"C. S. Friedman - Coldfire 2 - When True Night Falls" - читать интересную книгу автора (Friedman C. S)

 The tram had entered the clearing now, and after a few
seconds of idling Ian braked and shut it down. The harsh
purr of the motor died out into the night, leaving silence so
absolute that Case's breathing seemed a roar by contrast.
Even the insects were still, as if they, too, feared the
darkness that was about to fall.

Case tightened his hand about his gun. Waiting.

The old formulas will work, Ian had claimed. He was
lifting a bag from the cargo section, a specimen case whose
soft sides bulged when he set it down. From it he removed
a long strip of red cloth and a canvas sack. All we have to
do is learn to apply them. He hung the cloth about his neck
so that its ends fell forward, brushing against his calves as
he worked. Painted sigils glittered on its surface:
geometries bordered with Hebrew figures, ancient Egyptian
hieroglyphs, something that might have been an
astrological symbol . . . Case shook his head in amazement
as the man reached into his sack and drew out a handful of
white powder. The trappings of his madness were so
precise, so deliberate, so painstakingly detailed . . . which
made him all the more dangerous, Case reflected. A
careless madman would have gotten himself locked up long
ago.

Lise touched him on the arm. He turned back to look at
her, saw the question in her eyes. But he shook his head.
Not yet. He turned back to watch the botanist, who was
now tracing a circle on the ground, dribbling powder
through his fingers to mark its circumference. When he was
done with that he began to sketch out more complex
figures, his fingers trembling with fear - or excitement - as
he worked. On the bed of the tram one of the bundles had
begun to move, and Case heard a soft moan issue from it.
Human, he thought. No doubt about it. His jaw tightened,
but he forced himself not to move forward. Not yet. Erna
had no jailhouse, and at the rate things were going wrong
they might never get the time to build one. If Ian's madness
had turned murderous, then for the sake of the colony he
would have to be disposed of. Excised, the way one excised
a cancerous tumor to save the flesh beneath. And as judge,
jury, and executioner, Case had better be damned sure that
what he was doing was justified.

The circle was finished now, and all the designs that the
botanist had chosen to add to it. He poured the last handful
of powder back into the bag, tied it shut again, and set it
aside. Case tensed, ready to interfere the minute Ian went
for his captives. But the man simply stepped back, so that