"S. M. Stirling & David Drake - The General 01 - The Forge" - читать интересную книгу автора (Stirling S. M)

The abandoned elevator shaft he had found below his
apartments ended in this floor of rubble; from the hollow sounds
and the way it shifted, there must have been levels below.
Rust-streaks marked the lines of ancient machinery. Now there
was only the cool gray surface of fused stone, and one half-open
doorтАж no, wait.

"Look at this," Poplanich said. He walked quickly over the
broken rock and flicked his lantern's beam downward, moving
with a studied grace. "That hasn't been here since the Fall."

It was a tallow candle stub, resting in a congealed puddle of
its own grease. There was a smokemark above it, but dust lay
thick over all.

"But it's been there long enough," Raj commented, trying the
door. It was frozen in its half-open position, but there was just
room for his barrel chest. "Hand me the paintstick, will you,
Thom?"

They would need to be very careful not to lose their way, down
here in the catacombs. He touched his wafer again. Everything
around them was a product of men who had lived before the Fall,
when the Spirit of Man of the Stars had infused their souls. You
could see it in the way the rock was carved, seamless and even, in
the strange bits and pieces of shattered machinery, the very
materials unfamiliar. There might even beтАж
 "If we come across any computers, we'll have to tell the
priests," he said.

Thom laughed. "They don't need genuine relics any more," he
said with easy cynicism. "Haven't you heard what the last synod
ruled about the Miraculous Multiplication?"

Raj flushed; they were both just turned twenty-five, but there
were times when Thom Poplanich made him feel very much the
raw youth, a rustic squire in from the provinces. Even in tweed
and leather hunting clothes, the other man had a slim
self-assured elegance that spoke often generations of urban
aristocracy. Raj touched his amulet again. It was comforting to
know that this was the genuine article, recovered two centuries
ago and blessed by Saint Wu herself. Even if the Church had
ruled that belief made the relic holy, rather than the reverse.

He forced himself into the door and pushed with knees and
hands, back braced against the wall. For a long moment nothing
moved, until he took a deep breath and threw the strength of
shoulders and back into it, timing the contraction to the
exhalation of his breath the way the family armsman had taught.
A seam parted along the side of his tight uniform jacket, and the