Они удивленно обернулись и поняли, что видят огромное тело королевы Глорианы. Она лежала на своей площадке, в кружевах и атласе, покинутая всеми, кроме героических (хотя и обреченных) стражей-обезьян. От ее тела исходил дрожжевой запах. Среди нескольких десятков подбородков и складок кожи терялось маленькое человеческое личико. Губы царственной особы едва уловимо задвигались, она спросила:
— Кто-то хочет войти?
Дверь снова зазвенела. Одна из петель поддалась. Даргер поклонился.
— Боюсь, мадам, это ваша гибель.
— Правда? — голубые глаза широко раскрылись, и Глориана неожиданно рассмеялась — Если да, то это чудесная новость. Я уже очень давно молю о смерти.
— Может ли кто-нибудь из созданий Божих действительно молить о смерти? — спросил Даргер, вдруг обнаружив философскую сторону своей натуры. — Я и сам бывал несчастен, тем не менее не заходил так далеко.
— Взгляните на меня! — Где-то вдали с одной стороны тела поднялась и слабо помахала тоненькая ручка, впрочем, не тоньше руки обыкновенной женщины. — Я не Божье создание, а человеческое. Кто променяет десять минут собственной жизни на столетие моей? Кто, живя такой жизнью, не променяет ее на смерть?
Вторая петля оторвалась. Двери начали дрожать. От их металлической поверхности шел жар.
— Даргер, нам надо бежать! — воскликнул Сэрплас. — Ученые разговоры хороши, но не сейчас.
— Ваш друг прав, — произнесла Глориана. — Вон за тем гобеленом есть потайной ход. Идите туда. Приложите руку к левой стене и бегите. Куда бы вы ни шли, держитесь стены, она выведет вас наружу. Вы оба плуты, как я вижу, и, безусловно, заслуживаете наказания, но в моем сердце только дружеские чувства к вам, и ничего больше.
— Мадам... — начал глубоко тронутый Даргер.
— Бегите!
Дверь слетела с петель. Даргер крикнул "Прощайте!", а Сэрплас — "Бежим!", и они ринулись в проход.
К тому времени, как они выбрались наружу, весь Букингемский Лабиринт пылал. Демон, однако, не возник из пламени, и они решили, что, когда модем наконец расплавился, нечестивое существо было вынуждено вернуться туда, откуда появилось.
Когда шлюп отплывал в Кале, небо было багровым от зарева пожара. Опираясь на поручни, Сэрплас покачал головой.
— Какое жуткое зрелище! Не могу отделаться от ощущения, что в какой-то мере несу за это ответственность.
— А, бросьте! — сказал Даргер — Перестаньте печалиться, мы оба теперь богатые люди. Бриллианты леди Памелы позволят нам жить безбедно в течение многих лет. Что же касается Лондона, это далеко не первый пожар, который ему пришлось перенести. И не последний. Жизнь коротка, и давайте веселиться, пока живы.
— Довольно странное высказывание для меланхолика, — удивленно заметил Сэрплас.
— Во времена побед мой разум обращается лицом к солнцу. Не думайте о прошлом, дорогой друг, думайте о блестящем будущем, которое открывается перед нами.
— Ожерелье не представляет собой ценности, — сказал Сэрплас — Теперь, когда у меня появилось время, чтобы изучить его отдельно от смущающего тела леди Памелы, я понял, что это не бриллианты, а их имитация — И он собрался швырнуть ожерелье в воды Темзы.
Но прежде чем он успел это сделать, Даргер перехватил у него бриллианты и принялся внимательно разглядывать. Потом откинул голову и захохотал:
— Попались! Что ж, возможно, это стразы, но тем не менее они выглядят дорого. Мы найдем им применение в Париже.
— Мы собираемся в Париж?
— Ведь мы партнеры, не так ли? Помните старинную поговорку когда одна дверь закрывается, другая открывается? Вместо сгоревшего города манит другой. Итак, во Францию, навстречу приключениям! Потом — в Италию, Ватикан, Австро-Венгрию, возможно, даже в Россию! Не забывайте, что вы еще должны вручить свои верительные грамоты Московскому князю.
— Отлично, — сказал Сэрплас. — Но когда до этого дойдет, я сам буду выбирать модем.
The Little Cat Laughed to See Such Sport
THERE WAS A SEASON in Paris when Darger and Surplus, those two canny rogues, lived very well indeed. That was the year when the Seine shone a gentle green at night with the pillars of the stone bridges fading up into a pure and ghostly blue, for the city engineers, in obedience to the latest fashions, had made the algae and mosses bioluminescent.
Paris, unlike lesser cities, reveled in her flaws. The molds and funguses that attacked her substance had been redesigned for beauty. The rats had been displaced by a breed of particularly engaging mice. A depleted revenant of the Plague Wars yet lingered in her brothels in the form of a sexual fever that lasted but twenty-four hours before dying away, leaving one with only memories and pleasant regrets. The health service, needless to say, made no serious effort to eradicate it.
Small wonder that Darger and Surplus were as happy as two such men could be.
