"David Gemmell - Echoes of the Great Song" - читать интересную книгу автора (Gemmel David)

to here tomorrow. By dusk maybe.' 'And you can smell all this?' put in one of the Vagars. 'A good nose I have,'
said Touchstone with a wink, stroking his long curved nose. He grinned at the man. 'You see. Tomorrow. Come
dusk.'
Talaban raised his arm to signal the ship, and immediately the silver longboat began to glide backwards out
into the bay. Touchstone pulled the tiller arm and the craft swung towards the waiting ship. Talaban's gaze
focused on the black vessel, with its high prow, and long, raking lines. The newly added masts were an
abomination, but sadly necessary in these days of fading power. Fifty years ago there were seventy or more
warships, sailing the oceans, mapping new lands, keeping the peace of the Avatar Prime. Now there was one,
Serpent Seven, its power chest almost empty, its beauty scarred by the clumsy wooden masts hammered into its
deck. Where once it had cleaved through the sea like a giant dolphin, now it laboured like a sick whale, needing
to keep close to the shoreline, wary of every wave that threatened to capsize it.
The silver boat drew alongside the huge vessel. Ropes were lowered. Touchstone tied two of them to the
prow and stern. Talaban climbed the ladder to the central deck, responded to the salutes of three black-clad
Vagar sailors, then strode on towards his cabin.
Once inside he doffed his cloak, unbuckled his sword belt and stood before the brazier of burning coal
beneath the stern windows. Holding his hands to the heat he shivered with pleasure. Though he could tolerate it
better than most men Talaban hated the cold. The quarter window was open, allowing fresh air into the cabin,
and helping alleviate the stink of coal. Talaban gazed longingly at the crystal globes set into the wall. Once these
had supplied either heat or light - indeed both if required - for the captain's cabin, but there was so little power
left in the chest that Talaban did not dare activate them. Moving to his desk of polished oak he sat down,
enjoying the luxury of the deep, padded chair.
Closing his eyes he thought again of the palace of the Avatar Prime, the burning sun, and the scent of nearby
vineyards. Talaban had been happy there for a while, content to work on the maps he had so carefully charted the
year before. It was the year that Questor Anu had been stripped of his rank. Talaban had been sent to question
him, to decide if he posed a threat to the State.
The inquisition had taken place in Anu's home on the outskirts of the city. Anu, like all Avatars, eternally
youthful, had welcomed him warmly, and they had sat in his garden in the company of a slack-jawed half-wit,
who drooled and stared vacantly into space. The half-wit was an Avatar but, because of his condition, was not
allowed blue hair or any other badge of rank. Talaban found his presence off-putting. It was made more
disturbing by the contrast with Anu. He was a slender man of medium height, his features regular, his expression
friendly. Yet there was about him an almost tangible radiance, a sense of unworldliness that was both compelling
and unsettling. It was the kind of feeling Talaban experienced when climbing a mountain and looking out over
the landscape of the world, a sense of awe and deep humility.
Anu smiled at Talaban's discomfiture. 'Why does he disturb you so?' he asked.
Talaban returned the smile, and decided upon a course of honesty. 'To be frank, sir, it is because I am here to
decide your sanity. It seems curious to be doing so while in the presence of an idiot.'
'An interesting point for debate, Talaban. What is it that makes a man an idiot? Togen cannot dress himself,
and if left to his own devices would probably starve to death. He does not understand politics, and if I sent him
to market he would become lost before he reached the first shop. And yet, tell me, Talaban, upon which science
is our civilization built?'
'Mathematics,' answered the officer.
'Indeed so. Now here is a riddle for you: Tell me the square root of 4,879,625?'
Before Talaban could even think of a method to supply the answer the half-wit spoke. He did not look up or
change his expression. 'Two thousand two hundred and eight point nine eight seven three two four five four five.'
Anu clapped his hands. 'And the square root of that, Togen?'
Again the half-wit spoke instantly. 'Forty-point six nine nine eight.'
'How does he do that?' asked Talaban.
'I have no idea. But he has proved immensely useful to me these last six years. So, is he an idiot or a genius,
Talaban?'
'Apparently he is both. So let us put the question of his sanity aside and examine yours.'