"Brust,.Steven.-.To.Reign.In.Hell" - читать интересную книгу автора (Brust Steven)

Yaweh stood by the Sword of Michael, regarding it in its glass
case. He stood in a spacious chamber of white curtains, tiled floor,
and silvery walls. Toward the back was a throne—huge and gold.
Opposite the case was another case, this one holding a large
sceptre, also of gold. A great arched doorway opposed the throne.

The room had been designed by Yaweh, who wished it to be bare
and unimposing. Those who entered, by dress and attitude, set its
mood; it had none of its own. Here, Yaweh could address the
archangels, all three hundred, if needed. He blended in so well that
he nearly wasn't there.

Next to him, regarding the case, was an archangel. He was of the
Second Wave, and small, thin, and black-bearded. A brief glance
would lead one to think his frame slight; a closer look would reveal
chest and shoulder muscles confined within the frame as though
trapped and held in place with iron bands.

Yaweh turned from the case to him.

"You build well, Asmodai."

"Thank you, Lord. I am pleased. It served well in the Third Wave."

"Yes, it did. As did my sceptre, and Satan's emerald, and—but why
go on? I am pleased with with your work. Now I want more."

"Anything I can do, Lord."

Yaweh smiled at him and placed a hand on his shoulder. "Thank
you, Asmodai. This means a great deal to me, and to all of us.
Come, I'll show you what I want. It isn't small, I'm afraid."

Yaweh was overcome with a great fondness for the little craftsman,
but that wasn't unusual. He had never felt anything but fondness for
anyone, and the occasional enmity between angels left him sad
and puzzled.

They turned from the Sword and left the room.

A wide, sweeping stairway of white marble brought them up and
around amid paintings and sculpture in a large hallway of bone-
white walls. Some of the art wasn't very good—but Yaweh took
delight in the joy of an artist whose work was placed here, so he
rarely had the heart to say that a piece wasn't good enough.

They walked, arm in arm, until they came to a small chamber
containing a long table covered with papers.

"Here, Asmodai. This is what we plan to make."