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

The Bishop shook his head. "I fear not," he said benignly. "Am I to understand that this is something
more than a friendly soiree, on the occasion of the ball given by her Ladyship in honour of the end of the
world?"

The Paramage smiled enigmatically.

"It is more than that," said the hooded figure. "For tonight is the twilight of the universe, as the worms of
rebirth multiply through the fabric of incarnation. It is an evening for truth and consequences, for naked
ambition and lust laid bare to reveal the chance of stillborn futures; an evening for the revelation of
doom. And we who are gathered here tonight all have a role to play -- yourself, your Holiness, and her
Ladyship too -- for this was the only event that was foreordained."

"What do you mean?" Sudden icy fear rooted Marcus to his chair and liquefied his guts. He looked up as
Lady Stael glanced back at him. Her face resembled a shattered mask of anguish as she met his eyes.

"False pretences, Bishop Moran," she whispered. "I pray you will forgive me, but I could not bear to
face this ordeal alone! Not only is one of these three men responsible for the end of the universe, but
another has the ability to revoke such a cosmic judgement as has gathered all the threads of time through
this one knot-hole, and poised the blade above it. Yet they will not tell me who, or why, or how to avert
this fate, until I judge with my own wits and emotions as to which of us, and why, might desi re the
ending of eternity itself! And so I brought you along, for if this world should end at midnight you too
will end with it; and if you can advise me fearlessly and correctly, as in the past ... why, then we might
survive."

Her face went ashen as the Last Gambler reached out with a certain panache and turned the top card on
his deck face up. It was not a card with which Marcus was familiar; it was neither playing card nor tarot,

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 Different Flesh

of either major or minor arcana with which he was familiar. Instead, drawn in the finest of water-colours
upon the parchment was a round and luminous cloud with a stem beneath it like a flowering cactus, or
perhaps a toadstool. Superimposed above it was a strange artefact, a cylinder with stubby wing s
attached; it glowed with a light reflected from the strange cloud. Inscribed at the top of the card in gold
leaf were the runes

E = mc2

"Let the game begin," he said decisively. "I have been informed of the variant Rules for this case, and
the appropriate authorities will be watching this table to prevent any turpitude. I challenge -- Jack-Jones."

The hooded sacerdote leaned across to Marcus and whispered, in a voice as dry as any crypt; "Jones
must now tell his tale, with total honesty and truth. When your turn comes, you too must do so. It is
imperative, no matter how painful it might be, to tell the truth. The order -- " the cowl twisted for a
moment, so that Marcus caught a glimpse of dark, hooded eyes in a shadowy, gaunt face -- "is
determined by the cards. For if chaos is to teach us a lesson of life, how else are we to learn it?"

His words were punctuated by an unearthly shriek. In the gardens below a peacock was spreading its
plumage in iridescent display, to reflect the tattered glory of the fading sunlight. Marcus started, then