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The Colour of Magic :: Пратчетт Терри
Страница: 110 из 150“And one cannot help feeling that some alternative occupation—lettuce farming, say—would offer somewhat less of a risk of being put to death by instalments. Why do you continue in it? Goldeneyes Dactylos shrugged.
“I’m good at it,” he said.
The Arch-astronomer looked up again bronze fish, shining now like a gong in the noontime sun.
“Such beauty,” he murmured. “And unique. Come, Dactylos. Recall to me what it was that I promised should be your reward?”
“You asked me to design a fish that would swim through the seas of space that lie between the worlds,” intoned the master craftsman. “In return for which– in return—”
“Yes? My memory is not what it used to be,” purred the Arch-astronomer, stroking the warm bronze.
“In return,” continued Dactylos, without much apparent hope, “you would set me free, and refrain from chopping off any appendages. I require no treasure.”
“Ah, yes. I recall now.” The old man raised a blueveined hand, and added, “I lied.”
There was the merest whisper of sound, and the goldeneyed man rocked on his feet. Then he looked down at the arrowhead protruding from his chest, and nodded wearily. A speck of blood bloomed on his lips.
There was no sound in the entire square (save for the buzzing of a few expectant flies) as his silver hand came up, very slowly, and fingered the arrowhead.
Dactylos grunted.
“Sloppy workmanship,” he said, and toppled backwards.
The Arch-astronomer prodded the body with his toe, and sighed.
“There will be a short period of mourning, as befits a master craftsman,” he said. He watched a bluebottle alight on one golden eye and fly away puzzled… “That would seem to be long enough,” said the Arch-astronomer, and beckoned a couple of slaves to carry the corpse away.
“Are the chelonauts ready?” he asked.
The master launchcontroller hustled forward.
“Indeed, your prominence,” he said.
“The correct prayers are being intoned?
“Quite so, your prominence.”
“How long to the doorway?”
“The launch window,” corrected the master launchcontroller carefully. “Three days, your prominence. Great A’Tuin’s tail will be in an unmatched position.”
“Then all that remains,” concluded the Arch-astronomer, “is to find the appropriate sacrifice.”
The master launchcontroller bowed.
“The ocean shall provide,” he said.
The old man smiled. it always does,” he said.
“If only you could navigate”
“If only you could steer—”
A wave washed over the deck.
“I’m good at it,” he said.
The Arch-astronomer looked up again bronze fish, shining now like a gong in the noontime sun.
“Such beauty,” he murmured. “And unique. Come, Dactylos. Recall to me what it was that I promised should be your reward?”
“You asked me to design a fish that would swim through the seas of space that lie between the worlds,” intoned the master craftsman. “In return for which– in return—”
“Yes? My memory is not what it used to be,” purred the Arch-astronomer, stroking the warm bronze.
“In return,” continued Dactylos, without much apparent hope, “you would set me free, and refrain from chopping off any appendages. I require no treasure.”
“Ah, yes. I recall now.” The old man raised a blueveined hand, and added, “I lied.”
There was the merest whisper of sound, and the goldeneyed man rocked on his feet. Then he looked down at the arrowhead protruding from his chest, and nodded wearily. A speck of blood bloomed on his lips.
There was no sound in the entire square (save for the buzzing of a few expectant flies) as his silver hand came up, very slowly, and fingered the arrowhead.
Dactylos grunted.
“Sloppy workmanship,” he said, and toppled backwards.
The Arch-astronomer prodded the body with his toe, and sighed.
“There will be a short period of mourning, as befits a master craftsman,” he said. He watched a bluebottle alight on one golden eye and fly away puzzled… “That would seem to be long enough,” said the Arch-astronomer, and beckoned a couple of slaves to carry the corpse away.
“Are the chelonauts ready?” he asked.
The master launchcontroller hustled forward.
“Indeed, your prominence,” he said.
“The correct prayers are being intoned?
“Quite so, your prominence.”
“How long to the doorway?”
“The launch window,” corrected the master launchcontroller carefully. “Three days, your prominence. Great A’Tuin’s tail will be in an unmatched position.”
“Then all that remains,” concluded the Arch-astronomer, “is to find the appropriate sacrifice.”
The master launchcontroller bowed.
“The ocean shall provide,” he said.
The old man smiled. it always does,” he said.
“If only you could navigate”
“If only you could steer—”
A wave washed over the deck.