"Foster, Alan Dean - Cat-a-lyst" - читать интересную книгу автора (Foster Alan Dean)
Ashwood gaped at him. "Now, what makes you think that's what we want?"
He sat on the edge of his desk. "Because every norteamericano who comes to this part of the world and says they want to go looking for ruins really means they want to try and find Paititi. People have been doing that since Pizarro's time."
Carter pursed his lips. "Actually I thought we were looking for-" "Treasure," said Igor, interrupting. "There is no treasure. Everyone wants to believe there is. I know better." "How do you know that?" Carter wondered aloud. "Because if there was any treasure the conquistadores would have found it centuries ago. Pizarro's men could smell gold, like dogs can
smell carrion." "How come you know all about this?" Ashwood asked him.
The young man slid off the desk and fumbled at an overloaded, collapsing bookcase that was now wholly supported by its literary content. He extracted a dusty volume and flipped through it as he spoke. "The Spaniards could not find Paititi because it doesn't exist. It is a
legend. Not that they didn't try. They tortured and killed a lot of Incas. People unable to provide information they didn't have died because of honest ignorance. In 1912 your Mr. Hiram Bingham found the city of Machu Picchu up above the town of Agua Caliente. A lot of people think that was the city that gave rise to the stories about Paititi. But Bingham found no gold. Just a lot of old buildings that were falling down. "It's pretty. I like to go there myself sometimes and stay the night, after most of the tourists have left. But treasure?" He smiled. "How can you be so sure Machu Picchu is Paititi?" Ashwood asked him.
The young man looked at her. "I didn't say that it was. Only that it makes good sense. Hundreds of prospectors, poachers, scientists, and crazy people have kept after it for years without finding anything. That does not mean it isn't there." He shrugged. "For the right price I am
happy to help anyone look.
Cat - a - Lyst 4S
"What I can promise you is that you will enjoy the wildlife. There are more species in the Man6 basin than anywhere else on the planet." "We're not interested in animals," Ashwood said sharply. Igor's blithe negativity had clearly upset her. "Maybe that bloated Brahmin was just playing at what he was doing," she muttered thoughtfully.
Carter wasn't as disturbed as his companion. After all, he'd come for the experience, not for treasure. He'd be perfectly happy to spend their time in the selva looking for animals . . . though Igor's declaration did take the edge off his expectations.
Ashwood wasn't ready to concede. "We have reason to believe that this place really exists . . . or that there's something down there, anyway." "Of course you do." Igor adopted a conciliatory tone. "If you didn't you would not have come all this way and spent so much money." "You're a very mature young man." She regarded him shrewdly.
Another shrug. "You grow up fast in the selva or you do not grow up at all." His voice didn't change nor did his expression harden, but the feeling of inner strength he projected was unmistakable. It was the same kind of strength that enabled other young men to survive on the streets of Beirut . . . or New York. The characters Carter portrayed often displayed it on screen. It was much less common in real life.
He waited while they hammered out the rest of the details. Boats had to be arranged, food and medicines stocked, the land cruiser checked out. Ashwood grumbled at but acquiesced to the immutable costs. "D'you want us to sign some kind of contract?" she asked him when they finished. "There are no lawyers in the selva," he told her. "It is very much like your old western frontier. People tend to use things other than words to settle disagreements. Payment in advance will be sufficient. I won't cheat you. My reputation is worth more to me than your traveler's checks." "Tell me something." She looked into his face. "How many other crazy gringos have you taken in search of Paititi?" "Does that matter?" "I suppose not. Are you familiar with the Pinipini River?"
He showed some surprise. "You have done research. Very few people have been up that way. The river tends to parallel the foothills, and the country is very bad. Where the foothills meet the lowlands you get vertical jungle. I have camped at its mouth where it joins the Upper Madre de Dios. There are no maps of the river itself and the aerial survey goes back to the 1930s. "Where are you staying?" "Hotel de Oro," Ashwood told him. "Decent enough. Watch your wallets, especially when you are around
46 Alan Dean Foster
children. Pickpocketing is one of the few growth industries in central Peru. I will have everything ready for us in two days, One to assemble everything, the second to make sure I haven't forgotten anything. There are no stores, no telephones, where we are going. We must take everything with us." He looked at each of them in turn. "I tell you now, if you have any second thoughts about this I will refund your money and help you to make reservations for the flight back to Lima. Where we are going we will be entirely on our own. You must trust me completely. Do not be fooled by my age. I will keep taking you wherever you want to go, keep you alive, and bring you safely back out. If you expect comfort or a semblance of civilization then you have come to the wrong part of the world." "Maybe I ain't been in your jungle before, sonny," Ashwood told him, "but I can take care of myself. You just hold up your end of this little jaunt and we'll handle ours."
