"Joel Rosenberg - Hour of the Octopus" - читать интересную книгу автора (Rosenberg Joel C)

bacon-wrapped quail, rice cups brimming with salted pout roe, and some oily white fish wrapped in
chumpa leaves and sprinkled with roasted sesame seeds.
The center of the plate was occupied by four ramekins, which looked to be the locally traditional four
sauces: a peppery cheese sauce, so overripe I could smell the ammo-nia; a pale mayonnaise with dill and
lemon; a thick com-pote of peppers, onions, and tomatoes, heavily sprinkled with basil; and a grainy
brown mustard.
Delicately, Arefai extended an eating prong and speared a chumpa-leaf packet, elegantly tipping one
end into the compote and another end into the dill sauce before bring-ing it up to his lips. He managed to
take a bite out of each end without dripping sauce on his short-cropped beard or on his doeskin hunting
tunic.
He finally noticed that I was just standing there, and waved me to a seat.
"Good morning to you, Kami Dan'Shir," he said. "A fine morning for hunting, is it not?"
I looked up at the sky, which was busy deciding what light shade of gray to menace me with, and out
at the hori-zon, where dark clouds loomed threateninglyтАФ-something dark clouds always doтАФand then
decided that theatrical ges-tures were neither called for nor entirely safe. An occasional, very carefully
chosen bit of presumption tended to charm the likes of Lord Arefai; but it was best not to make a habit
of it.
"I would presume so, Lord Arefai," I said. "Certainly I wouldn't argue with your assertion."
 After all, you overdressed if generally kindly idiot, I've always thought that my head is much
prettier as an adorn-ment to my shoulders than it would be rolling around on the ground and
getting all dirty.
He smiled and took a bite of quail; the bird was juicy enough that he had to dab at the corner of his
lips. The smell made my mouth water.
A white-clad servitor, her face holding that expression just between disdain and indifference that
makes service folk think they're invisible, brought out a tray with my breakfast on it. The cook had
perhaps spent less time with my breakfast than he had with Arefai's.
The tray held an appleтАФuncut, unpeeled, although ap-parently washedтАФaccompanied by a large
chunk of dark brown bread, supporting a dubious hill of butter. An un-adorned chunk of pink ham lay on
the plate next to the bread.
Arefai looked at it with distaste, then put an expression of polite concern on his face.
"Please," he said, "Kami Dan'Shir. You have been in-vited to break your fast with me; you need not
await my specific invitation to begin your meal."
The way I normally began the day with breakfast was by skipping it. Later on in the morning, partway
into the hour of the hare, Madame Lastret's Two Dog Inn would open on Ankersa Way, just at the edge
of the Bankstreets in the town of Den Oroshtai, and I tended to take my first
meal there, or at Madame Rupon's. While the pay of Lord Toshtai's dan'shir was moderately
generous, hour-by-hour duties had not been assigned; as long as a runner or Run-ner from the castle
could reach me, I was unlikely to be in trouble.
I guess I should have worked out an arrangement with whoever in the kitchen cooked breakfast,
instead of with Madame Lastret and Madame Rupon.
What I wished for was the old company, the juggling and foolery that always went along with meals in
the Troupe of Gray Khuzud. What I wanted was my little sis-ter, Enki Duzun, showering five eggs and an
apple, while Fhilt took two spoons and kept three dollops of jam in the air until one of the Eresthais
would snatch the dollops away, one by one, with slices of bread.
Well, at least this was more than peasant food. Bread and onion would have been the local peasant
breakfast in Den Oroshtai, and if I'd still been a peasant, that would have been all I would have been
offered by the castle ser-vitors, most likely; certainly nothing more than dirt-food. Had I been only middle
class, that might have been sup-plemented by a tree-fruit, an apple or a pear. As a true he-reditary
bourgeoisтАФalbeit, granted, the first of my lineтАФI'd been honored with not only butter but meat. No tea,
of course, nor sauce, nor game. But I wasn't a member of our beloved ruling class, after all.