"Jack Vance - The Last Castle" - читать интересную книгу автора (Vance Jack)

proceeded around to the radio room. Customarily three Mek
specialists connected into the apparatus by wires clipped to
their quills sat typing messages as they arrived. Now B. F.
Robarth stood before the mechanism, uncertainly twisting the
dials, his mouth wry with deprecation and distaste for the job.
"Any further news?" Xanten asked.
B. F. Robarth gave him a sour grin. "The folk at the other
end seem no more familiar with this cursed tangle than 1. I
hear occasional voices. I believe that the Meks are attacking
Castle Delora."
Claghom had entered the room behind Xanten. "Did I hear
you correctly? Delora Castle is gone?"
"Not gone yet, Claghom. But as good as gone. The Delora
walls are little better than a picturesque crumble."
"Sickening situation!" muttered Xanten. "How can sentient
creatures perform such evil? After all these centuries, how
little we actually knew of them!" As he spoke he recognized
the tactlessness of his remark; Claghom had devoted much
time to a study of the Meks.
"The act itself is not astounding," said Claghom shortly. "It
has occurred a thousand times in human history."
Mildly surprised that Claghom should use human history as
referent to a case involving the sub-orders, Xanten asked:
"You were never aware of this vicious aspect to the Mek
nature?"
"No. Never. Never indeed."
Claghom seemed unduly sensitive, thought Xanten. Under-
standable, all in all. Claghorn's basic doctrine as set forth
during the Hagedorn selection was by no means simple, and
Xanten neither understood it nor completely endorsed what
he conceived to be its goals; but it was plain that the revolt of
the Meks had cut the ground out from under Claghorn's feet.
Probably to the somewhat bitter satisfaction of 0. Z. Garr,
who must feel vindicated in his traditionalist doctrines.
Claghom said tersely, "The life we've been leading couldn't
last forever. It's a wonder it lasted as long as it did."
"Perhaps so," said Xanten in a soothing voice. "Well, no
matter. All things change. Who knows? The Peasants may be
planning to poison our food... I must go." He bowed to
Claghorn, who returned him a crisp nod, and to B.:.:;F.
Robarth, then departed the room.
He climbed the spiral staircasealmost a ladderto the
cotes, where the Birds lived in an invincible disorder, occupy-
ing themselves with gambling at the game of quarrels, a
version of chess, with rules incomprehensible to every gentle-
man who had tried to understand it.
Castle Hagedorn maintained a hundred Birds, tended by a
gang of long-suffering Peasants, whom the Birds held in vast
disesteem. They were garish garrulous creatures, pigmented
red, yellow, blue, with long necks, jerking inquisitive heads,