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

"And what is 'virtue'?"
"I think it involves being like Mongrove."
"Oh!" Lord Jagged rounded his lips in an ironic expression of dismay.
"I know. But you're familiar with my perfectionism."
 "Of its kind it is the sweetest."
"I think you taught me that тАФ when I was a boy."
"I remember! I remember!" Lord Jagged sighed reminiscently.
"And I am grateful."
"Nonsense. A boy needs a father. I was there." The puffed sleeve stretched out and a pale hand
emerged to touch Jherek lightly upon his carnation, to pluck a tiny petal from it and touch it so elegantly
to the pale lips. "I was there, my heart."
"One day," said Jherek, "we must make love, Lord Jagged."
"One day. When the mood comes upon us at the same time. Yes." Lord Jagged's lips smiled. "I
look forward to it. And how is your mother?"
"She is sleeping a great deal again."
"Then we may expect something extraordinary from her soon."
"I think so. She is here."
Lord Jagged drew away from Jherek. "Then I shall look for her. Farewell."
"Goodbye, golden Lord Jagged."
Jherek watched his friend disappear through an archway of fire which was there for a moment
before the towers reformed.
It was true that Lord Jagged of Canaria had helped form his taste and was, perhaps, the kindest,
most affectionate person in all the world. Yet there was a certain sadness about him which Jherek could
never understand. Lord Jagged, it was sometimes said, had not been created in this age at all, but had
been a time-traveller. Jherek had once put this to Lord Jagged but had met with an amused denial. Yet
still Jherek was not sure. He wondered why, if Jagged were a time-traveller, he would wish to make a
secret of it.
Jherek realised that he was frowning. He rearranged his expression and sauntered on through
Timbuctoo. How dull the 28th century must have been. Odd that things could change so swiftly in the
course of a few hundred years so that a century like the 19th could be full of richness and a century like
the 28th could only offer the Great Fire of Africa. Still, it was all a matter of what happened to amuse the
individual. He really must try to be less critical of the Duke of Queens.
A pride of lions appeared and prowled menacingly around Jherek, growling and sniffing. They were
real. He wondered if the Duke of Queens had gone so far as to allow them all their instincts. But they lost
interest in him and swaggered on. Their colours, predominantly blue and green, clashed as usual.
Elsewhere Jherek heard people giggling in fear as the lions found them. Most people found such
sensations gratifying. He wondered if his pursuit of virtue was making him bad-tempered. If so, he would
swiftly become a bore and had best abandon the whole idea. He saw Mistress Christia, the Everlasting
Concubine, lying on her back near the edge of the burning city and humping up and down with glad cries
as O'Kala Incarnadine, who had turned himself into a gorilla for the occasion, enjoyed her. She saw
Jherek and waved. "Jherek!" she panted. "I тАФ would тАФ love тАФ to тАФ see тАФ Oh, Kala, my love, that's
enough. Do you mind? But I want to talk to Jherek now." The gorilla turned its head and saw Jherek and
grinned at him.
"Hello, Jherek. I didn't realise," said O'Kala Incarnadine. He got up, smoothing down his fur.
"Thank you, Mistress Christia."
"Thank you, O'Kala. That was lovely." She spoke vaguely as she concentrated on rearranging her
skirts. "How are you, Jherek. Can I serve?"
"Always, as you know. But I would rather chat."
"So would I, to be frank. O'Kala has been a gorilla now for several weeks and I'm constantly
bumping into him and I'm beginning to suspect that these meetings aren't accidental. Not that I mind, of