"Simon R. Green - Haven 06 - Bones of Haven" - читать интересную книгу автора (Green Simon R)

Hawk shrugged. "Who knows? But we'd better hope so. If the incendiary didn't kill it, I'd hate to think
of the mood it must be in."

"It's dead," said Storm shortly. "I felt it die."

"Handy things, those incendiaries," said Hawk casually as he and Fisher turned back to face the others.
"How long do you think it'll be before they're released to the rest of the Guard?"

"Hopefully never, in your case," said Storm. "Given your reputation for death and destruction."

"You don't want to believe everything you hear," said Hawk.

"Just the bad bits," said Fisher.

Hawk looked at her reproachfully. Winter coughed behind a raised hand. "Let's move it, people. We've
got a lot more ground to cover yet. Barber, take the point again. Everyone else as before. Let's go."

They moved on down the corridor, and the sourceless silver glow moved with them. Hawk glanced
back over his shoulder, expecting to see the burning door frame glowing in the gloom, but there was
only the darkness, deep and impenetrable. Hawk turned away, and didn't look back again. The corridor
seemed to go on forever, and without any way of judging how far they'd come, Hawk began to lose his
sense of time. It seemed like they'd been walking for hours, but still the corridor stretched away before
them, the only sound the quiet slapping of their boots on the stone floor. The dense growth of filthy
matted cobwebs on the walls and ceiling grew steadily thicker, making the corridor seem increasingly
narrow. Storm had to bend forward to avoid brushing the cobwebs with his head. AH of them were
careful to avoid touching the stuff. It looked diseased.

They finally came to another cell, with the door standing slightly open, as before. Storm stared at it for
a long time, but was finally forced to admit he couldn't See anything anymore. Magic was running
loose in Hell Wing, and he had become as blind as the rest of them. In the end, Barber kicked the door
in, and he and Hawk charged in with weapons at the ready. The cell looked much like the last one,
save for a canvas on an easel standing in the middle of the room, facing the back wall. Averting their
eyes from the painting, Hawk and Barber checked the cell thoroughly, but there was nothing else there.
Winter directed the others to stay out in the corridor and told Hawk to inspect the canvas. If it was
what they thought it was, his single eye should help protect him from the painting's curse. Barber stood
by, carefully watching Hawk rather than the painting, so that if anything went wrong he could pull
Hawk away before the curse could affect him. That was the theory, anyway.

Hawk glanced out the cell door, and nodded reassuringly to Fisher. She wasn't fooled, but gave him a
smile anyway. Hawk stepped in front of the easel, and looked for the first time at Messerschmann's
Portrait. The scene was a bleak and open plain, arid and fractured, with no trace of life anywhere, save
for the single figure of a man in the foreground. The man stared wildly out of the Portrait, so close it
seemed Hawk could almost reach out and touch him. He was wearing a torn and ragged prison
uniform, and his face was twisted with terror and madness.

"Damn," said Hawk, hardly aware he'd spoken aloud. "It's got out."

The background scene had been painted with staggering realism. Hawk could almost feel the
oppressive heat wafting out of the painting at him. The figure in the foreground was so alive he seemed