"George R. R. Martin - The Way of Cross and Dragon" - читать интересную книгу автора (Martin George R R)

THE WAY OF CROSS
AND DRAGON
George R. R. Martin
"Heresy," he told me. The brackish waters of his pool sloshed gently.
"Another one?" I said wearily. "There are so many these days."
My Lord Commander was displeased by that comment. He shifted position
heavily, sending ripples up and down the pool. One broke over the side, and a sheet
of water slid across the tiles of the receiving chamber. My boots were soaked yet
again. I accepted that philosophically. I had worn my worst boots, well aware that
wet feet were among the inescapable consequences of paying call on Torgathon
Nine-Klariis Tûn, elder of the ka-Thane people, and also Archbishop of Vess, Most
Holy Father of the Four Vows, Grand Inquisitor of the Order Militant of the Knights
of Jesus Christ, and counselor to His Holiness Pope Daryn XXI of New Rome.
"Be there as many heresies as stars in the sky, each single one is no less
dangerous, Father," the archbishop said solemnly. "As Knights of Christ, it is our
ordained task to fight them one and all. And I must add that this new heresy is
particularly foul."
"Yes, my Lord Commander," I replied. "I did not intend to make light of it. You
have my apologies. The mission to Finnegan was most taxing. I had hoped to ask
you for a leave of absence from my duties. I need rest, a time for thought and
restoration."
"Rest?" The archbishop moved again in his pool, only a slight shift of his
immense bulk, but it was enough to send a fresh sheet of water across the floor. His
black, pupilless eyes blinked at me. "No, Father, I am afraid that is out of the
question. Your skills and your experience are vital for this new mission." His bass
tones seemed to soften somewhat then. "I have not had time to go over your reports
on Finnegan," he said. "How did your work go?"
"Badly," I told him, "though ultimately I think we will prevail. The Church is
strong on Finnegan. When our attempts at reconciliation were rebuffed, I put some
standards into the right hands, and we were able to shut down the heretics'
newspaper and broadcasting facilities. Our friends also made certain that their legal
actions came to nothing."
"That is not badly," the archbishop said. "You won a considerable victory for the
Lord and the Church."
"There were riots, my Lord Commander," I said. "More than a hundred of the
heretics were killed, and a dozen of our own people. I fear there will be more
violence before the matter is finished. Our priests are attacked if they so much as
enter the city where the heresy has taken root. Their leaders risk their lives if they
leave that city. I had hoped to avoid such hatreds, such bloodshed."
"Commendable, but not realistic," said Archbishop Torgathon. He blinked at me
again, and I remembered that among people of his race blinking is a sign of
impatience. "The blood of martyrs must sometimes be spilled, and the blood of
heretics as well. What matters it if a being surrenders his life, so long as his soul is
saved?"
"Indeed," I agreed. Despite his impatience, Torgathon would lecture me for
another hour if given a chance. That prospect dismayed me. The receiving chamber
was not designed for human comfort, and I did not wish to remain any longer than
necessary. The walls were damp and moldy, the air hot and humid and thick with the
rancid-butter smell characteristic of the ka-Thane. My collar was chafing my neck
raw. I was sweating beneath my cassock, my feet were thoroughly soaked, and my