William Gibson & Bruce Sterling The Difference Engine

[ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]

with his rival and fellow savant, Peter Foulke. It seems, you see, that even
in the most rarified circles, during a period of such unprecedented stress --"
"You'll not see Peter bloody Foulke moving in your rarified bloody circles
now," Velasco interjected, "not for all his gentry posing." He paused for
effect. "He was discovered in bed with a girl not twelve years old!"
"No!" Oliphant feigned shock. "Foulke? But surely --"
"He was," Tate affirmed, "in Brighton, and those as found him beat the bugger
silly and flung him stark-naked into the street!"
"But it wasn't us did that," Velasco stated flatly, "and you'll not prove it
was."
"There's a new trend of thought about," Tate said, thrusting his shallow chest
forward so as to better display his Union Jack insignia, the gin-reddened tip
of his button-nose glinting wetly, "such as doesn't tolerate decadence,"
giving equal stress to the word's three syllables, "be it in the savantry or
however high at all. Hidden wickedness ran rife under Byron, all manner of it,
and well you know it, Fraser!" Fraser's eyes widened at this effrontery, as
Tate turned in his excitement to Oliphant. "That Stink was Ned Ludd's work,
mister, and there's your history of it!"
"Sabotage on a titanic scale," Velasco pronounced darkly, as if quoting from a
speech, "abetted by conspirators in the highest ranks of society! But there
are true patriots among us, sir, patriots at work to root that evil out!" The
terrier growled in Velasco's arms, and Fraser looked on the verge of
throttling man and dog alike.
"We're Parliamentary investigators," Tate said, "about a Member's business,
and I'm sure you'd file:///F|/rah/New%20Folder/Difference%20Engine,%20The.txt
(148 of 178) [1/14/03 11:24:15 PM]
file:///F|/rah/New%20Folder/Difference%20Engine,%20The.txt not care to detain
us."
Oliphant put his hand upon Fraser's sleeve.
With a smirk of triumph, Velasco soothed his little dog and sauntered to the
stairs. Tate followed. From overhead came the mad yapping of dogs and the
hoarse cries of sportsmen.
"They're working for Egremont," Oliphant said.
Fraser's face twisted with disgust. Disgust and something akin to amazement.
"There seems nothing more to be done here, Fraser. I take it you arranged for
a cab?"
Mr. Mori Arinori, Oliphant's favorite among his young Japanese "pupils," took
a fierce delight in all things British. Oliphant, who customarily breakfasted
lightly if at all, would sometimes subject himself to massively "English"
breakfasts to please Mori, who on this particular occasion wore the burliest
of golfing-tweeds and a scarf in the tartan of the Royal Hibernian Order of
Steam Engineers.
There was a certain enjoyably melancholy sense of paradox, Oliphant mused, in
watching Mori spread a slice of toast with marmalade, while he himself
indulged a nostalgia for his own days in
Japan, where he had served as first-secretary under Rutherford Alcock. His
stay in Edo had nurtured in him a passionate regard for the muted tones and
subtle textures of a world of ritual and shadow. He longed now for the rattle
of rain blown against oiled paper, for flowering weeds a-
nod down tiny alleys, the glow of rush-lamps, for scents and darknesses, the
shadows of the Low
City . . .
Page 201
ABC Amber Palm Converter, http://www.processtext.com/abcpalm.html
"Oriphant-san, toast is very good, is most excellent! You are sad,
Oriphant-san?"
"No, Mr. Mori, not at all." He helped himself to bacon, though he wasn't
hungry in the least.
He put aside a sudden intrusive memory of the morning's hideous bath, the
black clinging rubber.
"I was recalling Edo. That city possessed great charm for me."
Mori chewed bread and marmalade, regarding Oliphant steadily with his bright
dark eyes, then dabbed expertly at his lips with a linen napkin. " 'Charm.'
Your word for the old ways. The old ways hinder my nation. Only this week have
I posted to Satsuma an argument against the wearing of swords." The bright
eyes darted, for a fractional moment, toward the crooked fingers of Oliphant's
left hand. As if stung by the pressure of Mori's awareness, the scar beneath
Oliphant's cuff began a slow ache.
"But, Mr. Mori," Oliphant said, setting his silver fork aside to abandon the
unwanted bacon, "the sword, in your country, is in many respects the focal
symbol of the feudal ethic and the sentiments attaching to it -- an object of
reverence second only to one's own lord."
Mori smiled, pleased. "Odious custom of rude and savage age. This is good to
be rid of, Oriphant-san. This is modern day!" This latter a favorite and
frequent expression.
Oliphant returned the smile. Mori combined boldness and compassion with a
certain problematical brashness that Oliphant found most appealing. More than
once, to Bligh's dismay, Mori had paid some cockney cabman, full fare plus
tip, and then invited the fellow into Oliphant's kitchen for a meal. "But you [ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]

Linki