"Avram Davidson - Bumberboom" - читать интересную книгу автора (Davidson Avram)

Perhaps it was the seventh hill which seemed so ideal in every way but one. There was a slope of
mountable angle, the top was both flat and wide, with enough trees to provide shade when desired and
yet without interfering with the maneuverability of the great gun. From the summit Mal could see
widespread and fruitful fields, and the rooftops of several towns. He had passed by two of them and
observed with approbation the signs of good care and productivity, and a third appeared to be large
enough to justify an assumption of the same. It was as tempting, as inviting from above as it had seemed
from below; therefore, he had surmounted it despite a difficulty exemplified in the mud even now drying
on his feet and shanks. There was definitely a current; one could not exactly say that a swamp lay at the
foot of the hill athwart the only possible approach, but there was no gravel-bottomed shallow ford,
though carefully he looked for one. Mud, sticky, catchy mud-- and Bumberboom mired securely was as
good as no Bumberboom at all. Mallian sighed and retraced his steps.
There was a man in the water when he came through it again, breeches slung around his shoulder and
shirt tucked up shamelessly around his ribs, and he was spearing small fish with a trident. "Fortune favor
you," said Mal.
The man said, "Mm."
"Fortune favor you," repeated Mal, a trifle louder, a trifle annoyed.
"We don't say, 'Fortune favor you' in these parts."
"Oh? What do you say, then?"
"We say, 'Mm.'"
"Oh. Well, then-- Mm."
"Mm." And the man speared another small fish, and another, gutted them and strung them. He had set
up a small makeshift smokehouse ashore, and now proceeded to deposit his catch therein before
returning to securing more.
"You prefer smoked fish to fresh fish?"
"No, I don't," the man said decidedly. "But they keep and fresh ones don't. Be you purblind?
Look-see that dried mud yonder side. And nigh side. I catch fish while there be water. Soon there'll be
none till the rains."
Mallian wondered that he had not observed this before. "Senior, I think you," he said sincerely. "Now
indulgently inform me what you say in these parts for farewell."
The man peered into the water. "We say, 'Mm,'" he answered.
Mal sighed. "Mm."
"Mm," said the fisherman. He scratched his navel and speared another fish.
"What governance have you in these parts," he enquired of a man leading a pack-horse as he passed
through the next town.
"None," said the man. "And wants none. The Land Nor is non-governanced, by definition."
"I see. I thank you. Mm," said Mal.
"Mm," said the packman.
He accompanied the great gun all the way, but sent Zembac Pix ahead and aside to spread the word
that other lands and their rulers-- as it might be the Kings of the Dwerfs or the Masters of Elver State--
envying the ungovernanced condition of Land Nor, had determined to send armies, troops, spies, and
other means of assault thereto, with the intention of establishing a governance over it and over its people.
But that the Free Company of Cannoneers, hearing of the daemonical plan, had come unsolicited to the
defense of Land Nor with a weapon more utile than a thousand swords, videlicet, the great cannon
BUMBERBOOM. Zembac Pix went forth and fro and by and by caught up with Mal and Mog and
Crew where they were encamped on a threshing-floor.
"Spread you the word?"
"Most diligently, Master-Lord."
"And with what countenance and comments did they receive it?"
The pothecary seemed to hesitate. "For the most part," he said, "without change of countenance and
with no other comment than the labial consonant, Mm."