"Foster, Alan Dean - Dream Done Green" - читать интересную книгу автора (Foster Alan Dean)

"You are Casperdan," said the horse suddenly. The voice was exceptional, too: a mellow tenor that tended to rise on concluding syllables, only to break and drop like a whitecap on the sea before the next word.
She started to stammer a reply, angrily composed
herself.
"I am. I regret that I'm not familiar with your species, but I'll accept whatever the standard horse-man greeting is."
"I give no subservient greeting to any man," replied the horse. It shifted a hoof on the floor, which here was deep foam.
A stranger and insolent to boot, thought Casperdan furiously. She would call Patch and the household guards and . . . Her anger dissolved in confusion and
uncertainty.
"How did you get past Row and Cuff?" Surely this harmless-looking, handless quadruped could not have overpowered the two lions. The horse smiled, showing
white incisors.
"Cats, fortunately, are more subject to reason than
many mal. And now I think I'll answer the rest of
your questions.
"My name is Pericles. I come from Quaestor." Quaestor! Magic, distant, Imperial capital! Her
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Dream Done Green
anger at this maFs insolence was subsumed in excitement.
"You mean you've actually traveled all the way from the capital... to meet me?"
"There is no need to repeat," the horse murmured, "only to confirm. It took a great deal of time and searching to find someone like you. I need someone young . . . you are that. Only a young human would be responsive to what I have to offer. I needed someone bored, and you are wealthy as well as young."
"I'm not bored," Casperdan began defiantly, but he ignored her.
"I needed someone very rich, but without a multitude of ravenous relatives hanging about. Your father is a self-made tycoon, your mother an orphan. You have no other relatives. And I needed someone with the intelligence and sensitivity to take orders from a mere mal."
This last was uttered with a disdain alien to Casperdan. Servants were not sarcastic.
"In sum," he concluded, "I need you."
"Indeed?" she mused, too overwhelmed by the outrageousness of this animal's words to compose a suitable rejoinder.
"Indeed," the horse echoed drily.
"And what, pray tell, do you need me for?"
The horse dropped its head and seemed to consider how best to continue. It looked oddly at her.
"Laugh now if you will. I have a dream that needs fulfilling."
"Do you, now? Really, this is becoming quite amusing." What a story she'd have to tell at the preparty tomorrow!
"Yes, I do. Hopefully it will not take too many years."
She couldn't help blurting, "Years!"
"I cannot tell for certain. You see, I am a genius and a poet. For me it's the dream part that's solid. The reality is what lacks certitude. That's one reason why I need human help. Need you."
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WITH FRIENDS LIKE THESE .,.
This time she just stared at him.
"Tomorrow," continued the horse easily, "you will not marry the man du Sable. Instead, you will sign the formal Control Contract and assume directorship of the Dan family business. You have the ability and brains to handle it. With my assistance the firm will prosper beyond the wildest dreams of your sire or any of the investors.
"In return, I will deed you a part of my dream, some of my poetry, and something few humans have had for millennia. I would not know of this last thing myself had I not chanced across it in the Imperial
archives."
She was silent for a brief moment, then spoke
brightly,
"I have a few questions."
"Of course."
"First, I'd like to know if horses as a species are insane, or if you are merely an isolated case."
He sighed, tossing his mane. "I didn't expect words to convince you." The long black hair made sailor's knots with sunbeams. "Do you know the Meadows of
Blood?"
"Only by name." She was fascinated by the mention of the forbidden place. "They're in the Ravaged Mountains. It's rumored to be rather a pretty place. But no one goes there. The winds above the canyon make it fatal to arrears."
"I have a car outside," the horse whispered. "The driver is mal and knows of a winding route by which, from to time, it is possible to reach the Meadows, The winds war only above them. They are named, by the way, for the color of the flora there and not for a bit of human history . . . unusual.
"When the sun rises up hi the mouth of a certain canyon and engulfs the crimson grasses and flowers in light... well, it's more than 'rather pretty.' "
"You've already been there," she said.
"Yes, I've already been." He took several steps and
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