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- Фрэнк Герберт
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- Стр. 595/972
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In
the
Baron
’
s
blue
-
walled
keep
,
there
was
fearful
perfection
,
but
the
Count
and
his
lady
saw
the
price
being
paid
—
guards
everywhere
and
weapons
with
that
special
sheen
that
told
a
trained
eye
they
were
in
regular
use
.
There
were
checkpoints
for
routine
passage
from
area
to
area
even
within
the
keep
.
The
servants
revealed
their
military
training
in
the
way
they
walked
,
in
the
set
of
their
shoulders
.
.
.
in
the
way
their
eyes
watched
and
watched
and
watched
.
“
The
pressure
’
s
on
,
”
the
Count
hummed
to
his
lady
in
their
secret
language
.
“
The
Baron
is
just
beginning
to
see
the
price
he
really
paid
to
rid
himself
of
the
Duke
Leto
.
”
“
Sometime
I
must
recount
for
you
the
legend
of
the
phoenix
,
”
she
said
.
They
were
in
the
reception
hall
of
the
keep
waiting
to
go
to
the
family
games
.
It
was
not
a
large
hall
—
perhaps
forty
meters
long
and
half
that
in
width
—
but
false
pillars
along
the
sides
had
been
shaped
with
an
abrupt
taper
,
and
the
ceiling
had
a
subtle
arch
,
all
giving
the
illusion
of
much
greater
space
.
“
Ah
-
h
-
h
,
here
comes
the
Baron
,
”
the
Count
said
.
The
Baron
moved
down
the
length
of
the
hall
with
that
peculiar
waddling
-
glide
imparted
by
the
necessities
of
guiding
suspensor
-
hung
weight
.
His
jowls
bobbed
up
and
down
;
the
suspensors
jiggled
and
shifted
beneath
his
orange
robe
.
Rings
glittered
on
his
hands
and
opafires
shone
where
they
had
been
woven
into
the
robe
.
At
the
Baron
’
s
elbow
walked
Feyd
-
Rautha
.
His
dark
hair
was
dressed
in
close
ringlets
that
seemed
incongruously
gay
above
sullen
eyes
.
He
wore
a
tight
-
fitting
black
tunic
and
snug
trousers
with
a
suggestion
of
bell
at
the
bottom
.
