"Barbara Hambly - Windrose 1 - The Silent Tower" - читать интересную книгу автора (Hambly Barbara)

of hooves in the Yard and the brisk rattle of what sounded like a gig. He was
surprised that any citizen of Angelshand would come to the Mages' Yard during the
dark hours, and even more so when the man entered the study. He had expected
Salteris to send for a healer of the Old Believers, whose archaic faith was still more
than a little mixed with wizardry. But the man who entered wore the dapper blue knee
breeches and full-skirted coat of a professional of the city.
"Dr. Narwahl Skipfrag." Salteris rose from the carved ebony chair in which he
had been sitting, extending a strong, slender hand. The physician took it and inclined
his head, his bright blue eyes taking in every detail of that small room, with its dark
ranks of books, its embryos bottled in honey or brandy, and its geometric models and
crystal prisms.
"I came as quickly as I could."
"There was no need for haste." Salteris gestured him to the chair that Caris
brought silently up. "The man was killed almost at once."
One of Skipfrag's sparse, sandy eyebrows tilted sharply up. He was a tall man,
stoutish and snuff-colored, with his hair tied back in an oldfashioned queue. In spite
of the fact that he must have been wakened by Salteris' messenger, his broad linen
cravat was neatly tied and his shirtruflies unrumpled.
"Dr. Narwahl Skipfrag," Salteris introduced. "Lady Minhyrdin, Lady
Rosamund-my grandson Caris, sasennan of the Council, who witnessed the shooting.
Dr. Narwahl Skipfrag, Royal Physician to the Emperor and my good friend."
As a sasennan should, Caris concealed his surprise. Few professionals believed
in the power of wizards anymore, and certainly no one associated with the Court
would admit to the belief these days, much less to friendship with the Archmage. But
Dr. Skipfrag smiled, and nodded to Lady Rosamund. "We have met, I think, in
another life."
As if against her will a slight answering smile warmed her ladyship's mouth.
Slumped in her chair, without raising her eyes from her knitting, Aunt Min
inquired, "And how does his Majesty?"
Skipfrag's face clouded a little. "His health is good." He spoke as one who
remarks the salvage of an heirloom gravy boat from the wreck of a house.
Lady Rosamund's full mouth tightened. "A pity, in a way." Salteris gave her a
questioning look, but Skipfrag merely gazed down at his own broad white hands. She
shrugged. "Good health is no gift to him. Without a mind, the man is better dead.
After four years, it is scarcely likely he will reawaken one morning sane."
"He may surprise us all one day," Skipfrag remarked. "I daresay his son thinks
as you do."
At the mention of the Prince Regent, Lady Rosamund's chilly green eyes
narrowed.
"It is about his son, in a way," Salteris cut in softly, "that I asked you here,
Narwahl. The man who was killed was a mage."
The physician was silent. Salteris leaned back in his chair, the glow of the
witchlight gleaming above his head and haloing the silver flow of his long hair. For a
time he, too, said nothing, his folded hands propped before his mouth, forefingers
extended and resting against his lips. "My grandson says that he heard Thirle cry
`No!' at the sight of a man standing in the shadows on this side of the court-the man
who shot him, fleeing to the alley across the yard. Caris did not see which house the
killer stood near, but I suspect it was this one."
The bright blue eyes turned grave. "Sent by the Regent Pharos, you mean?"
"Pharos has never made any secret of his hatred for the mageborn."