"R. A. MacAvoy - Damiano" - читать интересную книгу автора (MacAvoy R A)

and your devil's music that you..."
"What do you mean, 'devil's music'?" snapped
Damiano in return, for nothing else Marco could have
said would have stung him as sharply. Macchiata vocal-
ized another yawn and flopped upon her belly on the
ground.
"Maniac, pagan... The church fathers themselves
called it cursed."
Damiano thumped his staff upon the ground. Its
vibration, smooth and ominous as a wolf's growl, brought
him back to reason. "They did not. They only said that
contrapuntal music was not suitable to be played in the
mass. But that too will come," he added with quiet
confidence, thinking of the hands of Raphael.
Marco listened, sneering, to Damiano's words. To
the deep humming of the staff, however, Marco granted
a more respectful hearing. The old man plucked absently
at his felt coat, from which all the gold embroidery had
long since been picked out and sold, and he raised his
bottle.
"Well, boy. You should still get out. You have two
arms and two legs and are therefore in danger of
becoming an infantryman. And Pardo isn't from the
Piedmont; he may not be intimidated by your father's
name."
"I thank you for your concern, Marco. But I am
much more valuable as an alchemist than I would be as
a soldier. If Pardo is a man of vertu, he will see that."
The bottle did not quite drop from Marco's hand.
He stared at Damiano slack-jawed, all the stumps of his
front teeth exposed. "You will go over to the monster?"
Damiano scowled. "The monster? That is what for
forty years you called Aymon, and then his son Amadeus.
He was no friend to Partestrada. He ignored our city,
save at tax timeтАФyou yourself have told me that, and at
great length."
"The old tyrant grew softer once he'd filled his
belly from us, and his son at least is mountain born,"
snorted Marco.
"Perhaps Pardo will be different. Perhaps he is the
one who will realize he can ride to greatness along with
the city of Partestrada. If he has a mind, and eyes to
see, I will explain it to him." Damiano spoke words he
had been rehearsing for the general's ears. Marco cleared
his throat, spat, and turned his back on Damiano to
shuffle toward the sun-warmed stones of the well.
"Wait, Marco!" called Damiano, hurrying after. He
grabbed the greasy sleeves of Marco's jacket. "Tell me.
Are they all gone? Father Antonio? Paolo Denezzi and
his sister? Where is Carla? Have you seen her?"