"Philip Jose' Farmer. The Green Odyssey (англ.)" - читать интересную книгу автора

staircase that led to the upper floors of the castle, Zuni told Green that
he was to go to the marketplace and buy tomorrow's food. As for her, she
was going back to bed and sleep until noon.

Inwardly Green groaned. How long could he keep up this pace? He was
expected to stay up half the night with her, then attend to his official
duties during the day. She slept enough to be refreshed by the time he
visited her, but he never had a chance for any real rest. Even when he had
his free hours in the afternoon he had to go to his house in the pens, and
there he had to stay awake and attend to all his familial duties. And Amra,
his slave-wife, and her six children demanded much from him. They were
even more tyrannical than the Duchess, if that were possible.

How long, O Lord, how long? The situation was intolerable; even if he'd
not heard of the spaceship he would have plotted to escape. Better a quick
death while trying to get away than a slow, torturous one by exhaustion.

He bowed good-by to the Duke and Duchess, then followed the violet turban
and yellow robes of Miran through the courtyard, through the thick stone
walls, over the bridge of the broad moat, and into the narrow winding
streets of the city of Quotz. Here the merchant-captain got into his
silver-and-jewel-decorated rickshaw. The two long-legged men between its
shafts, sailors and clansmen from Miran's vessel, the Bird of Fortune,
began running through the crowd. The people made way for them, as two
other sailors preceded them calling out Miran's name and cracking whips in
the air.

Green, after looking to make certain that nobody from the castle was
around to see him, ran until he was even with the rickshaw. Miran halted
it and asked what he wanted.

"Your pardon, Your Richness, but may a humble slave speak and not be
reprimanded?"

"I presume it is no idle thought you have in mind," said Miran, looking
Green over his one eye narrow in its fat-folds.

"It has to do with money."

"Ah, despite your foreign accent you speak with a pleasing voice; you are
the golden trumpet of Mennirox, my patron god. Speak!"

"First Your Richness must swear by Mennirox that you will under no
circumstances divulge my proposal."

"There is wealth in this? For me?"

"There is."

Miran glanced at his clansmen, standing there patiently, apparently