"M. John Harrison - Viriconium 1 - The Pastel City" - читать интересную книгу автора (Harrison John M)

than he did that it was Viriconium, the Pastel
City. He loved it more for its avenues paved in
pale blue and for its alleys that were not paved at
all than he did for what its citizens chose to call
it, which was often Viricon the Old and The Place
Where The Roads Meet.
He had found no rest in music, which he loved,
and now he found none on the pink sand.
For a while he walked the tideline, examining
the objects cast up by the sea: paying particular
attention to a smooth stone here, a translucent
spiny shell there; picking up a bottle the colour of
his cloak, throwing down a branch whitened and
peculiarly carved by the water. He watched the
black gulls, but their cries depressed him. He
listened to the cold wind in the rowan woods
around his tower, and he shivered. Over the
pounding of the high tide, he heard the dull
concussions of falling Viriconium. And even
when he stood in the surf, feeling its sharp acid
sting on his cheek, lost in its thunder, he imagined
it was possible to hear the riots in the pastel
streets, the warring factions, and voices crying for
Young Queen, Old Queen.
He settled his russet shovel hat more firmly;
crossed the dunes, his feet slipping in the
treacherous sand; and found the white stone path
through the rowans to his tower, which also had
no name: though it was called by some after the
stretch of seaboard on which it stood, that is,
Balmacara. Cromis knew where his heart and his
sword lay тАФ but he had thought that all finished
with and he had looked forward to a comfortable
life by the sea.
When the first of the refugees arrived, he knew
who had won the city, or the shell of it that
remained: but the circumstances of his learning
gave him no pleasure.
It was before noon, and he had still not
decided what to do.
He sat in his highest room (a circular place,
small, the walls of which were lined with leather
and shelves of books: musical and scientific
objects, astrolabes and lutes, stood on its draped
stone tables; it was here that he worked at his
songs), playing softly an instrument that he had
got under strange circumstances some time ago, in
the east. Its strings were taut and harsh, and stung
his finger-ends; its tone was high and unpleasant
and melancholy; but that was his mood. He