"Martha Wells - Wheel of the Infinite" - читать интересную книгу автора (Wells Martha)

He would have trouble estimating her age, she knew. Country people always thought her younger, city
people used to courtiers who spent all their time lying in the shade and rubbing oils and creams into their
skin always thought her older. His eyes went to the staff again. But there are only so many Voices, she
thought. And the chance was he would know where all the others were.
She watched with interest as the blood drained from his face. “You . . .” He did not step back from
her, though the tension in his body told her he wanted to. He drew in a breath and said coldly, “So the
rumors were true. You’ve been summoned by the Celestial One.”
“Rumors fly fast.” She smiled.
A muscle jumped in his cheek. “I have something to show you.”
Maskelle lifted her brows. She hadn’t expected that response. “You know there are very few rituals
I’m allowed to perform.”
He turned away without answering, his attendants hastily parting for him. Maskelle followed, baffled
and trying— successfully, she hoped—not to show it. What does he want? If this is a trap . . . If this
is a trap, he’s mad.
The priest led her through the dark, crossing through the muddy flats with no concern for his robes,
one of the guards hurrying forward with a lamp to light the way. After a moment she realized he was
leading her toward the temple’s outbuildings, the stables, storehouses, and the quarters for the monks
and servants that stood near the end of the causeway that crossed the baray to the temple. He turned
through a narrow gate in a stone wall, pausing to disperse the guards with a wave. Only his priest
attendants followed Maskelle through the gate.
 Inside was a courtyard, the few lamps hanging from hooks along the walls illuminating muddy ground
and more gates leading off into the rambling structure that loomed over them in the dark. Two guards
stood outside one of the gates, and one quickly reached to pull it open as the priest strode toward it.
Inside was a warm close room, the damp air smelling strongly of goat and the ground littered with
straw. The other priests had remained outside, but the one guard with the lamp had followed them in. The
head priest took it away from him and held it high over the occupant of the wooden pen.
Maskelle took a deep breath, despite the smell. “It’s a goat.” The man is mad.
It was an ordinary brown goat, staring up at them with opaque brown eyes. The goat turned its head
and bleated, and Maskelle saw what was hanging out of its side. It was the rear half of a moray lizard.
She stepped closer and leaned down, swallowing a curse. The moray were about a foot long, with tough
gray green hides and a ridge of distinctive spines along their backs to complement their sharp teeth and
clawed feet. This was distinctively a moray, or at least the back six inches of one. It was stuck against the
goat’s side as if it had grown there, the two back legs dangling, the spiny tail hanging limply. Baffled, she
looked up at the priest, who was watching her with a grim lack of expression that was impossible to
read. She said, “It’s strange, but such things happen. Animals born with extra limbs or . . .” Other,
completely different animals hanging out of their bodies. No, she didn’t think she had heard of that
before. She forged on anyway, “They aren’t always omens, though people think ...”
He was shaking his head. He pointed toward a stone block set back against the wall of the stall, and
angled the lamp so the light fell more fully on it. Hanging out of the stone was the front half of the lizard.
Maskelle wet her lips, feeling a coldness in the pit of her stomach. She said, “All right, that one is, uh .
. . odd.” The front half of the moray hung limply out of the stone, its front legs and the wicked oblong
head like some bizarre decoration. The stone itself was a square block with cracked mortar on the sides,
as if it had been broken out of a wall.
“Could this be the result of your curse?” the priest asked.
Maskelle lifted a brow, but she found the bluntness rather refreshing. “A dark power, following in my
wake, you mean? It’s possible. When did it happen?”
“Six days ago.”
She shook her head, a little surprised. “I wasn’t in this province yet. We’ve been travelling hard.”
He turned away, the shadows falling over the monstrosity in the rock as the lamp was withdrawn.
Maskelle followed him out into the relatively fresh air of the court, where the other priests still waited