a message that had missed him narrowly in Rome had called him home to
Grantville; he was due to leave in the morning.

As much as he would miss Harry, Mazarini would be relieved to see him go. The flamboyant young
American made friends everywhere he went. Unfortunately, the friends were concentrated in two classes
of people:

Flamboyant Italian and French young men, who found the exciting and exotic American something of a
role modelтАФto the perhaps everlasting ruin of proper attire for proper young men. (Their habits had
already included brawling and drunkenness, so those sins could hardly be laid at Harry's feet.)
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Shortly after they'd arrived in Rome a few months earlier, Harry had gotten a formal suit done to his own
specifications by a tailor who'd done it purely for the chance to take Harry's old rented tux apart to see
how to make the style of trousers his customers were demanding. This time around, Harry had reasoned,
men's formal wear would be done right. Pockets ranked high in Harry's scheme to anticipate the mistakes
of fashion. The gentleman of this future would not be stuck for somewhere to put a wallet, cigarettes, a
few items for personal defense and his companion's spare lipstick. Jackets were replaced with tailcoats,
as Harry had seen enough performances by someone called Lee Van Cleef to appreciate the practicality
of the style for a man who wanted to wear a gun-belt. The swordsmen about town in Rome were glad of
it, too.

The city's authorities were not.

The second category of people who made friends with Harry almost instantaneously were Italian and
French young women. Alas. That characteristic had produced even more in the way of excitement than