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

authority. This consisted of a blue disk inlaid with cabochons of lapis lazuli, surrounded by an aureole of shim-mering
snakeskin. Heartier and more cordial than Rolver, he not only provided Thissell with a houseboat, but also a score of
various musical instruments and a pair of slaves.
Embarrassed by the largesse, Thissell stammered some-thing about payment, but Welibus cut him off with an
expansive gesture. "My dear fellow, this is Sirene. Such trifles cost nothing."
"But a houseboatтАФ"
Welibus played a courtly little flourish on his kiv. "I'll be frank, Ser Thissell. The boat is old and a trifle shabby. I
can't afford to use it; my status would suffer." A graceful melody accompanied his words. "Status as yet need not
con-cern you. You require merely shelter, comfort and safety from the Night-men."
" 'Night-men'?"
"The cannibals who roam the shore after dark."
"Oh, yes. Ser Rolver mentioned them."
"Horrible things. We won't discuss them." A shuddering little trill issued from his kiv. "Now, as to slaves." He
tapped the blue disk of his mask with a thoughtful fore-finger. "Rex and Toby should serve you well." He raised his
voice, played a swift clatter on the hymerkin. "Avan esx trobu!"
A female slave appeared wearing a dozen tight bands of pink cloth, and a dainty black mask sparkling with
mother-of-pearl sequins.
"Fascu etz Rex ae Toby."
Rex and Toby appeared, wearing loose masks of black cloth, russet jerkins. Welibus addressed them with a
resonant clatter of hymerkin, enjoining them to the service of their new master, on pain of return to their native
islands. They prostrated themselves, sang pledges of servitude to Thissell in soft husky voices. Thissell laughed
nervously and essayed a sentence in the Sirenese language. "Go to the houseboat, clean it well, bring aboard food."
Toby and Rex stared blankly through the holes in their masks. Welibus repeated the orders with hymerkin
accom-paniment. The slaves bowed and departed.
Thissell surveyed the musical instruments with dismay. "I haven't the slightest idea how to go about learning
these things."
Welibus turned to Rolver. "What about Kershaul? Could he be persuaded to give Ser Thissell some basic
instruction?"
Rolver nodded judicially. "Kershaul might undertake the job."
Thissell asked, "Who is Kershaul?"
"The fourth of our little group of expatriates," replied Welibus; "an anthropologist. You've read Zundar the
Splen-did? Rituals of Sirene? The Faceless Folk? No? A pity. All excellent works. Kershaul is high in prestige and I
believe visits Zundar from time to time. Wears a Cave Owl, some-times a Star Wanderer, or even a Wise Arbiter."
"He's taken to an Equatorial Serpent," said Rolver. "The variant with the gilt tusks."
"Indeed!" marveled Welibus. "Well, I must say he's earned it. A fine fellow, good chap indeed." And he
strummed his zachinko thoughtfully.

Three months passed. Under the tutelage of Mathew Kershaul, Thissell practiced the hymerkin, the ganga, the
strapan, the kiv, the gomapard, and the zachinko. The dou-ble-kamanthil, the krodatch, the slobo, the water-lute and
a number of others could wait, said Kershaul, until Thissell had mastered the six basic instruments. He lent Thissell
recordings of noteworthy Sirenese conversing in various moods and to various accompaniments, so that Thissell
might learn the melodic conventions currently in vogue, and perfect himself in the niceties of intonation, the various
rhythms, cross-rhythms, compound rhythms, implied rhythms and suppressed rhythms. Kershaul professed to find
Sirenese music a fascinating study, and Thissell admitted that it was a subject not readily exhausted. The quarter-tone
tuning of the instruments admitted the use of twenty-four tonalities, which multiplied by the five modes in general use,
resulted in one hundred and twenty separate scales. Kershaul, how-ever, advised that Thissell primarily concentrate
on learning each instrument in its fundamental tonality, using only two of the modes.
With no immediate business at Fan except the weekly visits to Mathew Kershaul, Thissell took his houseboat
eight miles south and moored it in the lee of a rocky promontory. Here, if it had not been for the incessant practicing,
Thissell lived an idyllic life. The sea was calm and crystal-clear; the beach, ringed by the gray, green and purple foliage