"Paul McAuley - The Book of Confluence 02 - Ancients of Days" - читать интересную книгу автора (Mcauley Paul J)

floor, or drank from the fingerbowl, or, as now, scratched herself with a cat's lazy self-
indulgence.
"Quite wonderfully untamed," Syle murmured to Yama. "Isn't she so thrillingly physical?"
"She comes from a people not much given to formalities," Yama whispered back.
"Fortunately, we didn't hire her for her manners," Syle's wife, Rega, said. Rega was older
than Syle, with a pointed wit and a sharp gaze that measured everyone it fell upon and usually
found them wanting. She was tremendously pregnant; as round as an egg, as her husband fondly
put it, in a shift of purple satin that stretched like a drumhead over her distended belly. She had
twisted her feathery hair into a tall cone that sat like a shell on top of her small head.
"She is tired, too," Yama said. "We have both been working hard."
The praise-sayer had been reciting from the sura which described how the Preservers had
altered the orbits of every star in the Galaxy, as a feoffer might replant a forest as a formal
garden. A monument, a game, a work of artтАФwho could say? Who could understand the minds
of those who had become gods, so powerful that they had escaped this Universe of things?
 Yama knew these suras by heart, and had been paying little attention to the praise-singer.
But now the man paused, and began to recite a sura from the last pages of the Puranas.
The world first showed itself as a golden embryo of sound. As soon as the thoughts of the
Preservers turned to the creation of the world, the long vowel which described the form of the
world vibrated in the pure realm of thought, and re-echoed on itself.
From the knots in the play of vibrations, the crude matter of the world curdled. In the
beginning, it was no more than a sphere of air and water with a little mud at the center.
And the Preservers raised up a man and set on his brow their mark, and raised up a woman
of the same kind, and set on her brow the same mark.
From the white clay of the middle region did they shape this race, and quickened them with
their marks. And those of this race were the servants of the Preservers.
And in their myriads this race shaped the world after the ideas of the Preservers.
Yama's blood quickened. It was a description of how the Preservers had created the first
bloodline of Confluence: the Builders, his own bloodline, long thought to have vanished with
their masters into the black hole at the heart of the Eye of the Preservers. He saw that Syle was
watching him, and knew that Syle knew. Knew what he was.
Knew why he was here. The sura had been chosen deliberately.
Luria rang her little bell. The attendants cleared away the bowls of rice and the dishes of
sauces, and sprinkled the diners with water perfumed with rose petals.
"You will watch the exercises tomorrow," Luria told Syle. "I want to know how the training
of our defense force is proceeding."
Without looking away from Yama, Syle said, "I am sure that it is in capable hands,
pythoness." Yes, he knew.
But what did he want?
Tamora said loudly, "Well, we didn't kill anyone today, and I believe my friend's wound is
healing."
She had spoken out of turn. Luria took no more notice than if she had belched.
Syle said, "I watched the exercises yesterday, pythoness, but I will do so again tomorrow. It
is very diverting. You should see how well the thralls march."
"It's a pity they can't fight," Tamora said.
"I have had a presentiment," Luria told Syle. "You will see to it that all is well."
Tamora said, "If you've seen something with your cards or dice, perhaps you could share it
with us. It could help our plans."
There was a silence. Syle turned very pale. At last, Luria said in a soft croak, "Not dice, dear.
Dice and cards are for street performers who take your money and promise anything they think
will make you happy. I deal in the truth."