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

benevolences, yes we are." He drew down the corners of his cavernous and hound-lip mouth in a
mocking expression. "Let the Dwerfs humorously call us 'Stickpins'! But-- 'Bandy'? Hem! Hem! No sir,
that word is not to be used." And he rambled on and on about the Dwerfymen and his loyalty, meanwhile
drawing his face into all sorts of mimes and mows which mocked of his words, when there came in from
the distance a confused noise, at which he fell silent and harkened, his mouth drooping open and nasty.
It was not until they were outside in the clear day that they could hear the noise resolve into a shouting
or a howling and a continuous rumbling and rattling. Old Ronan's began to shake and mumble, keeping
very close to his visitor, as though having observed again that this one had large hands and shoulders and
was young and seemingly strong. "Fortune forfend that there should be foreign troops in the Section," he
quavered. "An outrage not to be born, do I not pay my tax and levy, for all that I'm a Stickpin? Go up a
bit, my young, on that hill where I point, and see what is the cause and source of all this unseemly riot--
not exposing yourself unduly, but taking pains to spy out everything."
So up Mallian went, spiraling along the hill through the fragrant acacias and the stinking reptilian
sumacs, and so to the top, where, through the coppice peering, he could see all these good fenced flat
lands and the deep wide grasslands.
But more immediately below and along the road he saw a most unprecedented sight, stood
open-mouthed and tugged the coarse bottoms of his bifurcated beard, grunting in astonishment. He
turned and, through cupped hands, called once, "Come up-- !" and turned again to watch further, paying
no wit to the querulous pipings and pantings of the ancient.
Up from around the concealing curve of another hill and along what Mallian conceived must be the
famed Broad Road which led to and through the whole length of the Erst Marshes came a procession in
some ways reminiscent of pilgrim throngs or decimated tribes fleeing famine or pestilence or plunder--
men and women and children clad in rags when clad at all, some few afree afoot, some fewer riding, but
most of them attached in one way or other to the thing ridden: a thing, immense, of great length, tubular,
rather like the most gigantic blow-gun the most inflamed imagination might conceive of, trundling and
rumbling along on enormous and metal-shod wheels, the spokes and rims as thick as a man-- some of
them in harness to which they bent so low that they were horizontal, squatting as though for greater
traction-- some bowing as though at huge oars, pushing against beams thrust through the spokes-- some
straining their arms against the rims of the wheels or against the body or butt of the monstrous engine--
others pushing with their backs--
This tremendous contrivance rocked and rumbled and shook and rolled on, and all the while its
attendance roared and shouted and howled, and the wind shifted and flung the stink of them into
Mallian's face. "In Fortune's name, what is it?" he demanded of old Ronan's, extending an arm to pull him
up. The senior looked and shrieked and moaned and pressed his cheeks with his palms.
"What is it?" cried Mallian, shaking him.
Ronan's threw out his arms. "Juggernaut!" he screamed. "Juggernaut! Bumberboom!"
All that frightened old Ronan's had to do-- indeed, was able to do-- was skitter back to his little house
and release the pigeon whose arrival in the proper belled cage of its home dove-cote would not only
inform the local confederate Dwerf King that something was wrong in his realm but would inform him a
fairly close approximation of where. Yet the old man refused utterly to perform this small task by himself,
would not unhand Mallian at all, and pulled along with him until they were back at the senior's place and
the bird released.
"Remain, remain with me, my young," he pleaded, loose tears coursing down his twitching face. "At
least until the Sectional Constabulary shall have arrived and set things aright."
But the last thing which Mallian wanted was an interview with a Bandy border-guardsman. He arose
and shook his head.
"Stay, stay, do. I have smoked pullets and both black beer and white, strained comb-honey, dried
fruits," he began to enumerate the attraction of abiding, but was interrupted in a way he had not fancied to
be.
A smile full of teeth parted Mallian's light brown beard. "Good, good. Not bad for one of your priorly