"Christopher, John - The White Mountains" - читать интересную книгу автора (Christopher John)

"That again is something at which we can only guess. It may be that some minds are weak to start with and crumble under the strain. Or perhaps the reverse: too strong, so that they fight against domination until they break."
I thought of that and shuddered. A voice inside one's head, inescapable and irresistible. Anger burned in me, not only for the Vagrants but for all the others-my parents and elders, Jack.
"You spoke of free men," I said. "Then the Tripods do not rule all the earth."
"Near enough all. There are no lands without them, if that's what you mean. Listen, when the Tripods first came-or when they revolted-there were terrible happenings. Cities were destroyed like anthills, and millions on millions were killed or starved to death."
Millions ... I tried to envisage it, but could not. Our village, which was reckoned no small place, numbered about four hundred souls. There were some thirty thousand living in and around the city of Winchester. I shook my head.
He went on. "Those that were left the Tripods Capped, and once Capped they served the Tripods and helped to kill or capture other men. So within a generation things were much as they are now. But in one place, at least, a few men escaped. Far to the south, across the sea, there are high mountains, so high that snow lies on them all the year round. The Tripods keep to low ground-perhaps because they travel over it more easily, or because they do not like the thin air higher up-and these are places which men who are alert and free can defend against the Capped who live in the surrounding valleys. In fact, we raid their farms for our food."
"'We?' So you come from there?" He nodded. "And the Cap you wear?"
"Taken from a dead man. I shaved my head, and it was moulded to fit my skull. Once my hair had grown again, it was hard to tell it from a true Cap. But it gives no commands."
"So you can travel as a Vagrant," I said, "and no one suspects you. But why? With what purpose?"
"Partly to see things and report what I see. But there is something more important. I came for you."
I was startled. "For me?"
"You, and others like you. Those who are not yet Capped, but who are old enough to ask questions and understand answers. And to make a long, difficult, perhaps dangerous journey."
"To the south?"
"To the south. To the White Mountains. With a hard life at the Journey's end. But a free one. Well?"
"You will take me there?"
"No. I am not ready to go back yet. And it would be more dangerous. A boy traveling on his own could be an ordinary runaway, but one traveling with a Vagrant ... You must go on your own. If you decide to go."
"The sea," I said, "how do I cross that?"
He stared at me, and smiled. "The easiest part. And I can give you some help for the rest, too." He brought something from his pocket and showed it to me. "Do you know what this is?"
I nodded. "I have seen one. A compass. The needle points always to the north."
"And this."
He put his hand inside his tunic. There was a hole in the stitching, and he put his fingers down, grasped something, and drew it out. It was a long cylinder of parchment, which he unrolled and spread out on the floor, putting a stone on one end and holding the other. I saw a drawing on it, but it made no sense.
"This is called a map," he said. "The Capped do not need them, so you have not seen one before. It tells you how to reach the White Mountains. Look, there. That signifies the sea. And here, at the bottom, the mountains."
He explained all the things on the map, describing the landmarks I should look for and telling me how to use the compass to find my way. And for the last part of the journey, beyond the Great Lake, he gave me instructions which I had to memorize. This in case the map was discovered. He said, "But guard it well, in any case. Can you make a hole in the lining of your tunic, as I have done?"
"Yes. I'll keep it safe."
"That leaves only the sea crossing. Go to this town. Rumney." He pointed to it. "You will find fishing boats in the harbor. The Orion is owned by one of us. A tall man, very swarthy, with a long nose and thin lips. His name is Curtis, Captain Curtis. Go to him. He will get you across the sea. That is where the hard part begins. They speak a different language there. You must keep from being seen or spoken to, and learn to steal your food as you go."
"I can do that. Do you speak their language?"
"It and others. Such as your own. It was for that reason I was given this mission." He smiled. "I can be a madman in four tongues."
I said, "I came to you. If I had not..."
"I would have found you. I have some skill in discovering the right kind of boy. But you can help me now. Is there any other in these parts that you think might be worth the tackling?"
I shook my head. "No. No one."
He stood up, stretching his legs and rubbing his knee.
"Then tomorrow I will move on. Give me a week before you leave, so that no one suspects a link between us."
"Before you go..."
"Yes?"
"Why did they not destroy men altogether instead of Capping them?"
He shrugged. "We can't read their minds. There are many possible reasons. Part of the food you grow here goes to men who work underground, mining metals for the Tripods. And in some places there are hunts."
"Hunts?"
"The Tripods hunt men, as men hunt foxes." I shivered. "And they take men and women into their cities, for reasons at which we can only guess."
"They have cities, then?"
"Not on this side of the sea, I have not seen one, but I know those who have. Towers and spires of metal, it is said, behind a great encircling wall. Gleaming ugly places."
I said. "Do you know how long it has been?"
"That the Tripods have ruled? More than a hundred years. But to the Capped it is the same as ten thousand." He gave me his hand. "Do your best, Will."
"Yes," I said. His grasp was firm.
"I will hope to meet you again, in the White Mountains."
The next day, as he had said, he was gone. I set about making my preparations. There was a loose stone in the back wall of the den with a hiding place behind it. Only Jack knew of it, and Jack would not come here again. I put things there-food, a spare shirt, a pair of shoes-ready for my journey. I took the food a little at a time, choosing what would keep best-salt beef and ham, a whole small cheese, oats and such. I think my mother noticed some of the things missing and was puzzled by it.
I was sorry at the thought of leaving her and my father, and of their unhappiness when they found me gone. The Caps offered no remedy for human grief. But I could not stay, any more than a sheep could walk through a slaughterhouse door once it knew what lay beyond. And I knew that I would rather die than wear a Cap.


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