"Stephen Goldin - Storyteller" - читать интересную книгу автора (Goldin Stephen)

“You are my master, and I am yours to command."
“Don't forget that,” Hakem Rafi said.

“Of all the facts in all the world, that is one I never shall forget,” the daeva replied, and added, “Is there
anything you wish right now? Food and drink, perhaps?"

The mere mention of food reminded Hakem Rafi that he hadn't eaten since breakfast in the prince's
camp early that morning. He'd become so used to going hungry during these last few weeks that he
routinely ignored the insistent urges of his stomach—but there was no longer any reason to deprive
himself of what he wanted.

“Yes,” he said, “some food and drink sounds wonderful. Bring me some immediately."

“Do you have any preferences, O master?"

Hakem Rafi had so seldom been in a position where he had a choice that it was difficult to think. “Bring
me a feast worthy of the wealthiest merchant in Ravan,” he said with an arrogant wave of his hand.

“I hear and I obey,” Aeshma acknowledged.

At Hakem Rafi's feet appeared a fine carpet of cerise, gold, black, and dark cedar green, so deep a
man's fingers would sink into its pile up to the second knuckle, spread out invitingly with comfortable
pillows around it. At the corners were several tall stands with silver inlaid brass lamps that illuminated the
area around the rug, though the rest of the huge room was dim and the corners were lost in darkness. A
leather sofreh covered the carpet's center and a white cloth sofreh was placed over that for æsthetic
effect. On top of the cloth was a series of golden plates containing the largest feast Hakem Rafi had ever
had served for himself alone. The scents exploded in his nostrils, filling them as the dust had done before.
As the aromas of meat, fruit, and herbs wafted through the room, they seemed to drive the dust and rat
droppings before them, till the faded dim hall at least was clean.

On the sofreh were a mixed herb plate served with feta cheese; an eggplant salad as well as a mixed
green salad of romaine lettuce, cucumbers, tomatos, radishes, and herbs; a dish of peach pickles; a plate
of duck in walnut and pomegranate sauce served over chelo; a bowl of quince soup; a plate of nan-e
lavash; a large pitcher of abdug; a bowl of apricots and plums; and an enormous platter heaped high with
rahat lakhoum. Hakem Rafi had been fortunate enough to sample rahat lakhoum only twice before in his
life, and never had he seen it piled in such generous quantities—and certainly never for one individual.

As a man with an eye toward the value of property—particularly other people's—Hakem Rafi was
impressed at the quality of the materials Aeshma could produce; at the same time, as a man of ravenous
appetite, he did not long ponder the supplementary details. He ate and drank heartily of this sumptuous
repast, especially gorging on the rahat lakhoum, until even his monstrous appetite was sated and he sat on
one velvet cushion feeling his stomach was about to burst.

The food had taken the edge off his fear, and the rahat lakhoum had made him bolder. He was no longer
terrified of the daeva king who'd sworn to serve his wishes, and he was just beginning to realize exactly
what all this could mean for him. Ever since stealing the urn and learning of its contents he'd dreamed of
unlimited wealth—but dreams were one thing, and the fulfillment of them was something else entirely. The
fact that he could become the richest, most powerful man in all Parsina, and that anything he wanted was
his for the taking, was just starting to dawn in his simple mind. Hakem Rafi grinned and lay back on the
carpeted floor, wallowing in the concept.