"Zelazny, Roger - Bring Me The Head Of Prince Charming" - читать интересную книгу автора (Zelazny Roger)

"Hi there! You, sir!"
Azzie turned. Yes, the old crone was beckoning to him. She sat in front of a small black tent, cabalistic figures painted on its sides in gold. She was dark-skinned, and appeared to be an Arab or a Gypsy.
"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 embroidered 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 perceptions which they then phrased to flatter their clients. Nevertheless, 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 pedestal, 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."
"Quite long," Azzie said. "It's good to see you again, Hermes. I wasn't on Earth when Christianity defeated paganism- other commitments, you know-but I do want to offer my condolences."
"Thank you," Hermes said, "but actually we lost nothing. We're all at work, all the gods. We move with the times, and we sometimes hold honored positions in both camps - saint or demon. Does wonders for one's perspective. There's much to be said for a kind of intermediate status."
"I'm glad to hear it," Azzie said. "There's something sad about the thought of an out-of-work god."
"Never worry about us. I had my servant Aissa call you, Azzie, because she said you looked lost. I thought I could help."
"That is good of you," Azzie said. "Perhaps you could just fill me in on what's been going on since Caligula."
"Well, in brief, the Roman thing collapsed under barbarian invasions and lead poisoning. The barbarians are all about now. They call themselves Franks and Saxons and Visigoths. They have formed an empire which they call the Holy Roman Empire."
"Holy?" Azzie asked.
"That's what they call it. I don't know why."
"But how did the real Roman empire fall?"
"You can look it up in any history," Hermes said. "Just take my word; it fell, and that was the end of the Classical Age. The period we are now in is called - or will be, shortly after it's over-the Middle Ages. You just missed the Dark Ages. We had some fun then, I promise you! But this time is good, too."
"What year is it?" Azzie asked.
"The year one thousand," Hermes said.
"The Millennium!"
"Yes."
"Then it's almost time for the contest."
"That is correct, Azzie. It is the time when the forces of Light and the forces of Darkness hold their great contest to see who shall dictate the essence of human destiny for the next thousand years, and whether it shall be for good or for evil. What are you going to do about it?"
"Me?" Azzie said. "What can I do?"
"You can enter the contest."
Azzie shook his head. "The representative of Evil is chosen at the Grand Council by the High Evil Powers. They always play favorites, giving the making of the contest to one of their friends. I wouldn't stand a chance."
"That is how it was in the old days," Hermes said. "But I've heard that Hell is reforming itself. They are being sorely pressed by the Powers of Light. Nepotism, excellent though it is, is no longer sufficient to carry their point of view. Now, as I understand it, the selecting of the contestant must be awarded on merit.'
"Merit! What a novel concept! But there's still nothing I can do."
"Don't be a defeatist like so many other young demons," Hermes said sternly. "So many of them are lazy, content just to lie around, take drugs, swap tales, and take the easy way through eternity. You are not like that, Azzie. You're clever, and you have principles, initiative. Do something. You may actually have a chance."
"But I don't know what to do," Azzie said. "And even if I did, I have no money to carry it out with."
"You paid the old woman," Hermes pointed out.
"That was fairy gold. It vanishes after a day or two. If I want to make an entry in the contest, it calls for real money."
"I know where some is," Hermes said.
"Where? How many dragons do I have to slay to get it?"
"No dragons at all. You merely have to best the other players in the Founder's Day Poker Game."
"Poker!" Azzie breathed. "My passion! Where's the game?"
"It is taking place three days hence in a graveyard in Rome. But you must play better this time than last, else you'll be returned to the Pit for a few hundred more years.