"MIchael Moorcock - The Dancers At The End Of Time 01 - An Alien Heat" - читать интересную книгу автора (Moorcock Michael)

and beverages, mainly 28th century African, were laid about everywhere and people wandered from
table to table sampling them.
 Dismounting from the footplate and absently offering his hand to his mother (whose "Geronimo" was
sotto voce because she was becoming bored with the ritual) Jherek noticed many people he knew and a
few whom he did not. Some of those he did not know were plainly from menageries, probably all
time-travellers. He could tell by the awkward way in which they stood, either conversing or keeping to
themselves, either amused or unhappy. Jherek saw a time-traveller he did recognise. Li Pao, clad in his
usual blue overalls, was casting a disapproving eye over Smithsmith.
Jherek and the Iron Orchid approached him.
"Good evening, Li Pao," said the Iron Orchid. She kissed him on his lovely, round yellow face.
"You're evidently critical of Smithsmith. Is it the usual? Lack of authenticity? You're from the 28th
century, aren't you?"
"27th," said Li Pao, "but I don't imagine things would have changed that much. Ah, you bourgeois
individualists тАФ you're so bad at it. That's always been my main contention."
"You could be a better 'bourgeois individualist' if you wanted to be, eh?" Another menagerie
member approached. He was dressed in the long, silver skirts of the 32nd century whipperman. "You're
always quibbling over details, Li Pao."
Li Pao sighed. "I know. I'm boring. But there it is."
"It's why we love you," said the Iron Orchid, kissing him again and then waving her hand to her dear
friend Gaf the Horse in Tears who had looked up from her conversation with Sweet Orb Mace (whom
some thought might be Jherek's father) and smiled at the Iron Orchid, motioning her to join them. The
Iron Orchid drifted away.
"And it's why we won't listen to you time-travellers," said Jherek. "You can be so dreadfully
pedantic. This detail isn't right тАФ that one's out of period тАФ and so on. It spoils everyone's pleasure.
You must admit, Li Pao, that you are a trifle literal minded."
"That was the strength of our Republic," said Li Pao, sipping his wine. "That was why it lasted fifty
thousand years."
"Off and on," said the 32nd century whipperman.
"More on than off," said Li Pao.
"Well, it depends what you call a republic," said the whipperman.
They were at it again. Jherek Carnelian smoothed himself off and saw Mongrove, the bitter giant, all
overblown and unloved, who stood moping in the very centre of blazing Smithsmith as if he wished the
buildings would really fall down on him and consume him. Jherek knew that Mongrove's whole persona
was an affectation, but he had kept it so long that it was almost possible Mongrove had become the thing
itself. But Mongrove was not really unloved. He was a favourite at parties тАФ when he deigned to attend
them. This must be his first in twenty years.
"How are you, Lord Mongrove?" Jherek asked, staring up at the giant's lugubrious face.
"The worse for seeing you, Jherek Carnelian. I have not forgotten all the slights, you know."
"You would not be Mongrove if you had."
"The turning of my feet into rats. You were only a boy, then."
"Correct. The first slight." Jherek bowed.
"The theft of my private poems."
"True тАФ and my publishing them."
"Just so." Mongrove nodded, continuing: "The shifting of my lair and its environs from the North to
the South pole."
"You were confused."
"Confused and angry with you, Jherek Carnelian. The list is endless. I know that I am your butt,
your fool, your plaything. I know what you think of me."
"I think well of you, Lord Mongrove."
"You know me for what I am. A monster. A horror. A thing which does not deserve to live. And I