"Foster, Alan Dean - Cat-a-lyst" - читать интересную книгу автора (Foster Alan Dean)

Eventually he returned, some strain on his face. "He's not a poacher. Says his name is Minga. Claims to be a local shaman. He lives by himself and people come to him when they need help. He's been as far as Shintuya. That's an advanced Indian settlement farther down the Alto Madre de Dios. What's interesting is that while his speech is similar to that of the Machiguengas there are also significant differences. But we can understand each other. "He says there are no villages near here and that no one else camps in this vicinity. That I can believe." His eyes shifted from Carter to Ashwood. "I told him what you told me: that we were looking for a place where two pillars of rock almost meet to form an arch. He says he's been all over this country and that he knows of only one such spot that might fit the description. Also that he is the only human who's ever been there." "Can he, will he, take us?" Ashwood inquired anxiously.
Igor nodded. "He wants to be paid in something real. He knows about paper money but doesn't trust it. Intis or dollars, it is all the same to him. I have a couple of small solar-powered flashlights. I think he will accept one of those." "What do you think?" Ashwood stared at the skinny old man. "Is he just telling us a story to get the flashlight?" "There is no way of knowing except to follow him. I do not think he'll lead us around in circles. Whether he actually knows of such a place remains to be seen." "Has he ever heard of Paititi?" "I will ask him." Igor did so. When he turned back to them there was a hint of excitement in his voice. "He does not know the name, but he claims that there is a place near the notched rocks where the stones have been carved by the gods." "The gods?" Carter asked. "These jungle Indians remember nothing of the Incas or their civilization. Or it might be nothing more than a rockfall that he finds interesting. Again, the only way to find out is to go and have a look." "Promise to give him the flashlight," Ashwood decided, "but only after he's led us to the place."
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FOUR days later they reached and passed the notched rocks, a place where a swift-running stream had cut its way through softer limestone. There was no path, no trail, and Carter found it difficult to believe that the old Indian had any specific destination in mind.
They continued to climb and descend, slipping over mossy boulders and clutching at dangling vines for balance. Throughout, he marveled at Ashwood's endurance. She complained endlessly but never asked for an extra rest stop. The march would have defeated a much younger woman, and many younger men. Only Macha traveled without complaint.
The old man slipped between trees and vines as if oiled, pausing frequently and impatiently while Igor and Christopher hacked a wider following trail through the selva.
Three additional days of arduous walking brought them to a place of rocks that was clearly no mass of collapsed hillside.
The crumbling wall that lined the mountainside was festooned with creepers and epiphytes, its outlines barely discernible beneath the greenery. Several low-ceilinged, dark openings were visible in the dangerously unstable barrier. From the air the ancient construction would have been invisible.
A few petroglyphs could be seen beneath the attacking lichens. They were similar but not necessarily kin to those of distant Pusharo. There was no sign of any gold or silver, no pillaged temples or granaries. As a
ruin the place was singularly unimpressive. If they were standing on the site of a lost city, Carter decided, its municipal boundaries about equaled those of a full-service car wash.
He found he was too tired to be disappointed. Right then he would have given a gold idol for ten minutes in a real bathtub.
An exhausted Ashwood finally had to stop picking at the wall and sit down, slumping against the badly pitted stone.
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"It don't make any sense. Why would a geek like Fewick go to so
much trouble to try an' find a place like this?" "Probably for the same reason as us." After checking to make certain it wasn't a palo santo, Carter cleared a place to sit beneath a short, leafy tree. Removing his pack, he watched while a curious Macha hopped out and began to explore the nearby undergrowth. "Because he wanted to believe there was something here." "Well, we sure have gone an' saved him a lot of trouble," Ashwood groused. "When we get home the first thing I'm gonna do is write an' tell him to save his energy. I'm gonna be completely truthful an' upfront about it. Maybe that way he'll think I'm lyin' and waste the money to come here himself."
Even the indefatigable Igor was tired, Carter saw. His long-sleeved cotton shirt hung as dark and damp on him as an oil field washrag. There wasn't a dry spot on anyone's body. In that respect the tormenting bugs were useful: they kept his mind off the humidity and the mold he was
sure was beginning to grow between his toes.
He was ready to go home. The novelty of traveling through strange country, of seeing and hearing exotic birds and monkeys and other crea-
tures, had long since worn off. He was anxious to reacquaint himself with the mundanity of indoor plumbing.
Exhausted as she was, Marjorie Ashwood was still reluctant to accept the reality of what they'd found. "Are you sure this is all of it?" She looked at Igor, then their aged guide. "Ask him."
Igor did so and the Indian replied. "He says these are the only godworks in this area." "What about those openings?" Ashwood refused to let it go. "We can't leave without seein' if there's anything inside. There might be caves, or rooms."
Igor was sipping from a plastic water bottle. "You may explore them all you wish. I will not go in there." "Why not?" Car-ter inquired.
Their guide put the bottle aside. "The Man(i is home to some very interesting snakes, Mr. Carter. Bushmaster, fer-de-lance, assorted vipers, all quite aggressive, each more poisonous than the next. They love dark places. I gladly leave such regions to them." He eyed Ashwood. "If you want to go exploring such habitats I wish you good luck. I do not think you will find any gold. I don't think there was ever any gold to be found. "Paititi is one of those wonderful myths that sprout from hope and avarice and are nurtured by people whose lust for lost places and great secrets obscures their vision. You paid me to bring you to this place. That
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1 have done. Your company has been less than a constant enjoyment to me. I would have much preferred to guide a group of naturalists or photographers. "Our supplies are limited and we have been fortunate in the weather. I have no intention of pushing our luck for little reward. We will camp here tonight. You may spend one day surveying this site. The day after tomorrow I will discharge the remainder of my professional obligation by leading you safely back to the river and thence on to Boca Mand, where you have the choice of returning the way we came or chartering a plane to take you to Puerto Maldonado and from there back to Cuzco. Then, God willing, I will have a little time to do some studies on my own, without having to guide anyone anyplace. "That is what I work for. I do not know what you work for. If you came hoping for gold you will at least return with wisdom." "I didn't really expect to find any treasure," Carter told him. "Well, I did, dammit!" Ashwood followed her disclosure with a stream of colorfully embroidered language which Carter listened to admiringly and Igor added to his store of knowledge.
