"Bischoff, David - Night World" - читать интересную книгу автора (Bischoff David)

"Yes indeed!" Turner cried, pushing back his handsome black topcoat to place his hand just below a natty double-breasted waistcoat. "Were it not for Oliver here, that infernal werewolf might well have gotten me!"

Turner glanced at the surprised Oliver, giving him a surreptitious wink. "But I've interrupted the fellow. Do go on, dear boy. Or would you prefer to have me relate the tale?"

Oliver grinned. "Please do." The young ladies nodded eagerly. One spun a golden tasseled parasol nervously.

"Very well," Turner announced with a flourish of his free hand, ornamented tonight with rings of jade and silver. He took a pull of his drink, ahhed, and commenced with obvious relish, underscoring his words with broad gestures. "I had hoped to arrive at the gates of this good community before dusk, but alas, my maps were faulty, and I was a little late. Had not Oliver here drawn the werewolfs attention, I most likely would have been its unwary target. Now, as I was urging my steeds to a faster pace . . ."

A faint cry crackled through the air, like distant high-pitched thunder.

"Gracious," squeaked one of the girls through crooked teeth. "What was that?"

Turner shrugged. "Nothing of concern, my dear. As I was saying . . ."

The cry again, nearer. It had a strange, otherworldly quality, a combined hiss and roar.

Oliver rose to his tiptoes, as though trying to peer over the walls. "That does sound menacing. A nightcreature, no doubt."

The woman shivered at the word. Indeed, the entire crowd, formerly involved in chatter, play, eating, and laughing, suddenly grew quiet and gazed nervously in the direction from which the sound originated. The air suddenly seemed charged with electricity.

"Now, now," Turner said. "No need to be alarmed.

I've dealt with nightcreatures for some time, and I've yet to encounter one who's topped the wall of a fortified community. And these walls, why they're quite splendid, taller than most, you know. Nothing to fear yes, yes, the others seem to realize that, too; see, they've gone about their enjoyment of this evening as we should. As I was saying . . ."

A scream of fright caused the big man to start, tilting his top hat over his eyes. Another scream erupted in its wake.

Whipping his head around, Oliver could scarce keep in his breath. A winged creature slanted downward from the sky, four clawed feet outstretched, preparing to land on the turf where hundreds of people congregated.

"Good God," said Turner in an awed voice, righting his hat. He lost his hold on the mug, which chinked to the grass, splashing its ale over his neatly creased pants leg. "A dragon. A flying dragon with a wingspan of, why it must be over forty feet!" he whispered, between his teeth. "Never knew Nicholas was making this sort of thing; never knew the Computer had the facilities."

The dragon, gliding closer now, shrilled a dreadful cry of blood-lust. The creature had wings like those of a giant bat; leathery, black and taut over bulging bones.

Its long, scaly, green body was prototypical dragon with a long, whipping tail. The huge head was mostly mouth and sword-length teeth. Above that, eyes the size of cannon balls rolled about their sockets, jumped from group to group, eyeing all malevolently.

"Heavens, Oliver! Look!" Turner cried. "See, the thing's not even completed yet, examine its underbelly . . . there, lad. You can see the machinery!"

Indeed, Oliver could see that little skin covered its underside; in fact, he noticed other segments of the winged beast similarly lacking in armor; behind the purpled ear on its right, along its sharp, spined back, and just left of its long serpent's throat, Oliver could make out the blink of lights within the beast behind the naked flesh.

Then the dragon landed in a clearing just yards from the astounded townspeople, tearing up chunks of the green with its wide-spread claws as it settled. The flapping of its ungainly wings blew up dirt and dust. At first the beast looked as though it might tilt over, but it regained its balance and folded its wings back along its body, hiding some of its armorless sections. A foul odor, rot laced with rancid oil, gusted in its vanguard assault on Oliver's senses.

The thing reared back its mammoth head, gazed upon the frightened townsfolk with its lizard-face, and opened its maw. A long stream of fire enveloped the nearest group of people, some dozen men and women, giving the victims no opportunity to cry out in panic or pain before their immolation.

The others screamed, though, once their initial shpck had dissipated. One of the girls in Oliver's group turned and ran. Others scrambled after her, tripping and falling in their breakneck dash.

"Halt!" thundered a tremendous voice. Oliver, who was about to turn and seek shelter himself, noted it was the dragon that spoke. "Run, people, and I'll destroy you all with pleasure." The beast's mouth opened and shut, wisps of fetid oily smoke rising about its face like sinister black mustaches. "Stop, and I'll spare you all, save the man I seek, who skulks within these walls."

Those fleeing stopped in supernatural dread, obeying.

The ministers dropped to their knees, praying for divine intervention. Geoffrey Turner leaned toward Oliver. "It's me he's after, lad," he said somberly.