"stross, charles - different flesh" - читать интересную книгу автора (Stross Charles)

to say for yourself?" Imad couldn't see, but he could hear when he was being
addressed. And he knew what was likely to happen, should he fail to speak in his
own defence.
"I've done nothing, your Lordship," he said desperately. "I'm just a journeyman
of magic, learning my trade at country fairs! I haven't done anything! Please --
"
All of a sudden, the peasants who were holding him down released his arms. He
scrambled to his knees and looked up, meeting the eyes of the knight for the
first time. The warrior stared down at him pitilessly, one hand gripping his
lance as if challenging Imad to outrun his steed.
"A magician," said the knight, slowly. "Well, well ... " He pointed an iron
finger at Imad. "My apothecary died last month," he said quietly. "You will take
his place, won't you?"
Imad looked at the hetman, who was still fingering his noose, and nodded
violently. "Anything you say," he blurted. "Anything at all!"
"Good." The knight didn't smile. "Welcome to Castle Capeluche. I hope you enjoy
your stay."
Imad was happy to escape with his life, but less pleased with his new
accommodation. A flea-ridden straw tick in an outhouse within the courtyard was
his closest approach to privacy; that, and a workroom with cluttered benches, a
stuffed crocodile hanging from the rafters, and such a profusion of dusty herbs
and simples as to make his nose sting and his eyes water. After his arrival he
was acquainted with his post by one of the men-at-arms, and then ignored by
everybody except the cook -- who cursed him r oundly when he enquired after
victuals.
"But what am I to do?" he asked in confusion. "What are my duties here?"
The dark-skinned chef fixed him with a beady stare as he honed his cleaver upon
a leather strop. "Keep out of way," he said. "See tower? Lord Capeluche keeps
wife locked up there. Her father, he come to war soon. Very bad thing; Lord
Capeluche very angry, want death spells, demons, big loud curses. Meanwhile,
best not let self be seen."
He put down his cleaver and rotated the spit. The truncated torso of a small pig
sizzled and dripped fat into the fireplace. "Lord Capeluche not like women," he
hinted darkly, his voice drowned in the crackling of the flames. "He had vision,
told him they all evil. Look at village -- see any wives, huh? He sent them
away. Don't cross him. He wears skin of enemies under his armour."
Imad looked at the spitted pig and swallowed. Saliva filled his mouth, even
though when he looked closer the roast didn't look much like a pig at all. In
such a backward area as this, it was unwise to enquire too closely about the
dietary habits of the residents. He turned away as the chef rolled the spit
again. "Is there a library here?" he asked slowly. "A place with books?"
The chef nodded. "Other tower," he said. "Has old guy's books, what-his-name --
he cast spell here before he dead. Warn you -- not to tamper with Lord
Capeluche's place. Don't get them mixed, huh? Bad for you."
"Thanks," said Imad without any real feeling. His fingers were itching. Real
books? he wondered: in a place like this? Imad was an ob-sessive bibliophile,
pursuing his habit to extremes. He was also a magician. He resolved that he
would not attempt to escape until he had seen this library; who knew what he
might discover?
Leaving the kitchen he walked across to the far tower. It was decrepit, the