One such man, actually. Surplus was, genetically, a dog, though he had been remade into anthropomorphic form and intellect. But neither that nor his American origins was held against him, for it was widely believed that he was enormously wealthy.
He was not, of course. Nor was he, as so many had been led to suspect, a baron of the Demesne of Western Vermont, traveling incognito in his government’s service. In actual fact, Surplus and Darger were being kept afloat by an immense sea of credit while their plans matured.
“It seems almost a pity,” Surplus remarked conversationally over breakfast one morning, “that our little game must soon come to fruition.” He cut a slice of strawberry, laid it upon his plate, and began fastidiously dabbing it with golden dollops of Irish cream. “I could live like this forever.”
“Indeed. But our creditors could not.” Darger, who had already breakfasted on toast and black coffee, was slowly unwrapping a package that had been delivered just minutes before by courier. “Nor shall we require them to. It is my proud boast to have never departed a restaurant table without leaving a tip, nor a hotel by any means other than the front door.”
“I seem to recall that we left Buckingham by climbing out a window into the back gardens.”
“That was the queen’s palace, and quite a different matter. Anyway, it was on fire. Common law absolves us of any impoliteness under such circumstances.” From a lap brimming with brown paper and excelsior, Darger withdrew a gleaming chrome pistol. “Ah!”
Surplus set down his fork and said, “Aubrey, what are you doing with that grotesque mechanism?”
“Far from being a grotesque mechanism, as you put it, my dear friend, this device is an example of the brilliance of the Utopian artisans. The trigger has a built-in gene reader so that the gun could only be fired by its registered owner. Further, it was programmed so that, while still an implacable foe of robbers and other enemies of its master, it would refuse to shoot his family or friends, were he to accidentally point the gun their way and try to fire.”
“These are fine distinctions for a handgun to make.”
“Such weapons were artificially intelligent. Some of the best examples had brains almost the equal of yours or mine. Here. Examine it for yourself.”
Surplus held it up to his ear. “Is it humming?”
But Darger, who had merely a human sense of hearing, could detect nothing. So Surplus remained unsure. “Where did it come from?” he asked.
“It is a present,” Darger said. “From one Madame Mignonette d’Etranger. Doubtless she has read of our discovery in the papers, and wishes to learn more. To which end she has enclosed her card — it is bordered in black, indicating that she is a widow — annotated with the information that she will be at home this afternoon.”
“Then we shall have to make the good widow’s acquaintance. Courtesy requires nothing less.”
Chateau d’Etranger resembled nothing so much as one of Arcimboldo’s whimsical portraits of human faces constructed entirely of fruits or vegetables. It was a bioengineered viridian structure — self-cleansing, self-renewing, and even self-supporting, were one willing to accept a limited menu — such as had enjoyed a faddish popularity in the suburban Paris of an earlier decade. The columned facade was formed by a uniform line of oaks with fluted boles above plinthed and dadoed bases. The branches swept back to form a pleached roof of leafy green. Swags of vines decorated windows that were each the translucent petal of a flower delicately hinged with clamshell muscle to air the house in pleasant weather.
“Grotesque,” muttered Surplus, “and in the worst of taste.”
“Yet expensive,” Darger observed cheerily. “And in the final analysis, does not money trump good taste?”
Madame d’Etranger received them in the orangery. All the windows had been opened, so that a fresh breeze washed through the room. The scent of orange blossoms was intoxicating. The widow herself was dressed in black, her face entirely hidden behind a dark and fashionable cloud of hair, hat, and veils. Her clothes, notwithstanding their somber purpose, were of silk, and did little to disguise the loveliness of her slim and perfect form. “Gentlemen,” she said. “It is kind of you to meet me on such short notice.”
Darger rushed forward to seize her black-gloved hands. “Madame, the pleasure is entirely ours. To meet such an elegant and beautiful woman, even under what appear to be tragic circumstances, is a rare privilege, and one I shall cherish always.”
Madame d’Etranger tilted her head in a way that might indicate pleasure.
“Indeed,” Surplus said coldly. Darger shot him a quick look.
“Tell me,” Madame d’Etranger said. “Have you truly located the Eiffel Tower?”
“Yes, madame, we have,” Darger said.
“After all these years…” she marveled. “However did you find it?”
“First, I must touch lightly upon its history. You know, of course, that it was built early in the Utopian era, and dismantled at its very end, when rogue intelligences attempted to reach out from the virtual realm to seize control of the human world, and humanity fought back in every way it could manage. There were many desperate actions fought in those mad years, and none more desperate than here in Paris, where demons seized control of the Tower and used it to broadcast madness throughout the city. Men fought each other in the streets. Armed forces, sent in to restore order, were reprogrammed and turned against their own commanders. Thousands died before the Tower was at last dismantled.
“I remind you of this, so that you may imagine the determination of the survivors to ensure that the Eiffel Tower would never be raised again. Today, we think only of the seven thousand three hundred tons of puddled iron of its superstructure, and of how much it would be worth on the open market. Then, it was seen as a monster, to be buried where it could never be found and resurrected.”
“As indeed, for all this time, it has not. Yet now, you tell me, you have found it. How?”