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

follow his instructions.
Then Damiano stood in the light.
Not a boy, quite. But spindly as a rail. Girl-faced
too.
Damiano blinked against the sudden brilliance.
"I want your master, boy," growled the soldier. He
spoke surly, being afraid.
"You will find him in the earth and above the sky,"
answered Damiano, smiling. The sergeant was surprised
at the depth of the voice issuing from that reedy body;
and though he did not trust the words, he involuntari-
ly glanced upward.
But Damiano continued, "Dominus Deus, Rex Caelestis:
He is my master and none other."
 The sergeant flushed beneath his bristle and tan. "I
seek Delstrego. God I can find on my own."
Insouciantly, Damiano bowed. "Delstrego you have
found," he announced. "What can he do for you?"
The sergeant's left hand crawled upward unnoticed, тАв
prying between the leather plates of his cuirass after a
flea. "I meant Delstrego the witch. The one who owns
this house."
Damiano's unruly brows drew together into a line
as straight as nimbus clouds. "I am Delstrego the
alchemist: the only Delstrego dwelling in Partestrada at
this time. This house is mine."
Snagging the flea, the sergeant glanced down a
moment and noticed a patch of white. That hideous
dog again, standing between the fellow's legs and half
concealed by the robe. Her teeth shone white as the
Alps in January, and her lips were pulled back, displaying
them all. Perhaps she would open her mouth in a
minute and curse him. Perhaps she would bite. Surely
this Delstrego was the witch, whatever he looked like
or called himself.
"Then it is to you I am sent, from General Pardo.
He tenders his compliments and invites you to come
and speak with him at his headquarters." This was a
prearranged speech. Had the sergeant chosen the words
himself, they would have been different.
But Damiano understood. "Now? He wants to see
me now?"
"Certainly now!" barked the soldier, his small store
of politeness used up. "Right now. Down the street in
the town hall. Go."
Damiano felt Macchiata's rage vibrating against his
shins. He restrained her by dropping the heavy skirt of
his robe over her head. "All right," he answered mildly.
I'm on my way." He stepped out onto the little, railless
porch beside the sergeant. A twiglike, white tail pro-