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

than five feet tall, she was humanoid in shape, but her back was bent, her hands long and treble-jointed,
ending in dark talons. Silver-grey fur covered her frame.
'I can't tell you why, Pakia, and I don't know why the Deacon changed his mind. The Unifiers now say
you are abominations. I think they just mean "different". But, in my experience, men don't need too much
of an excuse for hate. It just comes natural to them. You'd better go now. And don't come back for a
time. I'll come into the mountains with some supplies in a little while, when things have cooled down a
mite.'
'I wish the Preacher was here,' said Pakia.
'Amen to that. But I'd sooner have the man he once was.'
*
Nestor counted the last of the notes and slipped them into a paper packet, which he sealed and added to
the pile. One hundred and forty-six lumber men and seven hauliers were to be paid today, and the Barta
notes had only arrived late last night from Unity. Nestor glanced up at the armed guards outside the open
doorway. 'I've finished,' he called.
Closing the account ledger, Nestor stood and straightened his back. The first of the guards, a
round-shouldered former lumberjack named Leamis, stepped inside and leaned his rifle against the shack
wall. Nestor placed the payment packets in a canvas sack and handed it to Leamis.
'A long night for you yongen,' said the guard. Nestor nodded. His eyes felt gritty and he yearned for
sleep. The money was due yesterday morning,' he said wearily. 'We thought there'd been a raid.'
'They went the long way, up through the Gap,' Leamis told him. 'Thought they were being followed.'
'Were they?'
Leamis shrugged. 'Who knows? But Laton Duke is said to be in these parts, and that don't leave anyone
feeling safe. Still, at least the money got here.'
Nestor moved to the doorway and pulled on his heavy topcoat. Outside the mountain air was chill, the
wind picking up. There were three wagons beyond the shack, carrying trace chains to haul the timber.
The drivers were standing in a group chatting, waiting for their pay. Turning to Leamis, Nestor said his
farewells and strolled to the paddock where the company horses were held. Taking a bridle from the
tack box, he warmed the bridle bar under his coat; pushing a chilled bridle into a horse's warm mouth
was a sure way of riling the beast. Choosing a buckskin gelding he bridled and saddled him and set off
down the mountain, passing several more wagons carrying loggers and lumber men to their day's labour.
The sun was bright as Nestor turned off the mountain path and headed down towards Pilgrim's Valley.
Far to the north he could see the squat, ugly factory building where meat was canned for shipment to the
growing cities, and a little to the east, beyond the peaks, smoke had already started to swirl up from the
iron works - a dark spiral, like a distant cyclone, staining the sky.
He rode on, past the broken sign with its fading letters, welcoming travellers to Pi. gr . . s Val. . y, pop..
More than three thousand people now dwelt in the valley, and the demand for lumber for new homes
meant stripping the mountainsides bare.
A low rumbling sound caused him to rein in the buckskin, and he glanced up to see the twin-winged flying
machine moving ponderously through the air. It was canvas-coloured, with a heavy engine at the front
and fixed wheels on wings and tail. Nestor hated it, loathed the noise and the intrusion on his thoughts. As
the machine came closer the buckskin grew skittish. Nestor swiftly dismounted and took firm hold of the
reins, stroking the gelding's head and blowing gently into its nostrils. The gelding began to tremble, but
then the machine was past them, the sound disappearing over the valley.
Nestor remounted and headed for home.
As he rode into town Nestor tried not to look at the charred area where the little church had stood, but
his eyes were drawn to it. The bodies had all been removed and workmen were busy clearing away the
last of the blackened timbers. Nestor rode on, leaving his mount with the company ostler at the livery
stable, and walking the last few hundred yards to his rooms above Josiah Broome's general store.
The rooms were small, a square lounge that led through to a tiny, windowless bedroom. Nestor peeled
off his clothes and sat by the lounge window, too tired to sleep. Idly he picked up the book he had been