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

or how to avert this fate, until I judge with my own wits and emotions as to
which of us, and why, might desi re the ending of eternity itself! And so I
brought you along, for if this world should end at midnight you too will end
with it; and if you can advise me fearlessly and correctly, as in the past ...
why, then we might survive."
Her face went ashen as the Last Gambler reached out with a certain panache and
turned the top card on his deck face up. It was not a card with which Marcus was
familiar; it was neither playing card nor tarot, of either major or minor arcana
with which he was familiar. Instead, drawn in the finest of water-colours upon
the parchment was a round and luminous cloud with a stem beneath it like a
flowering cactus, or perhaps a toadstool. Superimposed above it was a strange
artefact, a cylinder with stubby wing s attached; it glowed with a light
reflected from the strange cloud. Inscribed at the top of the card in gold leaf
were the runes
E = mc2
"Let the game begin," he said decisively. "I have been informed of the variant
Rules for this case, and the appropriate authorities will be watching this table
to prevent any turpitude. I challenge -- Jack-Jones."
The hooded sacerdote leaned across to Marcus and whispered, in a voice as dry as
any crypt; "Jones must now tell his tale, with total honesty and truth. When
your turn comes, you too must do so. It is imperative, no matter how painful it
might be, to tell the truth. The order -- " the cowl twisted for a moment, so
that Marcus caught a glimpse of dark, hooded eyes in a shadowy, gaunt face --
"is determined by the cards. For if chaos is to teach us a lesson of life, how
else are we to learn it?"
His words were punctuated by an unearthly shriek. In the gardens below a peacock
was spreading its plumage in iridescent display, to reflect the tattered glory
of the fading sunlight. Marcus started, then quickly looked to Lady Stael for
guidance. She sat bolt-upright, as if welded into position by the stays of her
strapless gown. A diamond glittered from one finely-sculpted nostril, but her
white skin outshone it against the ice-blue taffeta of her corsetry; and for an
instant she seemed to personify fem inine perfection in his eyes, to be the
substance and ideal of all that he desired to possess and protect and exhibit
and dominate in life. He wondered how he had ever taken such a turning as to
become a Bishop, so that she was simultaneously inaccessible to and intimate
with him, being as she was a prominent member of his flock. He held his breath,
as if she was chiselled from ice and a single false, hot gust might cause her to
melt away before the heat of his single dreams. Remembering the ordinal comman
ment, Know Thyself, he forced himself to look away. You are here to help her in
her moment of weakness, he berated his libido; not to take advantage of her
vulnerability!
He directed his attention to Jack-Jones the Paramage, who appeared to be
sweating. And so he should, for if the hooded one was correct the stakes
depending upon his truthfulness ran higher than his reincarnate soul.
"Speak," said the Gambler. "It is time we heard the truth from your lips.
Enlighten us; his Holiness -- " he raised an eyebrow at the Bishop -- "is dying
to know how the current predicament arose. And who knows? Perhaps if you speak
truthfully, we shall live to see the dawn."
Jones grimaced slightly, and raised his glass to his lips. It was a tumblerful
of stroeh, a fiery spirit from Dansk; he sipped it gingerly, then replaced it on