"Tad Williams - The War of the Flowers" - читать интересную книгу автора (Williams Tad)

ruled in this place.
In the mortal world the hellebore is sometimes called the Christmas Rose because of an old tale that says
it sprouted where a little girl who had no gift for the Christ Child wept into the snow outside the stable in
Bethlehem. Both snow and the flower itself were unlikely to have been found in the Holy Land in those
days, but that has never hurt the story's popularity.
In Greece of the old myths, Melampus of Pylos used hellebore to save the daughters of the king of
Argos from a Dionysian madness that had set them running naked through the city, weeping and
screaming and laughing.
There are many stories about hellebore. Most of them have tears in them.
The Remover of Inconvenient Obstacles was no stranger to silence тАФ in fact, he swam in it like a fish.
He stared at the spotlit flower, letting his thoughts wander down some of the darker tracks of his
labyrinthine mind, and waited, patient as stone, for the figure behind the desk to speak. The pause was a
long one.
The person on the other side of the desk, who had apparently been pursuing some internal quarry of his
own, stirred at last. Slowly, almost lazily, he extended an arm to touch the flower on his desk. His
spidersilk suit whispered so faintly only a bat or the creature sitting across from him could hear. His long
finger, only a little less white than the flower, touched a petal and made it quiver.
There were no windows here in the heart of the building, but the Remover of Inconvenient Obstacles
knew that it was raining hard outside, the drops spattering and hissing on the pavement, coach tires
spitting. Here the air was as still as if he and his host sat inside a velvet-lined jewel casket.
The shape in the beautiful, shimmering blue-black suit gently prodded the flower again. "War is
coming," he said at last. His voice was deep and musical. Mortal women who had only heard him speak,
waking to discover him warm and invisible in their rooms in the middle of the night, had fallen so
deeply in love with that voice that they had foresworn all human suitors, giving up the chance of sunlit
happiness forever in the futile hope he would return to them, would let them live again that one delirious
midnight hour.
"War is coming," agreed the Remover.
"The child of whom we spoke before. It must not live."

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A long breath тАФ was it a sigh? "It will not."
"You will receive the usual fee."
The Remover nodded, distracted by his own thoughts. He had very little fear that anyone, even this most
powerful personage, would neglect to pay him. With war coming they would need him again. He was
the specialist of specialists, totally discreet and terrifyingly effective. He also made a very bad enemy.
"Now?" he asked.
"As soon as you can. If you wait too long, someone might notice. Also we don't want the risk. The
Clover Effect is still not perfectly understood. You might not get a second chance."
The Remover stood. "I have never yet needed such a thing."
He was gone from the inner room so quickly he might have been a shadow flitting across the dark walls.
The master of the House of Hellebore could see much that others could not, but even he had trouble
marking the exact progress of the Remover's self-deletion.
It would not be good to have to guard against that one, he thought to himself. He must be kept sweet, or
he must become ashes in the Well of Forgetting. Either way, he must never again work for one of the
other houses. The master of the house stroked the pale flower on his desk again, considering.
Another curiosity of the hellebore is that its bloom can be frozen solid in the deepest winter snows, but
when the ice melts away, dripping from the petals like tears, the flower beneath is still alive, still supple.
Hellebore is strong and patient.