"Esther M. Friesner - Hallowmass" - читать интересную книгу автора (Friesner Esther M)

cathedral site, diverting the workmen with japes and stories, discussing
problems in design with the master architect that had not been problems until he
suggested otherwise. Mostly he knew the tavern.

But at last there came a morning when Benedict shyly asked his father to see
what it was that lay hidden beneath the damp rag on the worktable in the shed.
Master Giles removed the clay-stained cloth with the reverence a lover might
accord the last veil between himself and the enjoyment of his lady's favors.

And then he stood as one taken by the immanence of angels.
Words flew through the town streets, darting from house to house like a flight
of swallows. Rumor soared and dipped beneath a hundred roofs, coming at last to
nest in the bishop's palace: The last saint was more than stone, more than
flesh. The last saint of Master Giles's carving was the beauty of a blessed soul
made visible.

Oh, how many came to see her, this incredible apparition! Hard Margaret stood
ward at the gates of the house and used her broom to shoo away all comers save
the highest as if they had been poultry. The bishop's grace she admitted, of
course, though that churchman still had the tendency to steal shuddersome
sideways looks at her in a way that got beneath her skin and itched.

"Magnificent!" the bishop breathed when Master Giles swept aside the cloth he'd
used to shroud the last saint from prying eyes. "Is it Magdalen you've chosen to
bless our final vacancy?"

"My apprentice chose her," Master Giles replied, growing fat with pride in his
son's accomplishment and the bishop's obvious approval. But had that worthy of
the church been paying any sort of heed, he might have heard that Master Giles
did not truly answer his inquiry as to the identity of this wonder caught in
stone.

And so the bishop's servants came to carry off the last of the twelve statues
and set her in her place along with all the rest, above the south porch of the
cathedral. With her came the news that the holy place might now be consecrated,
and all the town rejoiced with preparations for the great day.

Master Giles sat with his son in the now-empty shed. "The bishop is much taken
with your work, Benedict," he said. A bowl of blushing grapes and shiny apples
sat on the table between them, the first fruits of the coming harvest. "He would
have you move into his palace and work for him."

"How shall I do that, Father?" Benedict asked, his fingers wandering over the
boards until they encountered a plump grape and popped it into his mouth. "I can
only work the clay."

"There are plenty of men who can copy out in stone what others make in clay,"
Master Giles replied. "There are precious few who can copy out in clay what
exists only in visions. My lord bishop knows talent and has the power to shape
the world around you into a most comfortable place indeed, if you will simply