"Michael Swanwick - The Raggle Taggle Gypsy - O" - читать интересную книгу автора (Swanwick Michael)

The powers and godlings who orbited the party, cocktails in hand, solitary and aloof
as planets, included Lady Dale, who bestowed riches with one hand and lightnings
from the other, and had a grudge against Crow for stealing her distaff; Lord Aubrey
of the short and happy lives, who hated him for the sake of a friend; Lady Siff of the
flames, whose attentions he had once scorned; and Reverend Wednesday, old father
death himself, in clerical collar, stiff with disapproval at Crow's libertine ways.

He had no allies anywhere in this room.

Over there was Lord Taleisin, the demiurge of music, who, possibly alone of all this
glittering assemblage, bore Crow no ill will. Crow figured it was because Tal had
never learned the truth behind that business back in Crete.

He figured, too, there must be some way to turn that to his advantage.

****

"You look away from me every time I go by," Lord Taleisin said. "Yet I know of no
offence you have given me, or I you."

"Just wanted to get your attention is all," Crow said. "Without any of the others
suspecting it." His brow was set in angry lines but his words were soft and mild. "I
been thinking about how I came to be. I mean, you guys are simply there, a part of
the natural order of things. But us arche-types are created out of a million years of
campfire tales and wishful lies. We're thrown up out of the collective unconscious. I
got to wondering what would happen if somebody with access to that
unconsciousтАФyou, for exampleтАФwas to plant a few songs here and there."

"It could be done, possibly. Nothing's certain. But what would be the point?"

"How'd you like your brother's heart in a box?"

Lord Tal smiled urbanely. "Eric and I may not see eye to eye on everything, yet I
cannot claim to hate him so as to wish the physical universe rendered uninhabitable."

"Not him. Your other brother."

Tal involuntarily glanced over his shoulder, towards the distant mountain,where a
small dark figure lay tormented by vultures. The house had been built here with just
that view in mind. "If it could be done, don't you think I'd've done it?" Leaving
unsaid but understood: How could you succeed where I have failed?

"I'm the trickster, babeтАФremember? I'm the wild card, the unpredictable element, the
unexpected event. I'm the blackfly under the saddle. I'm the ice on the O-rings. I am
the only one who could do this for you."

Very quietly, Lord Taleisin said, "What sureties do you require?"

"Your word's good enough for me, pal. Just don't forget to spit in my face before