"L. Sprague De Camp - The Stolen Dormouse" - читать интересную книгу автора (De Camp L Sprague)

A DUELLING stick, whose weight is regulated by the conventions, is no match for a three-foot
nightstick. When the clatter had died down, and the physicians were doing emergency repairs on
assorted skulls, collar bones, and so forth, the chief of police summoned the chairmen of the
rival houses.
Billiam Bickham-Smith of Stromberg and Archwin TaylorThing of Crosley appeared, glaring.
“Aw right,” said the chief. “I warned you ‘bout this here feudin’. I said, the next time
they’s a scrap in a public place, I’d close up your show. I wouldn’t say a word if you’d fight
your duels out in the hills somewhere. But I got to proteck the innocent bystanders.”
The chief of police was a small, sallow man. He wore the blue tunic of officialdom, with a
shield bearing the motto of the Corporate State: Alle was nicht Pflicht ist, ist verboten—”A1l
that is not compulsory is forbidden.” His trouser legs were gayly colored, in different patterns:
one that of the American Empire, the other that of Los Angeles, the capital.
Archwin of Crosley looked through the head of the rival house as though Billiam of


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Stromberg were not there. He said to the chief: “You can’t expect my men to submit to unprovoked
assault. Unprovoked assault.”
“Unprovoked!” snorted Billiam of Stromberg. “My lord chief, I’ve got all the witnesses you
want that egghead’s men struck first.”
“What?” yelled Archwin of Crosley. “Where’s my stick?”
Whereas, Billiam of Stromberg had a beautiful head of silky white hair, Archwin of Crosley
had no hair at all. He was sensitive to references to this fact.
“Won’t do you no good to start a fight here,” said the chief. “I’m going to close you up.
I represent the plain citizens of Los Angeles, and we don’t want no feudin’ in the city limits.
The Imperial Board of Control will back me up, too.”
“Vulgar rabble,” muttered Billiam of Stromberg.
“Have to travel all day to get out of the limits of this city,” growled Archwin of
Crosley.
The chairmen subsided, looking unhappy. They did not want the Exposition closed; neither,
really, did the chief of police. Aside from the dangers of antagonizing two of the noblest clans
of the American Empire, there was the loss of business.
He let them think for half a minute, then said: “Course, if you’d agree to discipline your
men hard enough next time there’s a fight, maybe we could let the show go on.”
“I’ll go as far as that old goat will,” said Archwin of Crosley. “What’s your plan?” asked
Billiam of Stromberg, controlling himself with visible effort.
“This,” said the chief. “Any man who gets in a scrap gets degraded, if he belongs to one
of the orders, and read out of his company.”
The chairmen looked startled. This was drastic. Billiam Bickham-Smith asked: “Even if he’s
of the rank of executive?”
“Even if he’s of the rank of entrepreneur.”
“Whew!” That was little short of sacrilege.
Archwin of Crosley asked: “Even if he’s the innocent party?”
“Even if he’s the innocent party. ‘Count of both of ‘em would claim they was innocent, and
the only thing we could do would be give ‘em a trial by liedetector, and everybody knows how to
beat the liedetector nowadays. Do you agree on your honor as an entrepreneur, Lord Archwin?”
“I agree.”