"E. E. Doc Smith - D' Alembert 5 -Appointment at Bloodstar" - читать интересную книгу автора (Smith E. E. Doc)

down on the edge of her bed and debated what to make of her future in-laws.

Pias ran down the familiar hallways and bounded up the stairs two at a time to get to his
father's bedroom. The door to the room was closed, and there was a nurse seated
outside, reading. He looked up at Pias's approach and recognized the young marquis
immediately.

"Is he awake? Can I go in?" Pias asked.

"Yes, Your Excellency-yes to both questions." "What ... what does he have?"

"Mottle fever, I'm afraid."

Pias groaned. Mottle fever was a disease peculiar to Newforest. So far as was known it
was not contagious. It was only seldom contracted, but invariably fatal. Its course was
unpredictable; the victim might die within months, or he could live on for a decade or
more while the disease ravaged his body. But eventually it would kill him.

Thanking the nurse for the information, Pias entered the room. It was dark inside, kept
that way because mottle fever affected the eyes, making them ultrasensitive to light.
Pias waited inside the door until his eyes adjusted to the lower illumination, then looked
around.

The room was very much as he remembered it: handwoven area rugs covering the hard
slate floor; the large ebonwood bureau against the north wall with its mirror in the
elaborately carved frame; the portrait of his late mother on the south wall, surrounded
by smaller portraits of all the children; and the massive wooden bed directly in front of
him, with the richly embroidered canopy and drapes that had so impressed him as a
small child.

His father lay on the bed, very still. Duke Kistur Bavol was in his middle sixties. When
Pias had left home almost three years earlier, the duke could have been mistaken for a
man in his forties, but now he looked every year of his true age. His hair, which had
been light brown, was now a mane of white, and his leathery skin was mottled with the
dark patches that gave his disease its name. His eyes, which before had missed
nothing, now seemed watery and lusterless.

As Pias stood there silently, not knowing what to say, the old man slowly propped
himself up and peered out at him. "Who's there?" he asked weakly.

"It's me, Poppa. Pias."

The duke peered at him with rheumy eyes. His mouth moved, but no sounds came out.
Breaking down completely, Pias practically flew across the room and put his arms
around his father. The two men wept openly for several minutes before any more could
be said. Finally the old man pushed himself slightly back from his son and looked
directly into his eyes. "Did you find him?" he asked.


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