"Charles Stross - Different Flesh" - читать интересную книгу автора (Stross Charles)

tonight! The earrings of amber are so fine; am I correct in perceiving that those are tiny salamanders
trapped within?"

She smiled coolly and withdrew her hand. "They are not amber but glass, and the occupants are not
reptiles," she said. "They are the embalmed brains of my first-born twins, who came into this world
rather too early. I shall not bear any others," she added, "but it gives me a certain comfort to wear them
from time to time. I fancy I can hear them whispering to me ... "

The cowled priest nodded understandingly, and an odour of tomb-rot swept from his hood. "That is a
meagre encouragement, but a real one," he said. "As one who has never sown or reaped the seed of the
loins, it behoves me to congratulate you upon your partial success. There was once a time when
motherhood was cheap and lives were short: but no more!"

He retreated from the balustrade, sat down and rearranged his cowl. The Bishop was intrigued, and
somewhat chilled, to realise that not once had the man's face come into view. There was a great geas at
work on Lady Stael, if his senses were informing him correctly: and this secretive monk was part of it.

The rough-looking man in the wide-brimmed hat and the leather suit sat down. He had remained silent
during the introductions, but now he tilted his face up and looked at his hostess. His jaw was unshaven
and his eyes were expressionless. "I am pleased to meet you," he said slowly. "My friend, his Excellency
Jack-Jones, instructed me to come to this place to facilitate the coming event. I am deeply appreciative
of such an -- "

"But what's your name?" Lady Stael interrupted.

The ruffian grinned with the fey expression of one who knew all the cards in the game of life. "I am the
Last Gambler," he said. "I teach the statistics of uncertainty, those of the honourable Thomas Bayes in

particular. Would you care for a lesson?"

The Lady recoiled, her cheeks flushing bright red. "Certainly not!" she said furiously. "Unless you can

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 Different Flesh

tell me the odds upon my husband being alive and returning to wreak justice upon such as yourself!" She
turned away suddenly, so that only the Bishop glimpsed the film of tears that lay across her eyes as she
stared at the distant hills.

"That and other things can I estimate," said the Gambler softly, his undertone directed at the hooded
monk. "But methinks the Lady would not be of a mind to thank me for it." He reached to the table and
raised a tulip-stemmed glass to his lips. Red liqueur caught the setting rays. "Shall we begin?"

"Begin what?" asked the Bishop distractedly. His attention was directed upon Lady Stael, towards whom
he felt more concern than he knew to be right and proper. She was, he decided, very beautiful, especially
when she shaved her scalp so that only a thin patina of gold fuzz caught the light, setting off the
magnificence of her decolletage.

The Gambler produced a deck of peculiarly large cards, and laid it flat upon the table-top. He sat back,
contemplating it. "Has anyone explained to you why we are gathered here tonight?" asked Jack-Jones.