"George R. R. Martin - Dying of the Light" - читать интересную книгу автора (Martin George R R)

At perihelion, the heat of the Hellcrown and Fat Satan would have burned off Worlorn's atmosphere and boiled its
sea, but the Toberian shield blocked off that fury and we had a long bright summer. Now, in like manner, it helps to
hold in the heat. Yet it has its limits, as does everything. The cold will come."
"I did not think we'd meet like this," Dirk said. "Why did you come up here?"
"A chance. Long years ago Gwen told me that you liked to watch the dawn. And other things as well, Dirk
t'Larien. I know far more of you than you of me."
Dirk laughed. "Well, that's true. I never knew you existed until last night."
Jaan Vikary's face was hard and serious. "But I do exist. Remember that, and we can be friends. I hoped to find
you alone and tell you this before the others woke. This is not Avalon now, t'Larien, and today is not yesterday. It is
a dying Festival world, a world without a code, so each of us must cling tightly to whatever codes we bring with us.
Do not test mine. Since my years on Avalon, I have tried to think of myself as Jaan Vikary, but I am still a Kavalar.
Do not force me to be Jaantony Riv Wolf high-Ironjade Vikary."
Dirk stood up. "I'm not sure what you mean," he said. "But I think I can be cordial enough. I certainly have nothing
against you, Jaan."
That seemed to be enough to satisfy Vikary. He nodded slowly, and reached into the pocket of his trousers. "An
emblem of my friendship and concern for you," he said. In his hand was a black metal collar pin, a tiny manta. "Will
you wear it during your time here?"
Dirk took it from his hand. "If you want me to," he said, smiling at the other's formality. He fixed it to his collar.
"Dawn is gloomy here," Vikary said, "and day is not much better. Come down to our quarters. I will rouse the others,
and we can eat."
The apartment that Gwen shared with the two Kavalars was immense. The high-ceilinged living room was
dominated by a fireplace two meters high and twice as long, and above was a slate-gray mantel where glowering
gargoyles perched to guard the ashes. Vikary led Dirk past them, over an expanse of deep black carpet, into a dining
chamber that was nearly as large. Dirk sat in a high-backed wooden chair, one of twelve along the great table, while
his host went to fetch food and company.
He returned shortly, bearing a platter of thinly sliced brown meat and a basket of cold biscuits. He set them in front
of Dirk, then turned and left again.
No sooner had he gone than another door opened and Gwen entered, smiling sleepily. She wore an old headband,
faded trousers, and a shapeless green top with wide sleeves. He could see the glint of her heavy jade-and-silver
bracelet, tight on her left arm. With her, a step behind, came another man, nearly as tall as Vikary but several years
younger and much more slender, clad in a short-sleeved jumpsuit of brown-red chameleon cloth. He glanced at Dirk
out of intense blue eyes, the bluest eyes that Dirk had ever seen, set in a gaunt hatchet face above a full red beard.
Gwen sat down. The red beard paused in front of Dirk's chair. "I am Garse Ironjade Janacek," he said. He offered
his palms. Dirk rose to press them.
Garse Ironjade Janacek, Dirk noted, wore a laser pistol at his waist, slung in a leather holster on a silvery mesh-
steel belt. Around his right forearm was a black bracelet, twin to Vikary's-iron and what looked to be glowstone.
"You probably know who I am," Dirk said.
"Indeed," Janacek replied. He had a rather malicious grin. Both of them sat down.
Gwen was already munching on a biscuit. When Dirk resumed his seat, she reached out across the table and
fingered the little manta pin on his collar, smiling at some secret amusement. "I see that you and Jaan found each
other," she said.
"More or less," Dirk replied, and just then Vikary returned, with his right hand wrapped awkwardly around the
handles of four pewter mugs, and his left hand holding a pitcher of dark beer. He deposited it all in the center of the
table, then made one last trip to the kitchen for plates and ironware and a glazed jar of sweet yellow paste that he told
them to spread on the biscuits.
While he was gone, Janacek pushed the mugs across the table at Gwen. "Pour," he said to her, in a rather
peremptory tone, before turning bis attention back to Dirk. "I am told you were the first man she knew," he said
while Gwen was pouring. "You left her with an imposing number of vile habits," he said, smiling coolly. "I am
tempted to take insult and call you out for satisfaction."
Dirk looked baffled.