"Jack Vance - The Moon Moth" - читать интересную книгу автора (Vance Jack)

Thissell made another note: Get mask. Museum? Drama guild?
He finished the article, hastened forth to complete his preparations, and the next day embarked aboard the
Robert Astroguard for the first leg of the passage to Sirene.

The lighter settled upon the Sirenese spaceport, a topaz disk isolated among the black, green and purple hills.
The lighter grounded and Edwer Thissell stepped forth. He was met by Esteban Rolver, the local agent for Spaceways.
Rolver threw up his hands, stepped back. "Your mask," he cried huskily. "Where is your mask?"
Thissell held it up rather self-consciously. "I wasn't sureтАФ"
"Put it on," said Rolver, turning away. He himself wore a fabrication of dull green scales, blue-lacquered wood.
Black quills protruded at the cheeks, and under his chin hung a black-and-white-checked pompom, the total effect
creating a sense of sardonic supple personality.
Thissell adjusted the mask to his face, undecided whether to make a joke about the situation or to maintain a
reserve suitable to the dignity of his post.
"Are you masked?" Rolver inquired over his shoulder.
Thissell replied in the affirmative and Rolver turned. The mask hid the expression of his face, but his hand
uncon-sciously flicked a set of keys strapped to his thigh. The instrument sounded a trill of shock and polite
consternation. "You can't wear that mask!" sang Rolver. "In factтАФhow, where, did you get it?"
"It's copied from a mask owned by the Polypolis mu-seum," Thissell declared stiffly. "I'm sure it's authentic."
Rolver nodded, his own mask seeming more sardonic than ever. "Its authentic enough. It's a variant of the type
known as the Sea Dragon Conqueror, and is worn on ceremonial occasions by persons of enormous prestige: princes,
heroes, master craftsmen, great musicians."
"I wasn't awareтАФ"
Rolver made a gesture of languid understanding. "It's something you'll learn in due course. Notice my mask.
To-day I'm wearing a Tarn Bird. Persons of minimal prestigeтАФ such as you, I, any other out-worlderтАФ wear this sort
of thing."
"Odd," said Thissell, as they started across the field to-ward a low concrete blockhouse. "I assumed that a
person wore whatever he liked."
"Certainly," said Rolver. "Wear any mask you likeтАФif you can make it stick. This Tarn Bird for instance. I wear it
to indicate that I presume nothing. I make no claims to wisdom, ferocity, versatility, musicianship, truculence, or any of
a dozen other Sirenese virtues."
"For the sake of argument," said Thissell, "what would happen if I walked through the streets of Zundar in this
mask?"
Rolver laughed, a muffled sound behind his mask. "If you walked along the docks of ZundarтАФthere are no
streetsтАФ in any mask, you'd be killed within the hour. That's what happened to Benko, your predecessor. He didn't
know how to act. None of us out-worlders know how to act. In Fan we're toleratedтАФso long as we keep our place. But
you couldn't even walk around Fan in that regalia you're sport-ing now. Somebody wearing a Fire Snake or a Thunder
GoblinтАФmasks, you understandтАФwould step up to you. He'd play his krodatch, and if you failed to challenge his
audacity with a passage on the skaranyi*, a devilish instru-ment, he'd play his hymerkinтАФthe instrument we use with
the slaves. That's the ultimate expression of contempt. Or he might ring his dueling-gong and attack you then and
there."
"I had no idea that people here were quite so irascible," said Thissell in a subdued voice.
Rolver shrugged and swung open the massive steel door into his office. "Certain acts may not be committed on
the Concourse at Polypolis without incurring criticism."
"Yes, that's quite true," said Thissell. He looked around the office. "Why the security? The concrete, the steel?"
"Protection against the savages," said Rolver. "They come down from the mountains at night, steal what's
available, kill anyone they find ashore." He went to a closet, brought forth a mask. "Here. Use this Moon Moth; it
won't get you in trouble."
Thissell unenthusiastically inspected the mask. It was con-structed of mouse-colored fur; there was a tuft of hair
at each side of the mouth-hole, a pair of featherlike antennae at the forehead. White lace flaps dangled beside the