"Dave Duncan - A Man of His Word 4 - Emperor And Clown" - читать интересную книгу автора (Duncan Dave)

What else should an imperor do? First, have Ythbane's backside beaten-right there, on the floor of the rotunda, where the fat delegate was still
kneeling, reciting his nonsense. In front of the court and the senators. Shandie caught himself about to smile, and didn't.


Then be merciful and cut off his head. Second, abolish these stupid, stupid togas!


Why should formal occasions require formal court dress, togas and sandals? No one wore them any other time. What was wrong with hose and
doublet and shoes? Or even tights, which were the latest craze. Ordinary people never had to wear these ridiculous, scratchy, uncomfortable bed
sheets. Sane, ordinary people hadn't worn things like these for thousands of years. Oh, my poor arm!


Abolish togas, that was certain.


And abolish all these dreadful formal ceremonies! Why bother with them? Grandfather certainly didn't want them-he'd been weeping when they'd
brought him in. The birthday homages had just started, too. They would be going on for weeks. What sort of a way was that to celebrate a birthday,
even a seventy-fifth?


A birthday was one day. That's what the word meant. Birthday!


Shandie's tenth birthday was just a month away, and he was going to have a one-day birthday. Mostly awful ceremonial, too, but a party with some
other boys if he was good, Moms said.


The toga was hot and heavy. Sunlight blazed down from the windows in the high dome, casting his shadow at his feet-but he mustn't look down.




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 Emperor And Clown

The fat delegate from wherever-it-was came to a stuttering end at last, obviously as relieved as Shandie. He bent forward to place his offering
beside the other offerings, then crawled back a pace and touched his face to the floor. Everyone looked up at Grandfather, and Shandie froze. Even
his eyes. Don't blink while Ythbane is watching! '


Grandfather was supposed to say something then, but all Shandie heard was another half snore.


As a consul, Ythbane stood at the head of the line of toga-clad ministers, nearest to the imperor. Shandie could feel those hateful eyes washing over
him, looking for signs of fidgeting, but he stared rigidly across at the empty White Throne and did not breathe. Little tremors crawled over his scalp.
If his hair stood on end, would Ythbane call that fidgeting?