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

was intrigued, and somewhat chilled, to realise that not once had the man's face
come into view. There was a great geas at work on Lady Stael, if his senses were
informing him correctly: and this secretive monk was part of it.
The rough-looking man in the wide-brimmed hat and the leather suit sat down. He
had remained silent during the introductions, but now he tilted his face up and
looked at his hostess. His jaw was unshaven and his eyes were expressionless. "I
am pleased to meet you," he said slowly. "My friend, his Excellency Jack-Jones,
instructed me to come to this place to facilitate the coming event. I am deeply
appreciative of such an -- "
"But what's your name?" Lady Stael interrupted.
The ruffian grinned with the fey expression of one who knew all the cards in the
game of life. "I am the Last Gambler," he said. "I teach the statistics of
uncertainty, those of the honourable Thomas Bayes in
particular. Would you care for a lesson?"
The Lady recoiled, her cheeks flushing bright red. "Certainly not!" she said
furiously. "Unless you can tell me the odds upon my husband being alive and
returning to wreak justice upon such as yourself!" She turned away suddenly, so
that only the Bishop glimpsed the film of tears that lay across her eyes as she
stared at the distant hills.
"That and other things can I estimate," said the Gambler softly, his undertone
directed at the hooded monk. "But methinks the Lady would not be of a mind to
thank me for it." He reached to the table and raised a tulip-stemmed glass to
his lips. Red liqueur caught the setting rays. "Shall we begin?"
"Begin what?" asked the Bishop distractedly. His attention was directed upon
Lady Stael, towards whom he felt more concern than he knew to be right and
proper. She was, he decided, very beautiful, especially when she shaved her
scalp so that only a thin patina of gold fuzz caught the light, setting off the
magnificence of her decolletage.
The Gambler produced a deck of peculiarly large cards, and laid it flat upon the
table-top. He sat back, contemplating it. "Has anyone explained to you why we
are gathered here tonight?" asked Jack-Jones.
The Bishop shook his head. "I fear not," he said benignly. "Am I to understand
that this is something more than a friendly soiree, on the occasion of the ball
given by her Ladyship in honour of the end of the world?"
The Paramage smiled enigmatically.
"It is more than that," said the hooded figure. "For tonight is the twilight of
the universe, as the worms of rebirth multiply through the fabric of
incarnation. It is an evening for truth and consequences, for naked ambition and
lust laid bare to reveal the chance of stillborn futures; an evening for the
revelation of doom. And we who are gathered here tonight all have a role to play
-- yourself, your Holiness, and her Ladyship too -- for this was the only event
that was foreordained."
"What do you mean?" Sudden icy fear rooted Marcus to his chair and liquefied his
guts. He looked up as Lady Stael glanced back at him. Her face resembled a
shattered mask of anguish as she met his eyes.
"False pretences, Bishop Moran," she whispered. "I pray you will forgive me, but
I could not bear to face this ordeal alone! Not only is one of these three men
responsible for the end of the universe, but another has the ability to revoke
such a cosmic judgement as has gathered all the threads of time through this one
knot-hole, and poised the blade above it. Yet they will not tell me who, or why,