"Harry Harrison & Katherine MacLean - Web of the Norns" - читать интересную книгу автора (Harrison Harry)

Both Harry Harrison and Katherine MacLean are well-known American writers of science
fiction and fantasy in their van country, but we believe that this is the first time either has
appeared in a British magazine. Written originally as a novel, the "Web Of The Norns" has been
considerably revised and shortened to suit our particular requirements. It nevertheless is a
different type of fantasy story.


WEB OF THE NORNS
By Harry Harrison and Katherine MacLean
The Three Norns, weavers of men's destiny, sit in the dusty hall of eternity with the glittering
tapestry of the dimensions around them. Their aged fingers move tirelessly over the
strandsтАФtwisting, weaving and joining in an infinity of combinations.
Each strand is a life. As they guide the strands they guide the lives. Their voices rise and fall in
a constant murmur: they pass the single eye, one to the other, to watch the weaving of this
incredible fabric. The voices grow louder, their tones change. Man's destiny is not always smooth.
"No, stop, you cannot bring that world line here."
"It makes the pattern . . ."
"It makes the pattern worse. I will have to make changes in my section."
"Destroyed, I say; ruined. The work of centuries!"
The voices grow louder, there is a hint of anger in the tones. "Stop, Grissel, stop. Those
changes cannot be made." Her hand flicks across the tapestry in an angry gesture.
There is a ring on the middle finger, the Unicorn Ring. The ring brushes the surface and the
Unicorn's horn catches in one of the tiny glittering threads of a human lifeтАФand pulls it loose.
"I'll do it my wayтАФgive me the eye."
The argument continues. The thread of a man's fate floats unattached in space, unnoticed.

I

"Sorry; mother, it doesn't fit."
"I got it in your size, Granty," Grant's mother said firmly. "Try it on again and see if it really doesn't
fit."
Grant O'Reilly, tried it on, He knew very well that it wouldn't fit, and it didn't. The coat was night
across the shoulders and his wrists stuck three inches of cuff out past the sleeves. He had become used
to this kind of thing. His mother had bought all his clothes for the wedding, and as usual she had assumed
he was younger than he was and got everything too small. This time it was serious. It was Sunday, and
they had come a long way out of town for his wedding in this small church where Lucy's aunts and,
uncles and cousins had been married. There was no chance of buying or renting a morning coat.
He looked at himself in the mirror, trying to see himself in the eyes of Lucy's poised and
influential-relatives. No, it wouldn't do. Lucy would be dismayed, ashamed of him with his wrists sticking
out like a gawky farm boy. He tried to tug the sleeves down. Today of all days, he had to look
sophisticated, the way Lucy liked him to be.
His reflection stared back calfishly from the pier glass and made the same plucking gestures at the
jacket cuffs. He didn't really like this tall, thin young fellow with the ash-blonde hair. The eyebrows were
so light that they were almost invisible, giving the face a gentle, saintly expression. When he was away
from mirrors he always imagined himself stronger and darkerтАФthe fit husband and defender of a lovely
woman like Lucy.
Lucy! A warm glow flushed his face at the thought of her. It was more of a physical thought than a
spiritual one and he felt that it somehow didn't belong in church. He turned from the glass and tried to
shrug off the jacket and the thought at the same time.
 Herb Collomb slumped in his chair against the far wall and puffed composedly on his ancient pipe.