"David Gemmel - Sipstrassi Tales 03 - Bloodstone" - читать интересную книгу автора (Gemmel David)

The old man shook his head. 'I feel for him, Geoffrey, but you cannot make exceptions. Those who
murder must die. What else?'
'The Apostle Saul would like to see you before setting off for Pilgrim's Valley.'
'Am I free this afternoon?'
Geoffrey consulted a black, leather-bound diary. 'Four-thirty to five is clear. Shall I arrange it?'
'Yes. I still don't know why he asked for that assignment. Perhaps he is tired of the city. Or perhaps the
city is tired of him. What else?'
For half an hour the two men worked through the details of the day, until finally the Deacon called a halt
and strolled through to the vast library beyond the study. There were armed guards on the doors, and the
Deacon remembered with sadness the young man who had hidden here two years before. The shot had
sounded like thunder within the domed building, striking the Deacon just above the right hip and spinning
him to the floor. The assailant had screamed and charged across the huge room, firing as he ran. Bullets
ricocheted from the stone floor. The Deacon had rolled over and drawn the small, two-shot pistol from
his pocket. As the young man came closer the old man had fired, the bullet striking the assassin just
above the bridge of the nose. The youngster stood for a moment, his own pistol dropping to the floor.
Then he had fallen to his knees, and toppled on to his face.
The Deacon sighed at the memory. The boy's father had been hanged the day before, after shooting a
man following an argument over a card game.
Now the library and the municipal buildings were patrolled by armed guards.
The Deacon sat at a long oak table and stared at the banks of shelves while he waited for the woman.
Sixty-eight thousand books, or fragments of books, cross-indexed; the last remnants of the history of
mankind, contained in novels, textbooks, philosophical tomes, instruction manuals, diaries and volumes of
poetry. And what have we come to, he thought? A ruined world, bastardised by science and haunted by
magic. His thoughts were dark and sombre, his mind weary. No one is right all the time, he told himself;
you can only follow your heart. A guard ushered the woman in. Despite her great age she still walked
with a straight back, her face showing more than a trace of the beauty she had possessed as a younger
woman.
'Welcome, Frey Masters,' said the Deacon, rising. 'God's blessing to you, and to your family.' Her hair
was silver, the lights from the ornate arched and stained-glass windows creating soft highlights of gold
and red. Her eyes were blue, and startlingly clear. She smiled thinly and accepted his hand, then she sat
opposite him.
'God's greeting to you also, Deacon,' she said. 'And I trust he will allow you to learn compassion before
much longer.'
'Let us hope so,' said the Deacon. 'Now, what is the news?'
The dreams remain the same, only they are more powerful,' she said. 'Betsy saw a man with crimson skin
and black veins. His eyes were red. Thousands of corpses lay around him, and he was bathing in the
blood of children. Samantha also dreamed of a demon from another world. She was hysterical upon
wakening, and claimed that the Devil was about to be loosed upon us. What does it mean, Deacon? Are
the visions symbolic?'
'No,' he said sadly. The Beast exists.'
The woman sighed. тАШI too have been dreaming more of late. I saw a great wolf, walking upright. Its
hands held hollow talons, and I watched as it sank them into a man, saw the blood drawn out of him. The
Beast and the Wolf are linked, aren't they?' He nodded, but did not answer. 'And you know far more
than you are telling me.'
'Has anyone else dreamed of wolves?' he asked, ignoring the comment.
'Alice has seen visions of them, Deacon,' said Frey Masters. 'She says she saw a crimson light bathing a
camp of Wolvers. The little creatures began to writhe and scream; then they changed, becoming beasts
like those in my dream.'
'I need to know when,' said the Deacon. 'And where.' From his pocket he took a small golden Stone,
which he twirled against his fingertips.