"Bester, Alfred - Hell Is Forever" - читать интересную книгу автора (Bester Alfred)

УPlease, Lady Sutton!Ф
УAnd Theone,Ф she went on with relish, Уusing that icy body of hers like an executionerТs scalpel to torture and . . . and Chris . . . How many of his books dТyou think heТs stolen from those poor Grub Street devils?Ф
УI couldnТt say.Ф
УI know. All of them. A fortune on other menТs brains. Oh, weТre a beautifully loathsome lot, Dig. ItТs the only thing we have to be proud ofЧthe only thing that sets us off from the billion blundering moralistic idiots that have inherited our earth. ThatТs why weТve got to stay a happy family of mutual hatred.Ф
УI should call it mutual admiration,Ф Finchley murmured. He bowed courteously and went to the curtains, looking more like a scarecrow than ever in the black dinner clothes. He was extremely tallЧthree inches over six feetЧand extremely thin. The pipestem arms and legs looked like warped dowel sticks, and his horsy flat features seemed to have been painted on a pasty pillow.
Finchley pulled the curtains together behind him. A moment after he disappeared there was a whispered cue and the lights dimmed. In the vast room there was no sound except Lady SuttonТs croupy breathing. Peel, still slumped in his deep chair, was motionless and invisible except for the limp angle of his legs.
From infinite distances came a slight vibrationЧalmost a shudder. It seemed at first to be a sinister reminder of the hell that was bursting across England, hundreds of feet over their heads. Then the shuddering quickened and by imperceptible stages swelled into the deepest tones of the organ. Above the background of the
throbbing diapasons, a weird tremolo of fourths, empty and spine-chilling, cascaded down the keyboard in chromatic steps.
Lady Sutton chuckled faintly. УMy word,Ф she said, УthatТs really horrid, Sidra. Ghastly.Ф
The grim background music choked her. It filled the shelter with chilling tendrils of sound that were more moan than tone. The curtains slipped apart slowly, revealing Christian Braugh garbed in black, his face a hideous, twisted mass of red and purple-blue that contrasted starkly to the near-albino white hair. Braugh stood at the center of the stage surrounded by spider-legged tables piled high with NecromancerТs apparatus. Prominent was Merlin, Lady SuttonТs black cat, majestically poised atop an iron-bound volume.
Braugh lifted a piece of black chalk from a table and drew a circle on the floor twelve feet around himself. He inscribed the circumference with cabalistic characters and pentacles. Then he lifted a wafer and exhibited it with a flirt of his wrist.
УThis,Ф he declaimed in sepulchral tones, Уis a sacred wafer stolen from a church at midnight.Ф
Lady Sutton applauded satirically, but stopped almost at once. The music seemed to upset her. She moved uneasily on the divan and looked about her with little uncertain glances.
Muttering blasphemous imprecations, Braugh raised an iron dagger and plunged it through the center of the wafer. Then he arranged a copper chafing dish over a blue alcohol flame and began to stir in powders and crystals of bright colors. He lifted a crystal vial filled with purple liquid and poured the contents into a porcelain bowl. There was a faint detonation and a thick cloud of vapor lifted to the ceiling.
The organ surged. Braugh muttered incantations under his breath and performed oddly suggestive gestures. The shelter swam with scents and mists, violet clouds and deep fogs. Lady Sutton glanced toward the chair across from her. УSplendid, Bob,Ф she called. УWonderful effectsЧreally.Ф She tried to make her voice cheerful, but it came out in a sickly croak. Peel never moved.
With a savage motion, Braugh pulled three black hairs from the catТs tail. Merlin uttered a yowl of rage, and sprang at the same time from the table to the top of an inlaid cabinet in the background. Through the mists and vapors his giant yellow eyes gleamed balefully. The hairs went into the chafing dish and a new aroma filled the room. In quick succession the claws of an owl, the powder of vipers, and a human-shaped mandrake root followed.
УNow!Ф cried Braugh.
He cast the wafer, transfixed by the dagger, into the porcelain bowl containing the purple fluid, and then poured the whole mixture into the copper chafing dish.
There was a violent explosion.
A jet-black cloud enfolded the stage and swirled out into the shelter. Slowly it cleared away, faintly revealing the tall form of a naked devil; the body exquisitely formed, the head a frightful mask. Braugh had disappeared.
