"Matthew Hughes - A Herd of Opportunity" - читать интересную книгу автора (Hughes Matt)

his ankle under the table. Having secured his attention, the academician leaned toward him and said, "We
should discuss our program."

Bandar bent to rub his aching joint. "I have yet to hear of any program," he said.

"I detect in your tone a hitherto unsuspected capacity for bitterness," Huffley said. "Perhaps it is the first
time I have heard you speak from your heart."

"I am speaking from my ankle," Bandar said, "but that is beside...."

Two flagons of ale arrived on the table at that moment, but when the two disputants looked up they saw
not the buxom young woman who had taken the order, but a tall, lean man with a prominent scar across
his clean-shaven chin.

"Mind if I join you?" he said but did not wait for an answer before sitting.
"This is a private conversation," Huffley said.

"In my establishment," said the stranger, "all conversations involve me."

"You are Rul Bazwan," Huffley said.

The man inclined his head. "I already know who I am," he said. "What interests me is who you are. And
specifically how you came to approach my saloon from the direction of the piddlers' palace up there on
the hill."

The preceptor drew himself erect in his chair. "We are scholars of the Institute of Historical Inquiry on
Old Earth. We are..."

"...on sabbatical," Bandar broke in, "and thought it might be interesting to take in some local sights." He
took up his ale and looked around. "Quite a colorful establishment you have here."

Bazwan fixed the young man with a suspicious eye. "And into what, exactly, does your Institute inquire?"

Bandar saw that Huffley was inclined to answer and again leapt in to seize the floor. "Nothing much. Odd
little quirks of Old Earth's distant past. For most of us, it's more of a hobby than a profession."

"Now, just a moment..." Huffley began, a reddening flush rising from his collar into his cheeks.

But Bandar cut him off again, both with words and with a kick under the table. "My esteemed colleague,
for example, has made a comprehensive study of the pubic hairstyles that were fashionable in the
Eighteenth Aeon. His expertise in the matter of braided merkins is unparalleled. I'm sure he'd be delighted
to tell you about them."

Bazwan drew back. "That won't be necessary," he said, though mistrust lingered in the crevices about his
eyes. "But what were you doing among the piss-pots up above?"

"I don't know whom you mean," Bandar said.

Bazwan's thumb hooked in the direction of the Sequestrance. "The place you came from."