"Роджер Желязны. Lord of Light (Лорд Света, engl) " - читать интересную книгу автора

He bowed then, and backed from the hall.
When he returned he bore a bottle. Before he saw the paper upon its
side, the prince recognized the shape of that bottle.
"Burgundy!" he exclaimed.
"Just so," said Hawkana. "Brought from vanished Uratha, long ago."
He sniffed at it and smiled. Then he poured a small quantity into a
pear-shaped goblet and set it before his guest.
The prince raised it and inhaled of its bouquet. He took a slow sip. He
closed his eyes.
There was a silence in the room, in respect of his pleasure.
Then he lowered the glass, and Hawkana poured into it once again the
product of the pinot noir grape, which could not be cultivated in this land.
The prince did not touch the glass. Instead, he turned to Hawkana,
saying, "Who is the oldest musician in this house?"
"Mankara, here," said his host, gesturing toward the white-haired man
who took his rest at the serving table in the comer.
"Old not in body, but in years," said the prince.
"Oh, that would be Dele," said Hawkana, "if he is to be counted as a
musician at all. He says that once he was such a one."
"Dele?"
"The boy who keeps the stables."
"Ah, I see. . .. Send for him." Hawkana clapped his hands and ordered
the servant who appeared to go into the stables, make the horse-boy
presentable and fetch him with dispatch into the presence of the diners.
"Pray, do not bother making him presentable, but simply bring him
here," said the prince.
He leaned back and waited then, his eyes closed.
When the horse-boy stood before him, he asked:
"Tell me. Dele, what music do you play?"
"That which no longer finds favor in the hearing of Brahmins," said the
boy.
"What was your instrument?"
"Piano," said Dele.
"Can you play upon any of these?" He gestured at those instruments that
stood, unused now, upon the small platform beside the wall.
The boy cocked his head at them. "I suppose I could manage on the
flute, if I had to."
"Do you know any waltzes?"
"Yes."
"Will you play me 'The Blue Danube'?"
The boy's sullen expression vanished, to be replaced by one of
uneasiness. He cast a quick glance back at Hawkana, who nodded.
"Siddhartha is a prince among men, being of the First," stated the
host.
"'The Blue Danube,' on one of these flutes?"
"If you please."
The boy shrugged, "I'll try," he said. "It's been an awfully long time.
. .. Bear with me."
He crossed to where the instruments lay and muttered something to the
owner of the flute he selected. The man nodded his head. Then he raised it