"Roger Zelazny & Robert Sheckley - Bring Me the Head of Prince Charming" - читать интересную книгу автора (Zelazny Roger)

"You called me?"

"I did, sir," she said, in a villainous North African accent. "Come inside."

A human might have been more cautious, because you can never tell what might happen inside a black
tent with cabalistic figures. But for Azzie that tent was the first familiar thing he had seen in a long time.
There are whole tribes of demons who live in black tents and wander up and down the waste places of
Limbo, and Azzie, although Canaanite on his father's side, was related to some of the wandering Bedouin
demons.

Inside, the tent was lined with richly figured rugs. There were oil lamps of finely wrought pewter on the
wall, and em-broidered cushions lay all over. At the far end was a low altar with a table for offerings.
Behind it, looming high, was a heroic statue in the Grecian manner, of a handsome young man with a
wreath of laurel in his hair. Azzie recognized the features.

"So Hermes is here," Azzie said.

"I am his priestess," said the crone.

"I was under the impression," Azzie said, "that we were in a Christian country and that worship of the old
gods is strictly forbidden."

"What you say is true," the crone said. "The old gods are dead, but not really dead because they have
returned to life in new forms. Hermes, for example, has changed into Hermes Trismegistus, patron saint
of alchemists. His worship is not approved, but neither is it forbidden."

"I'm happy to see that," Azzie said. "But why have you called me here?"

"You are a demon, sir?" the crone inquired.
"Yes. How did you know?"

"There is something lordly and sinister in your mien," the crone said, "an air of brooding, implacable evil
that would set you apart from others no matter how large the crowd."

Azzie knew that Gypsies were capable of subtle percep-tions which they then phrased to flatter their
clients. Never-theless, he reached into his pouch, found a gold denier, and gave it to her.

"Take that for your cunning tongue. Now, what do you want of me?"

"My master wants to have a word with you."

"Well, good," Azzie said. It had been a long time since he had had a chat with one of the old gods.
"Where is he?"

The crone knelt down at the altar and began mumbling. In a moment the white marble was suffused with
a rosy glow. The statue came to life, stretched, stepped down from its ped-estal, and sat beside Azzie.
To the old woman Hermes said, "Go find us something to drink."

When she had left, he said, "So, Azzie, it's been a long time."