"Stephen Lawhead - Celtic Crusades 02 - The Black Rood" - читать интересную книгу автора (Lawhead Stephen)

THE BLACK ROOD


PART I



November 10, 1901: Paphos, Cyprus
The summons came while I was sitting at my desk. The afternoon post had
just been delivered - the office boy placing the tidy bundle into my tray -
so I thought nothing of it as I slid the paper knife along the pasted seam. It
was only upon shaking out the small cream-coloured card that my full
attention was engaged. I flipped the card over on the blotter. The single
word, 'TonightтАЩ written in a fine script, brought me upright in my chair.
I felt my stomach tighten as an uncontainable thrill tingled through me.
This was followed by an exasperated sigh as I slumped back in my chair,
the card thrust at arm's length as if to hold off the inevitable demand of
that single, portentous word.
Truth to tell, a fair length of time had passed since the last meeting of the
Inner Circle, and I suppose a sort of complacency had set in which
resented this sudden and unexpected intrusion into my well-ordered
existence. I stared at the offending word, fighting down the urge to pretend
I had not seen it. Indeed, I quickly shoved it out of sight into the middle of
my sheaf of letters and attempted to forget about it.
Curiosity, and a highly-honed sense of duty, won the struggle. Resigning
myself to my fate, I rang for one of the lads and sent him off with a hastily
scribbled note of apology to my wife explaining that an engagement of the
utmost importance had just arisen and she must soldier on without me for
the evening, and please not to wait up as I anticipated being very late. A
swift glance in my desk diary revealed that, as luck would have it, the
familial household was to be appropriated for a meeting of certain august
members of the Ladies' Literacy Institute and Temperance Union, a gaggle
of well-meaning old dears whose overabundant maternal energies have
been directed to the improvement of society through reading and
abstinence from strong drink - except sherry. Worthy goals, to be sure, but
unspeakably dull. Instantly, my resentful resignation turned to unbounded
elation; I was delighted to have a genuine excuse to forego the dull
agonies of an evening which, if past experience was any indicator, could
only be described as boredom raised to the level of high art.
Having shed this onerous domestic chore, new vistas of possibility opened
before me. I considered dining at the club, but decided on taking an early
supper so as to leave plenty of time for the cab journey to the chapel
where the members of our clandestine group met on these rare occasions.
With a contrite heart made buoyant by a childlike excitement, I
contemplated the range of alternatives before me. There were several new
restaurants in Hanover Street that I had been meaning to try, with a public
house nearby recommended by a junior colleague in the firm; off the leash
for the night, I determined my course.
When work finished for the day, I lingered for a time in my office,
attending to a few small tasks until I was certain the office boys and junior