"Dave Duncan - Tales of King's Blades 4 - Impossible Odds" - читать интересную книгу автора (Duncan Dave)

humored. So the White Sisters’ help was required, and Sister Gertrude was the most junior Sister in
attendance at Court. Tonight Mother Celandine would supervise and instruct. Thereafter Trudy would
have the night honors all to herself.

It was only a formality.
 Generated by ABC Amber LIT Converter, http://www.processtext.com/abclit.html




Two lights came into view and soon resolved themselves into torches set in sconces on either side of an
imposing doorway, the entrance to Quamast House. The Grand Duke had been lodged a long way from
the main palace, and Sir Bernard had assured Trudy that this was the Blades’ doing. Most visitors were
bunked in the West Wing, but the Blades never took chances with unidentified spirituality.

Under each sconce stood a pike man in shiny breastplate and conical steel hat. The one on the right
stamped his boots, advanced one of them a pace, lowered his halberd, and pro-claimed, “Who goes
there?”


3Impossible Odds

That was a very stupid question when he knew the answer already. The Royal Guard scorned such
folderol as pass-words, Bernard had told her, because they all knew one an-other and because they tried
to do nothing the Yeomen did, or at least never in the way the Yeomen did it.

“The nightingale sings a sad song!” Sergeant Bates pro-claimed at Trudy’s back. That was not true,
because nightin-gales had finished singing back in Fifthmoon, and he said it loud enough for any skulking
trespasser to overhear.

The man-at-arms resumed his former position, slamming the butt of his halberd on the stone. “Pass,
friend.”

One of the footmen opened the right-hand flap of the dou-ble door. As Trudy followed Mother
Celandine through it, she caught a startling whiff of... of she was not sure what. She did not stop to
investigate.

She found herself in a pillared hall that must take up most of the ground floor of the building. A very
inadequate light was shed by a pair of enormous bronze candelabra standing at the foot of a showy
marble staircase set in the center of the hall, which seemed an inefficient use of space. Much vague
sculpture loitered in the shadows along the walls. The marble floor supported some random rugs and a
few ugly sofas and chairs, poorly arranged.

A voice at her elbow said, “Good chance, Trudy.”

She jumped and turned to meet his grin. “Bernard!” He had not told her he would be here!

He smirked. “A last-minute roster change.”

Obviously he had arranged this so he could surprise her— and embarrass her! Mother Celandine was