"Garry Kilworth - The Sculptor" - читать интересную книгу автора (Kilworth Garry)

father, and it means nothing to me anyway. There are a thousand like you,
by women whose faces I hardly looked at."
He paused and strolled across the room.
"However, you have, as you say, great talent - no doubt inherited from me.
I am an artist too. A genius. I have decided to let you live, at least
until you carve the last figure. What use is three hundred and thirty-two?
A broken circle? It must be 333 - all with my face. Go down from the
tower, find your marble, and do the work. Once you have completed your
task, we shall see if you are to live."
"I understand, my lord."
The High Priest then said to his guards, "When you take him down, send me
up a stone mason. I want to construct a raised circular platform, to
display these pieces."
They then led NiccolЄ away.

They released Romola, and she found NiccolЄ. He was pleased to see her.
She had holes in her hands and feet, where they had tortured her, trying
to extract some kind of confession. She knew the ways, knew the limits,
having been one of them herself. She professed a profound hatred for her
old master, wishing he would rot in hell for his treatment of her.
"I sent him a message, telling him I was in the dungeon, and he ignored it
for the first few hours, knowing they would torture me."
She went with NiccolЄ and watched him, as he spent the next week, carving
the final figure to complete the circle. As he worked, he told her what
had passed between his father and himself, high in that room above the
world. They were staying at an inn, on the far side of the river.
Accommodation for those not directly connected with guarding the Tower,
was on the north bank, while the Tower itself stood on the south bank. It
was another safety measure, to protect the High Priest. All river traffic
ceased at sundown, and anyone found on the south bank, after dusk, was
immediately put to death.
"When we were out in the desert," she told him, "I often wondered . . .
well, why didn't you bring the statuettes by river, on a barge? Why risk
that terrible journey over the wasteland?"
NiccolЄ had left the carving of the facial features until last, and this
he had completed within the last five hours of close work. He held the
statuette up to the light coming through the dusty window, inspecting it.
The piece, as always, was pristine, immaculate. It would fit, patterns
matching exactly, into its place in the holy ring of angels. It was the
sibling of the other 332 figurines - with one exception.
Instead of da Vinci's youthful countenance, it had the face of a monkey.
Worse still, a monkey whose features resembled those of the High Priest. A
cruel caricature.
He wrapped the statuette in a piece of cloth, before she could inspect his
final work, and answered her question.
"The river is crowded, full of his agents and spies. I know how fanatical
they are. I knew I could convince him, once I was here, but they would
never have allowed me to reach this far. Besides, one is only permitted to
carry agricultural goods by river craft, unless one bears the authority of
the High Priest. I had no such authority. They would have killed me simply