"Sheri S. Tepper - After Long Silence" - читать интересную книгу автора (Tepper Sherri)

AFTER LONG SILENCE
Sheri S Tepper

[06 nov 2002тАФscanned for #bookz]

[08 nov 2002тАФproofread by Wiz3]




1
When Tasmin reached for the gold leaf, he found the box empty. The glue was already neatly painted
onto the ornamented initial letter of the Enigma score, and it would dry into uselessness within minutes.
He spent a fleeting moment wanting to curse but satisfied himself by bellowing, "Jamieson!" in a tone that
was an unequivocal imprecation.

"Master Ferrence?" The boyish face thrust around the door was wide-eyed in its most "Who, me?"
expression, and the dark blond hair fell artfully over a forehead only slightly wrinkled as though to
indicate "I'm working very hard, now what does he want?"

Undeceived by all this, Tasmin waved the empty box and snarled, "One minute, Jamieson. Or less."

The acolyte evidently read Tasmin's expression correctly for he moved away in a nicely assessed
pretense of panic mixed with alacrity. The gold leaf was kept in a storeroom up one flight, and the boy
could conceivably make it within the time limit if he went at a dead run.

He returned panting and, for once, silent. In gratitude, Tasmin postponed the lecture he had been
rehearsing. "Get on with what you were doing."

"It wasn't important, Master."

"If what you were doing wasn't important, then you should have checked my supplies. Only pressure of
urgent work could have excused your not doing so."

"I guess it was important, after all," Jamieson responded, a quirk at the corner of his mouth the only
betrayal of the fact that he had been well and truly caught. He let the door shut quietly behind him and
Tasmin smiled ruefully. The boy was not called Reb Jamieson for nothing. He rebelled at everything,
including the discipline of an acolyte, almost as a matter of conviction. If he weren't almost consistently
right about things; if he didn't have a voice like an angel тАж

Tasmin cut off the thought as he placed the felt pad over the gold leaf and rubbed it, setting the gilding
onto the glue, then brushed the excess gold into the salvage pot. It was a conceit of his never to do the
initial letter on a master copy until the rest of the score and libretto was complete. Now he could touch
up the one or two red accents that needed brightening, get himself out of his robes and into civilian
clothes, and make a photostat of the score for his own study at homeтАФnot at all in accordance with the
rules, but generally winked at so long as the score didn't leave his possession. The finished master
manuscript would go into a ceremonial filing binder and be delivered to Jaconi. They would talk a few
minutes about the Master Librarian's perennial hobby horse, his language theory, and then Tasmin would
borrow a quiet-car from the citadel garage and drive through the small settlement of Deepsoil Five, on his
way home to Celcy.