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

away. He is dreadful clutter where he is."
Chumley is happy to oblige. "ChumleyтАФhurmтАФtake. Chumley play." And with these ominous words, he
vanishes and the concealed door is once again closed.
"A-a-a-ahhh yes." Humgudgeon shakes his head slowly. "You see how it is, my dear," he protests to the
raven. "Not a moment passes but they make the most incredible demands on me. There's nothing I can
do to stop them. Thank goodness for Chumley. I don't know what I would do without him. I have other
consequences I might employ, but most of them are exhausting. Chumley is simplicity itself." He tastes
something in one of the smaller goblets, spits out what he has in his mouth and empties the rest on the
floor. "One cannot help but wonder where they dream these things up. Whoever sent that to me will have
something to answer for, I promise you."
From behind the concealed door there comes a single, ghastly breaking sound, and then a heavy thud.
Humgudgeon chooses to pay no notice to this. He selects another goblet and continues. "There's nothing
I can do to stop these silly demands, though I've certainly tried. You favor drastic means, I know," he
remarks to the raven, "but that's messy and not neat. You must perceive the need to be neat. There's no
point in dealing with them if it only serves to make matters worse. If I am to decimate my country, it
ought to be tidy, so the rest will not become too upset. Still, I can't let them bother me all the time, so it
might become necessary to find other means. It isn't the least practical to spend alt my time worrying
about finding a way to keep them from taking up all my time. No advantage in an arrangement like that. I
require some time for myself, don't I? Of course I do, my dear." He refills his current goblet and drinks
from it with real satisfaction. "This is more like it. Whoever sent this one will have some sort of favor from
me, perhaps I will take my court to visit him. That would be an honor."
The raven flaps around the room once, croaking a few times, and then returns to its perch where it
waggles its head several times as ravens often do, then busies itself with setting its feathers in order.
"I do wish you would learn to speak," Humgudgeon complains. "It's so inconvenient having to decipher
those sounds of yours. Til attend to it shortly. But a creature like you, truly, you should be able to speak."
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Chelsea Quinn Yarbro
Just then there is another knock at the door and a terrified voice calls out, "Your Maleficence! Your
Maleficence!"
"Go away," Humgudgeon answers.
"It's important, Your Maleficence!" the voice protests in desperation. "You could be in danger!"
"Goodness!" For Humgudgeon, this is a curse word. "In danger?"
"Yes, Your Maleficence!"
"Oh, all right. You may come in. But this had better be real danger, or you will answer for it." He sets his
current goblet aside and taps the tips of his pudgy fingers together. "You may enter."
The door yawns open and a man staggers in. He is disheveled, one of his eyes has been impressively
blackened, his right arm is in a makeshift sling and he is breathing heavily. "Your Maleficence," he pants,
trying to bow properly.
"This had better be as important as you say," Humgudgeon informs him with a smile. Tap-tap-tap go his
fingers.
"Your Maleficence, the townspeople are revolting!"
Tap-tap-tap. His smile becomes a grin. "Of course."
"It's going on right now!" the man insists. "The magistrates sent me. They're afraid they'll be lynched."
"They always are," Humgudgeon remarks, adding, "lynched, I mean."
"Even now there is still a chance to save some of them. The poor have run riot, and are tearing their way
through all the shops and are calling for blood. They say they are starving and that you are a tyrant."
"How perceptive," Humgudgeon murmurs.
"They have sworn to bring you down," the man goes on, less certainly than before.
"Must they do this? Every spring, it's the same complaints, the same riots." He looks at this second
messenger. "New magistrates, of course, but that's to be expected." He sighs. "I have to let them have a