"Modesitt, L E - Recluse 10 - The Magic Of Recluse" - читать интересную книгу автора (Modesitt L E)

Another full net lifted away, and the gregarious loadmaster, or whatever else she was, stepped back toward me.
"What do you think of Nylan?"
"Don't know what to think. I just got here today." I pointed to the tractor. "That seems contrary to the magisters' teaching."
Caron grinned. She looked younger-say about Tamra's age-when she smiled. "It only seems that way. If you consider the alternatives in order theory, the number of bodies required to lift that cubage, it works out about even. Plus, the fact that we can operate them without the usual catastrophes scares the hell out of the outlanders."
Whhhhhheeeeepppp . . .
Scares the hell out of the outlanders? For all of her direct speech, the woman still didn't really explain things. I watched as she single-handedly lifted a bulky crate into the net. Up on the steamer, two long-haired, bearded crewmen gawked at the ease with which the woman handled the heavy cargo.
Whhheeepppp . . .
"Anyway," she continued, not even breathing hard, and as if she had never left, "loading them like this gets the point across."
"What point?"
"That they'd better not mess with the Brotherhood, or Recluce. What else?"
I shook my head.
"Think about it, young fellow. Sorry I can't talk longer, but the crates coming up are going to take all my effort. Good luck!"
She was back at the third cart, the fourth and fifth carts since emptied of their crates.
Wheeepppp . . .
I was the one shaking my head as I walked back toward the harbor wall from which the piers protruded. The wall stood another three cubits above the pier surface, not really a defensive bulwark, but a physical barrier that declared to the sailors on the ships that Nylan was foreign territory.
At the end of the second pier a long schooner was tied, flying the ensign of Hamor from the rear staff. Two armed guards stood by the plank to the ship, half-turned to face each other. From their posture it was clear they were not guarding the ship against Recluce, but discouraging unplanned crew departures.
I strolled toward the third pier, slowing as I saw that the guard booth was manned. Tied to the pier were three long and low shapes that had to be ships, but ships like none I had ever seen.
They were totally of black steel, with no masts, and only a low black superstructure beginning a third of the way back from the bow. Their bows were raked and sharp, somehow sharklike. Each flew a single ensign from the jackstaff-a solid black flag.
How I had missed them earlier I didn't know, except I could see what looked to be heat waves surrounding each.
I shivered, even in the warm afternoon sunlight. Yes, the Brotherhood had ways to protect Recluce.
"Young fellow, this pier is closed." The guard in the booth wasn't that much older than I was, but he wore what was clearly a black uniform, and I could sense, rather than see, the sword and club.
I just shrugged and turned away, looking down the pier again at the three strange ships. The guard watched me with a puzzled look on his face.
Wasn't I supposed to see the ships? Had the heat waves been a shield of some sort?
I glanced around the grassy space on the other side of the harbor walk. A scattering of people sat on the few benches. Down opposite the fourth pier, a meat vendor was selling sandwiches or something to the crew of the square-rigger that was tied up.
No one even glanced at the closed third pier. Shaking my head again, I began to walk back toward the market and toward my quarters, with more questions and fewer answers than when I had started.
The bell was chiming as I crossed the grass toward the dining hall, and the blisters on my feet were burning.


IX

MAGISTER CASSIUS WAS black. I don't mean he wore black. His skin was a blue-black that glistened in the sun or the shadow. His short curly hair was black, and his eyes were black. Squarish, he stood more than four cubits, like a heroic black-oak carving. The only things light about him were the whites of his eyes. He did have a sense of humor, of sorts.
"Do you favor suicide or murder, Lerris?" His deep voice rumbled.
"What . . . huh?" Once again, he had caught me with my thoughts elsewhere, wondering, this time, about how the cliffs I could see through the open window had ever been made so black and so sheer. After all, just like old Magister Kerwin, he was pounding on and on about the basis of order.
"I asked you whether you favored suicide or murder?"
Krystal, sitting cross-legged on her pillow, suppressed another giggle. She had on the blue smock-like tunic and trousers, with sandals. And she still looked dusty, but that was because her clothes, pressed and clean as they were, had been washed so often the blue had faded away in spots.
Tamra continued to look at Cassius as if he were an insect under study. Over the gray tunic she had draped a vivid green scarf. Each day the scarf changed, but not the clothes. Either that, or she had a bunch of gray tunics and trousers.
Sammel looked from the Magister to me and back, then sighed.
I wondered how I would escape this time. "Neither ..." I finally answered. "Both are very disorderly."
From the corner of my eye, I could see how Tamra shook her head.
Cassius almost sighed-almost, perhaps, the most fallible gesture I had seen from the Brotherhood. Then he continued. "We were speaking about order, a topic all of you have been exposed to since your birth. Unfortunately, for various reasons, such as Lerris's boredom, Tamra's equation of order with male dominance, Sammel's compassion for those unable to accept order, Krystal's unwillingness to concentrate, and Wrynn's contempt for weakness . . . none of you can-accept order as the basis for a society."
I grinned, not really caring if I had been a target with the others, as I watched his gentle barbs bring the group alert. But I wondered why he had not said anything about Myrten. Cassius turned and jabbed the short black wand he carried at me. "Lerris, you find order boring. Tell us why. Stand up. You can walk around and take as long as you want."
I eased off the brown leather pillow and stretched, conscious that even Tamra was looking toward me. I ignored her, or tried to. I didn't like being studied like a bug under a magnifying glass.
"Order is boring. Everything is the same. Every day in Reduce people get up and do the same things. They do them as perfectly as possible for as long as possible. Then they die. If that's not meaningless and boring, I don't know what is."
Wrynn nodded, as did Myrten, but Tamra's ice-blue eyes were hooded. Krystal suppressed a musical giggle and wound her long black hair around her fingers, letting the tips brush her feet as she watched from her cross-legged position.
I didn't know what else to say. After all, what I'd said was obvious. So I stood there. No one else added anything.
"Lerris, suppose, for the sake of discussion, there is a kingdom somewhere in this universe-"
"Universe?"
"Sorry. Just imagine another world. One where people have all the children they want, without order, without rule. One where every generation, for no apparent reason, all the kingdoms go to war. The young men wear their armor and carry their weapons, and one-fifth of them die. Some kingdoms win, and some lose, but the only real result of the wars is that the weapons become more terrible and more effective.
"More children are born; more go hungry; and more of those who reach maturity die in the wars." Cassius paused and looked over the group of us. "All of you think about this imaginary world, not just Lerris."
I didn't think long. So what. So people died. People always die.