"Joseph Delaney - The Spook's Curse" - читать интересную книгу автора (Delaney Joseph)

As I said, rippers are some of the most dangerous boggarts of all because they feed on blood. Their
minds are usually quick and very crafty, but while theyтАЩre feeding they think very slowly and it takes them
a long time to work things out.

The amputated leg was still jammed into the crack in the church floor and the boggart was busily
slurping blood from it, but sucking very slowly so as to make it last. ThatтАЩs the way with a ripper. It just
slurps and sucks, thinking of nothing else until it slowly realizes that less and less blood is reaching its
mouth. It wants more blood, but blood comes in lots of different flavours and it likes the taste of what itтАЩs
been sucking. It likes it very much.

So it wants more of the same, and once it works out that the rest of the body has been separated from
the leg, it goes after it. ThatтАЩs why the riggers had to lift the priest up onto the cart. By now the cart
would have reached the edge of Horshaw, every clip-clop of the horseтАЩs hooves taking it further from
the angry boggart, desperate for more of that same blood.

A ripperтАЩs like a bloodhound. It would have a good idea of the direction in which the priest was being
taken. It would also realize that he was getting further and further away. Then it would be aware of
something else. That more of what it needed was very close by.

ThatтАЩs why IтАЩd put the dish into the pit. That was why it was called a тАШbait-dishтАЩ. It was the snare to
lure the ripper into the trap. Once it was in there, feeding, we had to work fast and we couldnтАЩt afford to
make a single mistake.

I looked up. The mate was standing on the platform, one hand on the short chain, ready to start
lowering the stone. The rigger was standing opposite me, his hand on the stone, ready to position it as it
came down. Neither of them looked in the least bit afraid, not even nervous, and suddenly it felt good to
be working with people like that. People who knew what they were doing. WeтАЩd all played our part, all
done what had to be done as quickly and efficiently as possible. It made me feel good. It made me feel a
part of something. Quietly we waited for the boggart.


After a few minutes I heard it coming. At first it sounded just like the wind whistling through the trees.

But there was no wind. The air was perfectly still and, in a narrow band of starlight between the edge
of the thundercloud and the horizon, the crescent moon was visible, adding its pale light to that cast by
the lanterns.

The rigger and his mate could hear nothing, of course, because they werenтАЩt seventh sons of seventh
sons like me. So I had to warn them.

тАШItтАЩs on its way,тАЩ I said. тАШIтАЩll tell you when.тАЩ

By now the sound of its approach had become more shrill, almost like a scream, and I could hear
something else too: a sort of low, rumbling growl. It was coming across the graveyard fast, heading
straight for the dish of blood inside the pit.

Unlike a normal boggart, a ripper is slightly more than a spirit, especially when itтАЩs just been feeding.
Even then, most people canтАЩt see it but they can feel it all right, if it ever gets a grip on their flesh.