"Simon R. Green - Drinking Midnight Wine" - читать интересную книгу автора (Green Simon R) DRINKING
MIDNIGHT WINE SIMON R. GREEN GOLLANCZ LONDON Copyright o Simon R Green 2001 All rights reserved The right of Simon R Green to be identified as the author of this work has been asserted by him in accordance with the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988 First published in 2001 by Gollancz An imprint of the Orion Publishing Group Orion House 5 Upper St Martin's Lane, London WC2H 9EA A CIP catalogue record for this book is available from the British Library Typeset at The Spartan Press Ltd Lymington, Hants Printed in Great Britain by Clays Ltd, St Ives plc Bradford-on-Avon is a real town, with a real history. Most of the places described in this book really exist, as does much of the history. There is a world beyond the world; a place of magics and mysteries, evils and enchantments, marvels and wonders. And you are never more than a breath away from all of it. Open the right door, walk down the wrong street, and you can find waiting for you every dream you ever had, including all the bad ones. Secrets and mysteries will open themselves to you, if something more or less than human doesn't find you first. Magic is real, and so are gods and monsters. There is a world beyond the world. But some things never change. ONE WHEN LIVES COLLIDE Bradford-on-Avon is an old town, and not all of its ghosts sleep the sleep of the just. Nestled in the rolling hills and valleys of the county of Wiltshire, in the ancient heart of the south- west of England, many kinds of people have lived in Bradford-on-Avon down the centuries, and some of their past deeds live on to trouble the present. The Romans have been here, and the Celts and the Saxons and the Normans. And other, stranger folk, less willing to be recorded in official histories. In this small county town, far and far from the seat of those who like to think they run things, the fate of two worlds will be decided, by one ordinary man who dares to love a woman who is so much more than she seems. She was there on the train again that evening, in her usual seat - the woman with the most |
|
|