"Michael Flynn - Eifelheim" - читать интересную книгу автора (Flynn Michael)

At Matins, The Commemoration of Sixtus II
and His Companions

Dietrich awoke with an uneasy feeling in his heart, like a bass voice chanting from a darkened

choir loft. His eyes flew open and darted about the room. A night candle guttering in its sconce

cast capers over table and basin, predieu and psalter, and caused the figure upon the crucifix to
writhe as if trying to tear itself down. In the corners and angles of the room, shadows swelled

enormous with their secrets. Through the east window, a dull red glow, thin as a knife across a

throat, limned the crest of the Katerinaberg.
He took a long, stilling breath. The candle told Matins anyway; so, throwing the blanket

aside, he exchanged night-shirt for cassock. Goose bumps puckered his skin and the short hairs
rose on his neck. Dietrich shivered and hugged himself. Something will happen today.

By the window stood a small wooden table, with a bowl and aquamanile upon it. The
aquamanile was of chased copper and had the form of a rooster, with the feathers worked into it

by a coppersmithтАЩs clever awl. When he tipped it, the water ran from the beak over his hands into
the bowl. тАЬLord, wash away my iniquities,тАЭ he murmured. Then he dipped his hands into the
bowl and splashed the cold water onto his face. A good dousing would scatter the night fears.

He broke a piece of soap off the cake and rubbed it on his hands and face. Something will happen

today. Ach, there was prophecy! He smiled a little at his fear.
Through the window he noticed a light moving about at the base of the hill. It would appear,

move a short space, then disappear, only to rematerialize after a moment and repeat the dance.

He frowned, not quite knowing what it was. A salamander?
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No. A blacksmith. Dietrich became aware of his tension only in the moment of its release.
The forge lay at the bottom of the hill and the smithтАЩs cottage beside it. The light was a candle

moving to and fro before an open window: Lorenz, pacing like a caged beast.

So. The smith тАУ or his wife тАУ was awake also, and evidently in a nervous state.
Dietrich reached for the aquamanile to rinse the soap off and a needle stabbed him in the palm.

тАЬSancta Katherina!тАЭ He stepped back, knocking bowl and water pitcher to the floor, where the

soapy water fanned across the flagstones. He searched his hand for wounds and found none.
Then, after a momentтАЩs hesitation, he knelt and retrieved the aquamanile, handling it gingerly, as if