"Mercedes Lackey - EM 3 - The Serpents Shadow" - читать интересную книгу автора (Lackey Mercedes)

you will have callers tomorrow, if not today." He cast his eye around
the garden, which was growing darker as evening approached. "Will you
have your tea here, mem sahib? I could light the lamps."
"Please," she said, as Charan nestled down into a corner of the
chair. "And if friends call, bring them here instead of the parlor."
"And callers of another sort?" Gupta raised his eyebrows to signal
what he meant.
"Use your own judgment," she told him. "You are a wise man, Gupta; I
think you will know best whether to summon me to the office or bring
the caller here."
Gopal soon brought her tea, a hybrid mix of the High Teas of India
and of Britain. She shared the feast with her menagerie, other than
Mala and Nisha, who ate only what they hunted, or the starlings and
pigeons Gopal's eldest boy brought down with his catapult. Charan
adored the clotted cream, as did Sia and Singhe; the latter swarmed
up her skirt into her lap to lick their paws and faces clean as Rajah
picked at the last tea-cake.
There is one good thing about this cold country, she thought,
scratching the two little rowdies under their chins. It is too cold
for snakes.
Or at least, it was at the moment.
She could only pray it would remain that way.
GOPAL had come and gone, taking the tea things with him, and Maya
retreated to a hammock swung between two vine-covered posts in lieu
of the tree trunks that would have suspended it back home. Surrounded
by scented warmth, cradled in the gently swaying hammock, she closed
her eyes and listened to the play of the water in her fountain, the
soft chatter of the mongooses and the parrot. This time of the
afternoon, full of shared treats, they all felt sleepy and were
inclined to nap. Mala had been fed late this morning, and Nisha would
be fed once dusk settled, so they, too, were content to doze. Charan
curled up beside her, a little soft ball with his head pillowed
against her cheek and both arms wrapped around her neck, and she had
actually begun to doze when Gupta reappeared, waking her.
Charan awoke, too, and scampered up to an observation post in the
dead tree. "Mem sahib, you have a caller," Gupta said, his expression
one of intense satisfaction. He made a grand gesture toward the front
of the house. "This will be a client, I do believe. I have taken her
to the surgery office. She waits there for you."
Oh, heavens! She quickly tilted herself out of the hammock, glad that
she had at least not taken her hair down, and that the sober brown
dress disguised its comfort in its severity. Primly buttoned up to
the neck, waistband tightened, and cuffs twitched straight, it would
pass for professional attire. With a pat to her hair, she followed
Gupta inside, and hurried to the surgery itself, for it would not do
to have a potential client see her enter by the same door that the
client herself had used. She passed through it, wrinkling her nose a
trifle at the familiar scent of carbolic, entering the office from
the surgery door rather than the hall door.
This was a comfortable room, meant to be the very opposite of the