"stross, charles - different flesh" - читать интересную книгу автора (Stross Charles)

Different FleshDifferent 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 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.
"It is sometimes said," Lady Stael muttered, "that the presence of guests is a
trial sent by the Lord to test our wits and our witticisms. If that is the case
then I am afraid I am sore wanting, for whenever I confront these three
desperadoes all badinage flees! Perhaps it bears upon the evening ahead. Your
holiness, I do not wish to sit with these alone, and I would surely not wish to