When she began to wind down, Carter put an arm around her shoulders. "Chill out, Marjorie. We came here without any guarantees." Something was rubbing against his ankles. Looking down, he saw that Macha had returned from her brief exploration of the campsite and was now demanding a share of his attention. She was the only member of the expedition who wasn't sweating profusely.
Igor was helping Christopher break out the tents. Leaving Ashwood to her muttering, Carter sat and allowed Macha to curl up in his lap. It really was a beautiful place, he mused as he examined his surroundings. If only something could be done about the climate and the insects.
Ashwood removed a flashlight from her pack. "Y'all can sit on your butts if you want to. I'm gonna have a look inside." "Madorie," Carter cautioned her, "what about what Igor said?" "I ain't afraid of no damn snakes," she sniffed. "Hell, I grew up in Texas. I was raised around snakes."
He pretended to be surprised. "Texas? I thought you were from California." "Yeah, well, there's quite a bit I ain't told you about myself, sonnyboy. Just don't worry about me. I'll watch my step." "I don't think there are any rattlers here, Marjorie. You won't get any warning." "I just want to have a look. So I don't carry any second thoughts away from this place. If I don't find anything I'll be the first one up and ready to leave tomorrow."
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Carter let out a sigh and gently eased Macha out of his lap. "Guess I'll come with you." "You don't have to. I'm a lot slimmer and smaller than you and if there are narrow passageways I'll just leave you behind. If I find any big openings I'll give you a holler, okay?" "I guess. But I don't like it." "Hey, I told you before we left that I wouldn't tolerate any of that protective macho crap, remember? I can damn well take care of myself." "Okay, okay." He made placating gestures. "Do all the crawling around you want. Find the biggest bushmaster in Peru and bring him out in your teeth. It's no skin off my nose."
She nodded and turned to examine the crumbling wall. Of the three openings, the farthest away seemed to be the largest. The entrance to a
lost temple it wasn't. Anyone could see that whatever kind of outpost this had been, it had never served as home to more than a few people at a
time, if ever. "Don't you think that if there was anything of value around here he would already have found it?" Carter indicated the old Indian who had led them to the site. "Not necessarily." Ashwood was making her way along the wall, toward the farthermost opening. "Remember how the porters refused to go up to Pusharo? This is another place of the gods. I doubt the old boy's even been inside." "Well, you can find out, and then you can tell all of us." Car-ter was unpacking his sleeping bag.
She straightened. "If I break a leg or fall down some old shaft you'll come and get me, won't you?"
Carter ignored her with great deliberation.
"Get up!" Carter tried to turn over. Even with his knees drawn up to his chest the small tent was still barely big enough to cover him. He half opened one eye and squinted down past his feet. It was barely light outside. What the hell was going on? "I'm not ready to get up."
Someone kicked at the soles of his feet. Hard. "Get up and come out." He blinked, realizing that the voice was new to him. The English was
even more heavily accented than Igor's.
Sitting up, he slipped into his shirts and pants, tugged on his boots. Macha was standing near his feet, ears alert, her tail twitching like a
nervous metronome. The tent rattled around him as he repeatedly
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bumped into the stays. Unzipping the mosquito netting, he pushed aside the rain flap and crawled out, still half asleep.
In the dim light of early morning he saw Igor and Christopher seated next to the remnants of last night's campfire. Ashwood stood in front of her tent, looking angry and unhappy.
Three strangers confronted them. No, that wasn't quite correct. Two of them were strangers. One he recognized.
Bruton Fewick was sweating profusely. The automatic pistol looked distinctly out of place in his pudgy fingers. It shifted to cover Carter as he emerged from his shelter. "I was beginning to wonder if you were going to take my instructions seriously, Mr. Carter. I thought actors were accustomed to rising early." "Only when you have an early call." Carter buckled the belt of his pants. "The rest of the time you learn to sleep in." "I am sorry to have to rouse you. If it is any consolation you should know that your presence here is equally distressing to me." "Screw you," Ashwood told him.
Fewick's eyebrows lifted and he brushed blond hair from his forehead. "You know, Ms. Ashwood, you are an extremely foul-mouthed old lady. If you persist in insulting me I may be forced to shoot you." "Very melodramatic. You're not gonna hurt anybody." "Really? Ithought you were a seamstress. I didn't realize you were prescient as well. How did you find this place?" Ashwood simply smiled at him. "Suddenly you prefer not to talk? Well, I suppose I can imagine a
scenario. You had my disc. You copied it, despite the fact that it was
private property, and decided to usurp my life's work." "You ain't lived long enough to have a life's work." Ashwood's fists were clenched. "What you got in mind for us, Few-ick?" "Fee-wick. If you don't give me any trouble and you in particular can keep a civil tongue in your head, I probably won't shoot you, for all that your presence here complicates my life. Even though you are thieves I did not come all this way for revenge." "Your research only led us as far as the notched rocks," Carter said. "How did you make it the rest of the way?" He indicated the old Indian, who sat off to one side observing the proceedings with detached interest while amusing himself by making drawings in the dirt with a pointed stick. "Minga there said he was the only person who'd ever visited this spot."