"S. M. Stirling - Draka 05 - Drakas!" - читать интересную книгу автора (Stirling S. M)

"UmтАФI sayтАФ" Gordon choked, and then a deep voice came from within the room.

"Come in."

Gordon made half a step to follow her but stopped, swallowing the blasphemies that attempted to erupt
from his throat, and threw open the door. He took an automatic step forward, then stopped again,
frankly astounded by the room in which he found himself.
 It was von Shrakenberg's study. Alexander was waiting for him behind a great desk along the far wall,
smoking a fat cigar. Two of the walls were covered by crammed bookshelves. On the floor and in shelf
niches were statues, Roman (or perhaps Greek) and Egyptian. The rugs were thick and beautifully hand
woven. Paintings by half a dozen European masters competed for the remaining wall space. And behind
von Shrakenberg, behind the glorious desk at which he sat, smiling at the look on Gordon's face, was a
set of French windows opening up onto the manor's gardens. And set in the gardens . . .

Gordon took a step forward, staring beyond von Shrakenberg. The Draka's smile widened with true
pleasure as he watched the expression on Gordon's face.

"Ah, like my little folly, do you?"

"It's . . . stupendous."

Von Shrakenberg took a contented puff on his aromatic cigar. He stood, turned, and looked out the
window with Gordon at the two colossal statues in the center of his garden. They were sandstone giants
with time-mutilated faces, sitting sixty feet tall on battered thrones.

"The Colossi of Memnon," Gordon said in a small voice.

"That's right." Von Shrakenberg reached for a carafe of brandy on the corner of his desk, poured a glass
of the rich, aromatic liquid and held it out for Gordon, who took it automatically. "Saw 'em, oh, years
ago. Just sitting out in the desert. Nobody to appreciate 'em. Well, I had some of my boys bring 'em out
here, set 'em up in my garden. They're a bit worn, you know, but I like 'em. Like to look out 'em, drink a
little brandy, smoke a nice cigar, and muse on the folly of human existence. Sit down," he gestured at the
comfortable-looking chair in front of his desk.

The chair, Gordon found, was comfortable. The brandy was excellent.

Von Shrakenberg regarded Gordon silently for a long moment. As the seconds ticked off Gordon had a
sinking feeling that the week he'd spent in Alexandria had been wasted, that von Shrakenberg had gotten
him here, alone, to tell him that the Draka had decided not to take up The Plan. But finally, when von
Shrakenberg spoke, his words took Gordon by surprise.

"I realize that you're familiar with the Sudan. You spent several years there trying to quell the slave trade
and bring a civilized government to the region. And you succeeded better than could be expected."

Gordon inclined his head in recognition of von Shrakenberg's praise. Agag, the demon of pride that so
bedeviled him tried to leap up and crow, but he forced him back down before he could put any words
into his mouth.

"I'm afraid," Gordon said, humbly, "that whatever good I did faded quickly after I departed."