"Charles Stross - Different Flesh" - читать интересную книгу автора (Stross Charles)

Different Flesh




Different Flesh


Soiree at Schloss Twilight
The five of them gathered together on the stone balcony that jutted from the western wing of the
ballroom, high above the formal gardens of the Schloss Twilight. The dancers whirled on into the
evening behind them, unaware of the passage of time outside their dream of music and motion. Bishop
Morden looked over the crumbling balustrade at the hedges and flower beds below. One of the stuffed
penguins caught a slanting ray of light and seemed to wink at him; he shuddered, briefly genuflected to
the five poi nts, then turned away.

"Would you care for an aperitif?" asked Lady Stael, expectantly. "I am aware that the servants cannot be
relied upon today, but -- "

The Bishop smiled uneasily and sidled away from the edge of the terrace. "No my dear," he said, "I fear
for my digestion! Perhaps an infusion of gentian would be of help, but for the time being I am distraught
with worries that I would not care to inflict upon your gentle head: and they have sorely aggravated my
colic. Perhaps, however, our noble friend the Paramage -- "

Lady Stael stared at him; her eyes raked him with a peculiarly matronly expression of disdain that sat ill
with her appearance of blossoming youth, making her look like something preserved beyond its time.
"The so-called Paramage and his disreputable colleagues are here at the bidding of my fate, to honour an
appointment made some seventy years ago," she murmured. "If they should ask for refreshments, why, I
should have to ensure their satisfaction! But they are not welcome, you understand. Unlike yourself."

"My apologies, madam," said the Bishop, sweating under his stiff collar. "I was unaware -- "

Lady Stael turned and stared past the Bishop. He followed the direction of her gaze. A table of filigree
and shadow graced the far end of the balcony, concealed from the dancers in the ballroom by the thick
velvet drapes of the curtains. Five chairs were drawn up around it. One was occupied by a strange
gentleman whose appearance was that of a ruinous ruffian or cutthroat; a man who by rights should
grace her dungeon rather than her balcony. The brim of his hat was drawn low across his eyes, and it
was ob vious that there was room-a-plenty for any number of dark thoughts behind his shadowed brow.
Next to him sat Jack-Jones the Paramage, a saturnine man of middle years who wore his beard in the
archaic manner of a castillian noble. His expression was jovial but his hair and his pale blue eyes were
glacial, even when he laughed. And finally, occupying a seat so close to the curtains that he almost
blended in with the shadows, was a figure that Jack-Jones had not introduced. This person was swathed
from head < P> o foot in a black and odiferous robe, such that the Bishop could hardly blame Lady Stael

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 Different Flesh

for not desiring him on her premises. He looked like a hedge-priest and he smelt, not to put too fine a
point upon it, like Death.