The Clocks of Iraz
- Автор: Де Камп Лайон Спрэг
- Серия: The Reluctant King #2
- Язык: английский
- Жанр: Фэнтези
Электронная книга - «The Clocks of Iraz». Краткое содержание книги:
"We beat around the bush somewhat, since prudent commoners utter not blunt truths to kings, nor do wise kings reveal their full minds to commoners. King Ishbahar, howsomever, is not an unreasonable individual when one can get his mind off his stomach. He conceded that something must be done about his non-timekeeping timepieces. On the other hand, he could not simply dismiss Borai, who has powerful friends among the nobility, on the mere say-so of a junior professor and a foreigner at that.
"At last we reached a compromise. Ishbahar would grant me a special commission as Friend of the King, which in practice means king's errand boy. I might then make my own arrangements for fixing the clocks. If they worked, the king would pension off Borai and appoint me in his room. On the strength of my commission, I sent Zerlik to find you, having approximately located you by divination."
"But how does this get my little darling out of that gilded gaol in Xylar?"
"See you not, my son? As director of the House of Learning, I can direct the efforts of the scientists and magicians under my command in such directions as would prove most efficacious in abducting your wife. With all that intellectual power—"
"I wonder that you haven't figured out some magical method of your own."
"That is not possible in my present situation. The dean of the School of Spirit, Fahramak, is of the same kidney as Borai and Yiyim. To make sure that I did not—ah—'show him up,' as the vulgar put it, he assigned me to one of the most useless tasks he could find: compiling a dictionary of the language of the demons of the Fifth Plane. He visits me betimes to make certain that I waste not my time on other researches."
"What had you in mind as a method of rescue?"
"A magical flying vehicle seems the most promising. You have certainly heard of flying brooms and carpets. We have investigated these and found that, while it is possible to imprison a demon in one of these objects and compel him to bear it aloft, they leave much to be desired as aerial vehicles."
"What do they do?"
"They wobble, overturn, go into a spin like that of a falling leaf, and otherwise misbehave, with usually fatal results for the would-be flier. Some of Fahramak's savants are working on the problem now. If you will repair the clocks, I shall be in a position to assign more of my colleagues to the problem, and I doubt not that we shall soon achieve our goal."
"Who will pay me," asked Jorian, "and how much?"
"I shall pay you from the fund set aside for my use as King's Friend. Would half a Penembic royal a day suit you?"
"How much is that in Novarian?"
"A Penembic royal is worth about two and a half Irian marks, or a sixth of a Xylarian lion."
"Half a royal a day will do nicely, then."
"It is not so much as it seems at first blink, for these great cities are costly to dwell in. If you find yourself running short, confer with me."
"Meseems I shall do well to invest my first pay in some local garb, to be less conspicuous."
Karadur looked sharply. "That brings up a question. Dress has political significance here."
"Oi! How's that?"
"There are two racing factions, the Pants and the Kilts—"
"I beg your pardon. Said you racing factions?"
"Aye. Belike I had best begin at the beginning. Know that of all mankind, the folk of Iraz are the greatest sport fanatics, and their favorite sport is racing. They race beasts of divers kinds—even tortoises."
"What? Were a snail race not more thrilling?"
"Spare me your jests, my son. These are giant tortoises, from distant isles. Men ride them around the Hippodrome. Now there are two factions, distinguished by their garb. One faction wears kilts, like that which you saw on Master Zerlik; the other, trousers. It is a rare race that is not followed by a riot betwixt the factions, with knifings and other outrages; and there are affrays between factionists apart from the races."
"What's the political angle?"
"With so much rabid partisanship afloat, the factions have acquired political colorings. One might call the Pants the liberals and the Kilts the conservatives, since the kilt is the more traditional garment. Trews have come into fashion only in the last century, being copied from those worn in northern Mulvan."
"Then I shall perforce have to be enrolled as a liberal," said Jorian, "for I prefer trousers. Where stands the king in this?"
"He is supposed to be neutral, since the factions have public status and furnish companies of the Civic Guard. In fact, he leans to the Kilts, who are vociferous supporters of absolute monarchy, whereas the Pants would fain limit the king's power by an elective council. The Pants are in bad odor just now, for a dissident faction of them has fled Iraz, it is feared to foment revolt in the countryside. It were wiser for you, therefore, to dress as a Kilt."
Jorian stubbornly shook his head. "I shall wear trousers, for I should never feel comfortable in a skirt. Too drafty. You will have to explain that, as a foreigner, the garment has no political significance for me."
Karadur sighed. "I will try. As I said, King Ishbahar is not an unreasonable wight, if one interfere not with his gustatory pleasures."
Chapter Four
THE MASTER OF THE CLOCKS
CLAD IN HIS BAGGY NEW IRAZI TROUSERS, JORIAN STOOD IN the courtyard of the Tower of Kumashar and tipped his head back, squinting against the brightness of the sky.
"By Vaisus' brazen arse!" he said. "Those clocks must be thirty stories above us. Am I doomed to run up and down thirty flights of steps every day?"
"Nay, my son," said Karadur. "As the tower was originally built in the days of Shashtai the Third, men had to toil up all seventy-odd stories to bear fuel for the beacon. But so many workmen perished of heart failure that, when Hoshcha established the House of Learning, he commanded the savants to devise a method of hoisting men and materials up and down the tower. Come with me, and you shall see."
The twain approached the vast entrance on the north side, where the huge teakwood doors were flanked and surmounted by sculptured lions, dragons, and gryphons. The soldier leaning against the stone of the door frame straightened up, stepped in front of the door, and clicked his greaves together as he came to attention. He barked a challenge in Penembic.
Karadur peered nearsightedly. "Oh," he said, and replied in the same tongue. "Here!"
The old Mulvanian produced a scroll of parchment, which he handed to the soldier. The latter, needing both hands to unroll the stiff sheet, had to balance his halberd awkwardly in the crook of his arm as he read. He let the parchment roll up again with a snap and handed it back.
"Pass, sirs!" he said, bringing his fist up to his bronzen breastplate in salute. He turned the big brass door handle with a clank and pushed open one of the teakwood valves. The hinges squealed.
The interior was cavernous and dusty. After the brilliance of the sun outside, it seemed dark, although windows at every story let in light. The light was dimmed, however, by the dirt on the windowpanes.
To the right, the main staircase rose from the floor. It circled round and round the tower as it rose, with landings at every story to give access to the many small chambers built into the structure. The hollow shaft of the interior rose into dimness far above.
On the ground floor were pieces of apparatus: chains and ropes hanging down from above and, to one side, a horse mill. This comprised a vertical shaft with a horizontal crosspiece on top. From each end of the crosspiece dangled a set of straps and a horse collar. No animals now occupied the harness.