"Jack Dann - The Diamond Pit" - читать интересную книгу автора (Dann Jack)

Morgan gave me a slight nod, then shouted something at Isaac; but I
couldn't understand a word.
"Isaac had nothing to do with it," Phoebe said. "It was my idea. And if
you dare say one word -- "
I heard the sudden drone of an engine, and then the deafening,
bone-shaking _stucka-stucka_ of anti-aircraft guns, which were mounted on the
castle fortifications above.
There was another burst -- and another.
"You see?" Morgan screamed at Phoebe, and he grabbed her. But she broke
free. Isaac stepped over to her, as if to intervene. The guns fired again. I
heard a distant explosion, but couldn't see any airplanes -- the castle
blocked the view. One of Jefferson's slaves shouted something to Isaac, who
looked nervously at Phoebe and then at me, before running after Morgan and his
fellows.
"Morgan is such a flat tire," Phoebe said. "And I'll bet you ten
thousand dollars right now that those enemy airplanes don't have any guns."
She paused, then explained, "According to Poppa, everybody is the enemy. And
so Morgan is always so-oh afraid we're going to get bombed. I know that Poppa
scares the bunk out of him about it to make a man out of him, but Morgan is
just a flat tire."
I followed her up the marble staircase, across a patio, and up several
more staircases to the roof garden. I could see Jefferson's slaves manning the
anti-aircraft guns, which were quiet now. Ghostly pink billowing clouds were
filling up the sky like suds in a bathtub. From the position of the sun, I
could see it was late afternoon. But how could that be? I must have slept
through the morning.
I stared at an oily trail of black smoke left by a plane that had been
shot out of the sky. But I could also hear the distant thrumming of an engine.
Perhaps it was one of Jefferson's. Or perhaps one of the intruders had escaped
into the swollen pink and purple curtain of storm clouds. Phoebe tossed her
bonnet onto a wrought iron chair and looked through the brass telescope,
swinging it around so hard, it was a wonder she could see _anything_.
"There it is," she said. "Right over -- there -- Poppa's guns got it.
See the smoke in the canyon? Something's burning. Positively. But I can't make
out very much. I can't see for jellybeans without my glasses. Here, you try."
She pulled away from the telescope, brushing my face with her curly hair, and
I could smell her perfume, lilac sweet and damp. I looked through the
eyepiece. There was indeed a plane burning. I couldn't see it well through the
smoke, but it looked like a Curtiss Jenny. I wondered if the pilot made it to
safety and tried to cover the area by moving the telescope around, but Phoebe
became impatient and insisted that I return it to her immediately. After a
time she said, "I can't see anything. Do you want to bet on the pilot?"
"What do you mean?"
"A thousand dollars that Poppa's slaves find him alive and put him in
the pit." She shrugged. "If he's dead, you win."
"I wouldn't make such a bet," I said. "And I certainly don't have a
thousand dollars."
Phoebe pulled a magnificent diamond and ruby ring from her index finger
and slipped it onto my pinkie. "That should cover your side of the bet." She
smiled mischievously and said, "Now we're engaged."