Through the drifting clouds, in the husky tones of Theone Dubedat, the devil spoke: УGreetings, Lady SuttonЧФ
She stepped forward out of the vapor. In the pulsating light that shot down to the stage her body shone with a shimmering nacreous glow of its own. The toes and fingers were long and graceful. Color slashed across the rounded torso. Yet that whole perfect body was cold and lifelessЧas unreal as the grotesque papiermтchщ that covered her head.
Theone repeated: УGreetingsЧФ
УHi, old thing!Ф Lady Sutton interrupted. УHowТs everything in hell?Ф
There was a giggle from the alcove where Sidra Peel was playing softly. Theone posed statuesquely and lifted her head a little higher to speak. УI bring youЧФ
УDarling!Ф shrieked Lady Sutton, Уwhy didnТt you let me know it was going to be like this. IТd have sold tickets!Ф
Theone raised a gleaming arm imperiously. Again she began: УI bring you the thanks of the five whoЧФ And then abruptly she stopped.
For the space of five heartbeats there was a gasping pause while the organ murmured and the last of the black smoke filtered away, mushrooming against the ceiling. In the silence TheoneТs rapid, choked breathing mounted hystericallyЧ then came a ghastly, piercing scream.
The others darted from behind the stage, exclaiming in astonishmentЧBraugh, NecromancerТs costume thrown over his arm, his make-up removed; Finchley like a pair of animated scissors in black habit and cowl, a script in his hand. The organ stuttered, then stopped with a crash, and Sidra Peel burst out of the alcove.
Theone tried to scream again, but her voice caught and broke. In the appalled silence Lady Sutton cried: УWhat is it? Something wrong?Ф
Theone uttered a moaning sound and pointed to the center of the stage. УLookЧ ThereЧФ The words came off the top of her throat like the squeal of nails on slate. She cowered back against a table upsetting the apparatus. It clashed and tinkled.
УWhat is it? For the love ofЧФ
УIt workedЧФ Theone moaned. УThe r-ritualЧIt worked!Ф
They stared through the gloom, then started. An enormous sable Thing was slowly rising in the center of the NecromancerТs circleЧa vague, morphous form towering high, emitting a dull, hissing sound like the whisper of a caldron.
УWho is that?Ф Lady Sutton shouted.
The Thing pushed forward like some sickly extrusion. When it reached the edge of the black circle it halted. The seething sounds swelled ominously.
УIt is one of us?Ф Lady Sutton cried. УIs this a stupid trick? Finchley . . BraughЧФ
They shot her startled glances, bleak with terror.
УSidra ... Robert. . . Theone . . . No, youТre all here. Then who is that? How did it get in here?Ф
УItТs impossible,Ф Braugh whispered, backing away. His legs knocked against the edge of the divan and he sprawled clumsily.
Lady Sutton beat at him with helpless hands and cried: УDo something! Do somethingЧФ
Finchley tried to control his voice. He stuttered: УW-weТre safe so long as the circle isnТt broken. It canТt get outЧФ
On the stage, Theone was sobbing, making pushing motions with her hands. Suddenly she crumpled to the floor. One outflung arm rubbed away a segment of the black chalk circle. The Thing moved swiftly, stepped through the break in the circle and descended from the platform like a black fluid. Finchley and Sidra Peel reeled back with terrified shrieks. There was a growing thickness pervading the shelter atmosphere. Little gusts of vapor twisted around the head of the Thing as it moved slowly toward the divan.
УYouТre all joking!Ф Lady Sutton screamed. УThis isnТt real. It canТt be!Ф She heaved up from the divan and tottered to her feet. Her face blanched as she counted the tale of her guests again. OneЧtwoЧand four made sixЧand the shape made seven. But there should only be sixЧ She backed away, then began to run. The Thing was following her when she reached the door. Lady Sutton pulled at the door handle, but the iron bolt was locked. Quickly, for all her vast bulk, she ran around the edge of the shelter, smashing over the tables. As the Thing expanded in the darkness and filled the room with its sibilant hissing, she snatched at her purse and tore it open, groping for the key. Her shaking hands scattered the purseТs contents over the room.
A deep bellow pierced the blackness. Lady Sutton jerked and stared around desperately, making little animal noises. As the Thing threatened to engulf her in its infinite black depths, a cry tore up through her body and she sank heavily to the floor.
Silence.
Smoke drifted in shaded clouds.
The china clock ticked off a sequence of delicate periods.
УWellЧФ Finchley said in conversational tones. УThatТs that.Ф
He went to the inert figure on the floor. He knelt over it for a moment, probing and testing, his face flickering with savage hunger. Then he looked up and grinned. УSheТs dead, all right. Just the way we figured. Heart failure. She was too fat.Ф