"Lynn Flewelling - Raven's Cut" - читать интересную книгу автора (Flewelling Lynn)to the deadhouses to see for myself. It was Raven's work, all rightтАФthe missing hank of hair and the
bruises on the throats told me that. But the neat-handed work was gone. Some showed only a deeper cut than usual, but others were hacked open, brisket to balls. Some had their cods missing altogether, and their guts carved out. It was the snow, you see, that had let him kill so many without getting caught by the Watch, or us. Master would never have stood for it. So I trudged back to the house with lead on my heart, wondering what I was to tell Master, and what would become of Raven. Even I had to admit there was no question of keeping him on. He'd gone too far. I should have known that Master would have heard the .same rumors and had the same thoughts, even without all the facts in hand. The house was deathly silent when I got back, with all the bold assassins lurking about the hall like whipped dogs. Master was furious, they told me. He'd called Raven into his chamber nearly an hour before. One of the older snuffers had just stolen up for a listen, and she was still up there, too. The Master angry? Nobody wanted to be in Raven's boots. "Neither would I," I thought, but guessed I soon would be. I'd brought him in. I'd set him loose. And still, all I could think of was his gentle voice, calling me his "sweet boy." Too low-spirited to hear more, I crept up to Raven's room. Even after all these months, it hardly looked lived in and all of a sudden the emptiness of that room made me feel odder than anything I'd ever seen. To think he could have done all that, without me having the least idea or him saying anything! Then I thought some more on what I'd seen at the deadhouse, what he'd done to those men, and the strength went right out of me. I had to sit down on the bed to keep from falling over. Killing's one thing, but I never heard of anything like this. And from him who seemed so plain and simple, like this room I was sitting in. I looked around again, trying to make sense of how a man could be so different than he seemed. It was hair. It never occurred to me to wonder what he did with all those hanks of hair he cut. I slashed that pillow open with my knife and what should spill out but more hair, all in little hanks of every color and texture. Hardly a bit of the original stuffing was left when I'd finished dumping it all out. How many had it taken, to fill a pillow up like that? Then I was slipping and sliding through it and racing for Master's room. It wasn't something I thought about or decided. I just ran. Everyone else was still downstairs, of course, so I burst in alone on such a sceneтАФ He'd killed Master straight off, of course, and the old woman who'd gone to look, too. Maybe she went in, or he heard her outside the doorтАФwho knows? One look and I finally knew what those cuts in the chest were all about, and his name. Or thought I did. All along, even in the early days, he'd been cutting out some parts of their innards and earing it. Eating the dead, like a raven. He'd cut my dear, kind Master open like a deer and pulled him all to pieces on the carpet. The woman lay on her face, the back of her gown stained in a dozen or more places. Just stabbed, as always. It was only men he ate of. I tell you this now like I stood gaping, but in truth I must have taken it all in at a glance, for Raven was ready, and grabbed me as I came in. By the Four, he was quick. He got those big hands around my neck and shut the door before I could so much as squeak. I wished now I'd thought to call for the others, but it was too late. Raven held me from behind for a moment, his rank breathing heavy against my left ear. Then he turned me slowly to face him. I've never looked into such eyes, and hope I never do again. It looked as if they were nothing but black holes in his head. His chin and hands were all smeared with blood, his lips crusted with it. I remember wondering how he'd managed to get himself cleaned up, all those nights he went out |
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