V1
CARTER was helping Igor secure the last strap atop the battered land cruiser while Ashwood sat in the front passenger's seat, studying the little folder of information she'd put together and muttering to herself.
The actor snapped down the lock-tight and walked around behind the vehicle. "Are you so sure that this place doesn't exist?" "I told you." Igor strained at the nylon. "I rule nothing out. I just say that reason is against it." He secured the last strap, wiped his hands on
his pants. "But the Spaniards took hundreds of ships full of gold, silver, and emeralds out of South America. There is no guarantee that they got everything. Only that if they did not, the Incas have surely hid the re-
mainder very well. "For me the treasure of the selva lies in the uniqueness of its plants and animals, not any lost gold."
Carter helped him wrestle a large ice chest into the back of the land cruiser. "Marjorie's not much into nature. But I'm different. So when we
pass something interesting I hope you'll point it out to me."
Carter gently placed the box and its dozing occupant atop the ice chest. "Why not? She won't be any trouble." "But why?"
Somewhat to his surprise Carter had no ready answer. "I dunno. Maybe because Marjorie said I couldn't get away with it. She's fun to tease. Besides, if I leave Macha here I have a strong feeling she won't last very long in the city."
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48 Alan Dean Foster
"The selva will not be any kinder to her." "Maybe not, but I will. She'll be my responsibility. I've already tried her in my backpack and she just curls up on my towel and goes to sleep. She'll be good company at night."
Igor looked dubious. "Wait 'til she hears her first jaguar." The ride over the crest of the Andes was as beautiful as it was bumpy. At twelve thousand feet Carter was astonished to see terraced hillsides rising hundreds of feet above the floor of the valley through which the single dirt road wound its uncertain way.
They passed through ramshackle, windswept towns with names like Paucartambo and ApJanaco, whose inhabitants eyed them with quiet cu-
riosity. Dark-eyed laughing children ran alongside the road, giggling and gesturing until the land cruiser was out of sight.
As they began to descend trees appeared; in clusters at first, then in rolling, cresting green waves that came sweeping up the side of the moun-
tain. Carter had never seen so much green.
They ate lunch in the clouds, swathed in the swirling mists that nour-
ished a unique habitat Igor referred to as cloud forest. A clear stream ran down the side of the road, spilling over to fill the slightest depression, each pothole a thriving miniature ecology. Innumerable small waterfalls cascaded off steep slopes, nurturing wild orchids, mosses, and bromeliads.
Igor sat on a folding chair and munched a chicken wing. "There are
very few places like this left on the planet. The creatures that live here, like the spectacled bear, are solitary and secretive. Even the birds are hushed."
Carter watched Macha hunt tadpoles in a pothole. She stayed close to the land cruiser and gave no sign of wanting to wander off. They had not seen another vehicle since they'd left Paucartambo. "What d'you think, Marjorie? Isn't it beautiful?"
She held her sandwich in one hand and slapped at the back of her neck with the other. "Ain't had time to look. Been too busy killing things."
Igor did not smile. "The first mosquitoes. Scouts and outriders, come
to greet you." "I put repellent on everywhere," she told him, taking another swing at her neck. "It does not matter. The more you slap on, the better the bugs will like it. They look forward to their predinner cocktails." He walked back to the land cruiser and rummaged around inside until he emerged with a
pink bottle. "Try this. It helps some people more than others. The best defense is to wear long pants and long-sleeved shirts, two pairs each. Make sure you
Cat - a - Lyst 49
keep the legs of your pants tucked into your shoes." He handed Marjorie the bottle. "Long hair is a help."
She took the container. "You're twenty years late with that advice." As they continued to descend, the road narrowed still further, until they were driving with sheer cliff to their left and an equally precipitous drop-off on their right. Mist obscured any view, for which Carter was
grateful. There were no guardrails and in many places not much road.
Forty-five minutes were wasted when they met a small logging truck inching its way upward. It took that long to find a spot where the truck could pass, and there was a horrible moment when the rear right wheel of the land cruiser actually hung out over empty space, the jungle a thousand feet or more below. But the truck finally sneaked past and they continued on downward. In twelve hours of continuous driving it was the only vehicle they encountered after leaving the Andean crest.
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