"Allston, Aaron - Doc Sidhe 01 - Doc Sidhe" - читать интересную книгу автора (Allston Aaron)

On the far side of Pataqqsit, where traffic thinned so that the red limousine was often alone on the tree-lined road, Harris saw the first windmill. It was tall and more slender than the archaic sort of grain-grinding mills heТd seen in photographs.
Then they topped a hill and he could see what looked like an ocean of the things laid out below him; the road cut through an enormous field full of windmills. УJesus,Ф he said. УWhatТs all this?Ф
УWind farm,Ф Alastair said. УOtherwise Neckerdam would have no way to power her lights, her underground trains and high-trains, or anything.Ф
УWhat about coal? Oil?Ф
Alastair laughed. УWhile weТre at it, why not lean out the window to empty our bowels instead of using the water closet?Ф
Doc didnТt look up, but his tone was admonishing. УAlastair.Ф
Harris frowned. УThen what do cars run on?Ф
УAlcohol, most of them.Ф Alastair fondly patted his red medical bag, where heТd replaced the glass flask. УOh, not the good stuff, of course. ThatТs for fueling people.Ф
Noriko turned back to face them. УI once owned a two-wheeler that ran on gas I bought from chicken farms and sewer plants.Ф
УChickenЧmethane. Of course. This place is an environmentalistТs dream.Ф Harris turned away to watch the windmills pass by and wondered why their answers annoyed him.
Probably because their responses were so unquestioning. But that didnТt make much sense. HeТd seen no sign that the normal people of Neckerdam were fanatically devoted to the clean, organic, tedious causes some of his own friends back home were. So why didnТt they use all the same things the grimworlders did?
A few miles further on, they reached a large stone sign reading УWickhollow.Ф At DocТs direction, Jean-Pierre drove through the quiet town with its curiously irregular brick homes and turned down a blacktop country road, then took a narrower dirt road that led far away from the lights of the town. Finally, where trees and thick underbrush gave way to a good-sized clearing, he pulled to one side and stopped the car.
In the light cast by the nearly full moon, Harris could see a large black rectangle in the center of the clearing. On the blackness was a lot of standing rubble, some of which looked like remnants of a chimney. He followed the others as they piled out of the car.
It must have once been a huge house, Harris realized. The black rectangle was an enormous array of foundation stones, now cracked, with weeds growing through them. The blackening looked like old fire damage. After the house had burned, someone had pulled down much of the remainder and scattered the pieces all over the lot.
Doc walked out onto the foundation, looking here and there, pausing for a long moment beside an unmarked section of stone, staring down at it with eyes out of memory. Then he shook himself and looked back at Joseph. УThe conjuration laboratory?Ф
Joseph moved out on the foundation and moved around until he found what he wanted: an irregularly cracked section of stone, an oval roughly five feet long and four high, piled high with a mound of fallen rubble.
УJust below where Duncan died,Ф Doc said, his tone low.
Joseph had to clear the rubble away before he could get at the foundation stone beneath, and this he did with terrifying ease, scooping up thigh-high piles of stones that must have weighed hundreds of pounds and hurling them off the foundation. Then he stepped aside and waited.
УHow do you open it?Ф Doc asked.
УI do not,Ф Joseph said. УItТs a deviserТs laboratory.Ф
УAh.Ф Doc closed his eyes.
Harris saw his lips move as he murmured silent words. For long moments nothing happened; then there was a faint vibration in the ground.
A square portion of the foundation stone cantilevered upward, revealing a rectangular black space below. A dry, musty smell wafted out. Doc opened his eyes and nodded in apparent satisfaction.
Alastair brought an armful of long, clumsy-looking flashlights out from the carТs trunkЧboot? Harris remembered them calling it a boot, like the BritishЧand passed them around. They all lit the ungainly devices and shined their beams down on the dull gray steps heading into the earth. Doc led the way down.
The conjuration laboratory of Duncan Blackletter turned out to be a large, simple chamber. Two facing walls were covered in bookshelves, many of them now collapsed with rot and age and the weight of the volumes they held. In one corner were a plush chair, rotting and bug-eaten, and a collapsed mass that must have once been an uncomfortable cot.
Most of the floor was decorated with what Harris now recognized as conjurerТs circles: unbroken rings of paint or carefully laid-out stones, decorated along the rims with painted symbols that looked a little like Ms and Ws and HsЧtwo or three vertical lines connected at the top, middle or bottom by short horizontal lines. The writing style didnТt look at all familiar.
Jean-Pierre cast his flashlight beam again at the standing shelves of books. He looked tense and grim. УWith my luck, weТll be digging our way through that until IТm grayed with age.Ф
Alastair peered into the younger manТs dark hair. УToo late. Going gray already.Ф
УI am not.Ф Jean-Pierre, scowling, pulled down a lock of hair and put the flashlight beam on it.
Alastair moved to the bookcase. УStop worrying. ItТs good to get older.Ф
УYouТre lying to me.Ф
УThe blood cools. Women become . . . less important, somehow.Ф
УIТll die first.Ф
Harris saw Doc smile, just a little, before the man moved to join Alastair.

It wasnТt as bad as they had feared. Duncan Blackletter had kept a very organized library, and Joseph remembered which volumes had served it as an index. They were rotted now, whole sections falling to pieces no matter how carefully they were opened, but the pages pertaining to special sendings of conjuration circles were intact. Within an hour theyТd found the bookshelf where the appropriate reference works lay and busied themselves looking through the aged and damaged volumes.
Harris found that he wasnТt much help. Most of the works were written in that alphabet he couldnТt read. Jean-Pierre described it as the old alphabet of Cretanis: УHarder to learn than the modern Isperian alphabet, and mostly forgotten these days. They donТt even teach it in school.Ф
Noriko, Joseph, and Harris, unschooled in the antique letters, went back up into the fresh air and left the other three to do the academic research. Harris brushed some of the dust off a level slab of rock, then sat. Noriko announced that she would stand watch. She disappeared into the surrounding woods.
Joseph walked awkwardly among the ruins, never slowing, never stopping for a good look, never evidencing any emotion . . . but the giantТs hands would occasionally tighten into fists.
After a while, curiosity got the better of Harris. УHey. Joseph.Ф
Joseph, poking around in the wreckage of the chimney, looked over.
УIf it bothers you so much, why donТt you take a walk? Get away from it for a while. IТll honk if we need to leave.Ф
Joseph shook his head. УToo late for that. I am back. Back where I was born. Doc has summoned up the memories. A walk will not bury them again.Ф
УDid you reallyЧФ The question was half-out before Harris realized what he was about to ask. He cut it off and frantically searched for another way to finish the question.
УKill them?Ф
Harris winced. УWell . . . yeah.Ф
УYes, I did.Ф Joseph moved up in front of Harris and leaned against the upright section of chimney. УI injured Doc and killed Whiskers Okerry. It was easy. I held him over my head and twisted him until his back broke. He lived for a while. Long enough to see Angus Powrie break Siobhan DamvertТs neck.Ф
The giantТs tone was so calm that it took Harris a moment to grasp what he was hearing. Gooseflesh rose on his arms. УJesus Christ, why?Ф
УI had to. Duncan told me to.Ф
УAnd you did everything he told you to do?Ф