"Greg Keyes - Age of Unreason 2 - A Calculus of Angels" - читать интересную книгу автора (Keyes J Gregory)

understood that Alexis was angry, angry enough to overcome his shame and
agony. “It—was— impossible.” The words were measured out, to ensure they
were understood. To be certain that Peter comprehended that one thing, if
nothing else, knew he was the cause, the murderer.

“You have never understood,” Peter responded. “Every day I work—every
single day—to make Russia what it can be, what it should be. Every day! Each
time I relax, each instant I relax, to sleep, to sail, to read a book—something
goes wrong. This senator becomes a grafter, that boyar raises the Strelitzi
against me. I have marched with my armies. I have with my own two hands
built many of the ships that guard our shores and carry our goods abroad. The
very shoes I wear on my feet I earned working as an iron founder! That is what
it takes to rule Russia, to bring her into a new age, to make her strong enough
to survive in this new world. Not your muttering superstitions and backward-
looking ways. When I came to power we were barbarians, lost in the old ways,
a joke throughout the world. Now look at us! It will not all be lost when I die.
No matter what, Russia will not tread backward!”




file:///K|/eMule/Incoming/Greg%20Keyes%20-%20Age%...nreason%202%20-%20A%20Calculus%20of%20Angels.html (6 of 460)22-12-2006 23:48:53
A CALCULUS OF ANGELS




Alexis was silent for a time. “I know,” he said at last. “But you must
understand, I think you wrong. You strangle the old church, cut us off from the
religion of our fathers. You consort with demons—”

“They are not demons,” Peter said, feeling his own temper rise. “They are
things of science. You would have us go back to the old ways? Would you have
us give back our ice-free ports? Would you have us sit in Moscow, as the
winters grow longer and colder, until the glaciers grind over our country?

Would you give us back to the darkness from which we came, and worse?“

Alexis raised bruised eyes, already the dark hollows of a skull. “Yes. If it means
we perish as Christians and not worshippers of things like that.” He spat blood
in the direction of the ifrit that floated behind Peter. Peter barely glanced at it.
It was always there, his guardian, more faithful than any man, a whirling
nimbus around a single, burning eye.

“It is a thing of science,” Peter repeated. “My philosophers discovered it.”

“They summoned it from hell.”

Peter bit back a retort, took a few breaths to calm himself. His face had begun
to twitch, and he did not wish to bring on a seizure. “So you are unrepentant?”