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

"Enough of this. There is no excuse. You shall be dismantled, furry-one, but not until you undergo torture to recompense for my extreme frustration."

Demons hauled the little goat-man from the chamber.

Another demon separated itself from the shadows, and scrabbled out into the smoky pungent torchlight, dragging long arms along the floor.

"You were sent in search of the fallen vessel, is this not true?"

"Yes, Master," it said. "As reported, we have narrowed the search area and expect to locate the spacecraft in a matter of days. I have returned for instructions as to what you wish done, once it is discovered."

"I shall arm you with sufficient means," said Satan.

"I want the thing destroyed as soon as possible, along with any passengers it may contain."





FIVE

THE sun rose, but the mourning had already begun.

Great as his grief was, Oliver kept himself too busy to allow it to take total sway. For he was helping Geoffrey Turner to prepare for embarkation from Fernwold.

And he was making ready to accompany the man.

All night workmen and carpenters had labored to repair the superficial damage the dragon had wreaked upon the van, while an extension cord plugged into the community's power supply recharged the vehicle's batteries. Ample provisions; dried meats and vegetables, fresh fruit, spirits and winewere stocked in Turner's cupboards. Everything possible was done to help the man. The evening's incident had brought the truth of their precarious situation to Viscount Dolan. Once lhe wreckage of the dragon-android was cool, Turner poked through it, explaining the functions of various charred mechanisms to the stunned ruler of Fernwold. Dolan, afterward, agreed that everything possible should be done to destroy Satan. He extended his whole-hearted approval to Turner's mission.

Dolan did not know, then, that he would be giving a son to the cause as well.

After he finally went to bed, Oliver had not slept well.

Early in the morning, he went to Turner's chambers, awakened the man, and informed him that he would gratefully accept the chance to revenge his mother's death and relieve Styx of this evil creature.

Then he went to his father, but Viscount Dolan was not in his sleeping quarters.

As he passed the den, Oliver noticed an arm draped over the side of the over-stuffed, high-backed chair fronting the burnt-out hearth. Its hand held an empty bottle of spirits.

"Father?" Oliver said, moving over the thick brown rug and settling quietly into the adjacent chair. "Father, I have to talk to you."

Viscount Dolan's blood-shot, baggy eyes fluttered half-open, looked out blearily from a puffy, stubbled face. His first reaction to consciousness was to raise the bottle to his lips. Finding that it was dry, be tossed it into the fireplace. The sound of crashing glass seemed to bring him to his senses. He groaned.

"Father? Are you all right? I have to talk to you."

Lord Dolan leaned his cheek into an open palm, rubbed his face with shaky hand, sighed. "Gone," he muttered. "A flash of fire, and she's gone, forever."

A tear dripped from Oliver's eye. He smudged the warm wetness away. No trace of emotion reached his voice. "I mean to see that her death is not meaningless, Father," he announced quietly. "Geoffrey Turner has invited me to accompany him in search of the means to destroy Satan."

Dolan stared at his son impassionately through red eyes. "And you've accepted?"