"Chelsea Quinn Yarbro - A Baroque Fable" - читать интересную книгу автора (Yarbro Chelsea Quinn)

Interlude
A SHAPE GOES out from the Woebegone Wood, a Shape that is many things, a bit of soot blown
against the sky, perhaps a bird no one has been before. Sometimes it drifts, sometimes it lurches,
sometimes it tumbles with the wind, but always, always, it goes toward Addlepate, carrying something
with it, and beneath it, where its shadow passes, the Woebegone Wood falls silent.
Complication Number One
IP HUMGUDGEON DC, Protector Extraordinary of Addlepate is known for anything, aside from
malice, it is caprice. He likes nothing so much as exercising his right to have an absolute whim, one that
every minion of his court will have to leap to
20 Chelsea Quinn Yarbm
indulge or face the consequences. Humgudgeon is a short, pudgy man who is inevitably called handsome,
since to say anything else is to woo disaster (see the consequences, above). He has been known to order
his whole court to pack up and move in the middle of the night, and take them all, without warning, to
visit a noble who is currently enjoying the dubious advantage of his favor. These Protectoral Progresses
always cause chaos, which is precisely what pleases Humgudgeon the most. He prides himself on the
amount of upset he can bring about, which can be a dangerous thing in a niler, no matter how much fun it
might seem to be.
At the moment, he has ordered the court to go away on a picnic, never mind the rain, and has the
afternoon free to contemplate new mischief. For that purpose, he has gone to his study where he can
recline on the cushion and sip from various cups while he turns various schemes over in his mind,
consulting his raven from time to tune, for like Alfreida, he has a familiar. He prides himself on his
decadence, and at the moment is doing it in the effete style.
The Shape has almost reached the castle where Humgudgeon is plotting. It has made good time and has
farmer to go. It circles around the towers and finally begins its descent.
"Yes, we'll mink of something for them," Humgudgeon muses, taking more of whatever-it-is in the gold
cup. "A tasty little plague, perhaps. There's much to be said for plague. It is such a complete disaster,
brings everything to a halt. You may prefer calamities a bit more solid and theatrical," he goes on to the
raven. "Fires and floods and the rest of them, but you're wrong, my dear. It devastates me to say that you
are wrong, but there it is. There is no poetry in your notion. Ruins should be poetic." He touches his dark,
greasy hair and smooths it back from his brow. "Those poor dears, still thinking that my attention is
elsewhere, occupied with other matters. But Alabaster-on-Gelasta will meet its doom, and all in good
time. I will relish it. Oh, yes, it is a wonderful thought." He becomes positively jovial as he goes on.
"Think of it, my dear. People dying, the nation bankrupt, commerce halted, agriculture nonexistent, the
King in chainsтАФimagine Rupert in chains, won't you?тАФthe entire court turned to corpses or paupers
over night. Pretty, very pretty." He fills another cup with a greenish substance kept in a jar of chalcedony.
"And (hat wizard of his... something will have to be done about
A BAROQUE FABLE
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him. There's a temptation to do the obvious and chop off his head, but that lacks finesse. You must
appreciate how necessary finesse can be to enterprises like this. Truly, you must."
The raven is not particularly impressed, but unlike Liri-poop, who always permits himself to express his
disdain, the raven remains silent and vaguely preoccupied. Then something outside UK narrow window
attracts its attention, and it points its beak toward the opening, not daring to make a sound as the Shape
passes quite near. The raven remains very still, as if listening.
Humgudgeon is drinking from a different goblet, and his loquacity continues. "I've considered the
possibility that he has protected himself. Rupert is a bit of an ass, but you cannot be too careful with kings
who keep wizards. You see, I don't underestimate the brilliance of Sigmund Snafflebrain. I realize he's
talented. Some would say he has genius, but that may be taking it a bit too far. It's always hard to imagine
genius without malice, isn't it?" He turns toward the raven, who has been looking out the window. "There
is something bothering you?" An edge has come into his voice, just a hint of condemnation for the lack of