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

The recitation went on and on, long enough for Harris to become bored and restless . . . until he began noticing things.
Such as the way the pines nearest the conjurerТs circle were beginning to shed their needlesЧtheyТd already looked a little bare, and now even more needles began raining down on the ground.
Such as the way the wind was stirring, tugging at HarrisТ clothes and hair, feeling almost like tiny, delicate hands playing with him.
Such as the way the moon and stars suddenly felt like eyes staring down on him.
Harris brushed away the gooseflesh rising on his arms. Then, all over Neckerdam, clocks mounted high in impossible skyscrapers began solemnly bonging off six bells, not quite in chorus.
When the nearest tower chimed for the third time, it happened: the world changed shape. He saw the trees growing tall, the kneeling Alastair stretching all out of proportion.
The first sensation of dizziness touched him. Harris didnТt wait for it to worsen; he dropped to one knee and put his hands on the ground for balance. Alastair, still chanting, his words deepened and coarsened by what was happening, was suddenly twelve feet high and still growing. Doc awkwardly dropped to sit beside Harris, dizziness and annoyance clear on his face.
Then the pop.
The trees were suddenly gone, and Alastair with them. The stars above were gone, obscured by clouds and haze, but somehow the sky was friendlierЧthere were no malevolent eyes staring down at them.
Central Park.
It was as if Harris had been wearing a heavy weight of tension around his neck on a cord . . . and the cord were suddenly cut. He felt light, and light-headed. He was home.

The old man felt the faintest chill, like a cold trickle of water down his neck and back. He rubbed his neck to be rid of the sensation.
He didnТt like that. His instincts were very good. It didnТt pay to ignore them. УBill, check to make sure sheТs still there.Ф
Phipps obligingly picked up the tracing device and switched it on. After a minute, the little screen glowed green.
УShe hasnТt budged. Wish sheТd go to sleep. I . . . Ф His voice trailed off.
The old man waited an impatient moment. УYes, what?Ф
УNothing, I think. Caught a faint blip way off at the edge of the screen. Just a spike, faded in and out. Sort of like the way the neopagan festival we scanned kept futzing with our readings. ItТs gone now.Ф
The old man sat back, scowling. He had to fight back a sudden urge to take the tracing device and go roaring off in the direction of that phantom blip. But as close as he was to finishing this long, long stage of the plan, it wouldnТt do to go running off like a reckless youth.
The chill faded, but his unease did not.

During the cab ride, Doc was fascinated by the sights and sounds of Manhattan. His head whipped around as he stared at the clothes people wore, at the cars, at the skyscrapersЧbuildings no taller than NeckerdamТs tallest, but very different in style and construction. He said nothing, though at several times he seemed to want to.
At GabyТs apartment building, Harris pressed the buzzer for her apartment, but no one answered. However, her keys gave him access to the lobby, and three flights of stairs later he and Doc stood outside her door.
Or, rather, her brand-new door. ThatТs right, Mr. Crenshaw had said that somebody had smashed her door to pieces. The new one didnТt open to their knock. Worse, her door key didnТt open it.
УShe sure got it fixed fast,Ф Harris said, grumbling. УAny reason we need to go in? I can make the calls from my apartment.Ф
УWe need to go in. I want to see if her kidnappers left any sign behind.Ф
УCan you pick the lock or something?Ф
УSomething.Ф Doc wrapped his hand in his handkerchief. He looked back and forth along the hall, then gripped the knob and tried to turn it.
Nothing happened for a long momentЧexcept DocТs arm trembled almost invisibly, and a vein stood out on his wrist. Then, with a sharp cracking sound, the lock turned in his hand. Broken. He pushed it open, glanced nonchalantly at Harris, and entered.
Harris found the light switch by feel but didnТt turn it on until the door was closed behind them.
GabyТs tidy one-bedroom apartment. Her furnishings were old but clean; her walls were decorated with framed prints and posters, some of which heТd given her. Harris walked Doc around, explaining things to him: TV Guide and bug-bombs and junk food leftovers and why the TV received but didnТt call out and dishwashers and blue toilet drop-in tablets and clocks with LCD displays; the list went on and on. Partway into it, Harris realized that this was just the sort of stuff heТd been asking during the month-long day heТd spent in the fair world.
Finally Doc settled in to look over the traces of intrusionЧsigns of violence in the living room, footprints that were too large to belong to anyone but Adonis. УMake your talk-box calls,Ф he said.
УSure. It may take a while. ItТs one a.m.Чuh, nearly seven bellsЧand IТll be waking people up. Conversations wonТt be too friendly.Ф

Doc tried not to show his irritation. He couldnТt make his thoughts run in the same direction, couldnТt focus them. Each one wanted to go its own way, to marvel, to deduce, to condemn.
The grim world. He supposed heТd always believed in it. So many of the legends of his youth had their bases in scientific truths. But this world was nothing like he imagined it to be.
Animals didnТt befilth the places where they lived, but the men of the grim world did. His nose was sharper than most menТs, but surely they couldnТt all be immune to the bad mechanical smell the automobiles spat out.
He wished he could read the writing that decorated the ground-floor exteriors of so many of the buildings, but the cursive script was difficult to decipher and so many of the words meant nothing. Did these scrawls act as wards against bad devisements, appeals to the gods, simple territorial markings?
And the buildings themselvesЧthe men of the grim world must not have come from a tradition of defensive buildings. So many of their structures had windows on the ground floor; some of the high-rises seemed to be made entirely of windows. He resolved to look into their techniques of construction; not many of the architectural styles heТd seen here had appealed to him, but that one had.
The grimworldersТ technological achievement was amazing. Talk-boxes that people could effortlessly carry, in singles, doubles, and triples. He hadnТt yet seen any portable quadruplesЧno full-picture send and receive in a hand-carry device. But shows from all over the world came in on the triples.
Harris had said they had aircraft that surpassed the speed of sound, and he desperately wanted to see one in flight.
Human skin colors heТd never seen before. Browns so deep as to be almost black. Yellow tones. But as on the fair world, the darks and duskies of the grim world didnТt seem to have all the advantages of the lights.
The language. Harris had been right. Doc recited poetry to himself to test its rhyme and scansion. His words were the same they had ever been; no mystic translation had taken place. So Low Cretanis and English were dialects of the same tongue. HeТd also heard dusky men of the grim world shouting in something like Castilian.
It made no sense. He could think of no way for languages to stay so similar if they hadnТt been in constant contact in the centuries since the worlds drifted apart. Yet somehow they had.
Other similarities. The cars were as related as the languages; he was certain that he could drive one of the automobiles of the grim world, even if they did have only one gear. Dwellings here were broken down by familiar human needs: parlors, bedchambers, kitchens, privies.
So much iron. HeТd burned his hands half a dozen times since heТd arrived, as if every other thing he touched had just been resting on a hot stove. No use letting Harris know; there was nothing he could do about it. Doc hadnТt thought to carry glovesЧa careless error; he was annoyed that he hadnТt given it more thought. Now he just let Harris precede him everywhere. HeТd pick up gloves as soon as he could.
So much to learn . . . but for now, the only thing he could afford the time to learn was the nature of Gabriela DonohueТs attackers.

Harris had to use the phone in the bedroom; the one in the living room had been torn free from its old-fashioned wall connector. The bedroom was stuffy, so he opened the window over the fire escape and looked out on the sparse 11th Street traffic while he called.
УHi, itТs Harris. IТm looking for Gaby. ItТs kind of an emergency. Are you sure you donТt? No, sorry, I wasnТt implying anything. I know itТs late, IТm sorry, bye.Ф