"Frank Herbert - Old Rambling House" - читать интересную книгу автора (Herbert Brian & Frank)

They could glimpse floor-to-ceiling view windows at the end of the hall, city lights beyond.
Martha Graham gasped, entered the hall as though in a trance. Ted Graham followed, heard
the door close behind them.
'It's so-so - so big' exclaimed Martha Graham.
'You want to trade this for our trailer?' asked Ted Graham.
'It's too inconvenient for us,' said Rush. 'My work is over the mountains on the coast.' He
shrugged. 'We cannot sell it.'
Ted Graham looked at him sharply. 'Isn't there any money around here?' He had a sudden
vision of a tax accountant with no customers.
'Plenty of money, but no real estate customers.'
They entered the living room. Sectional divans lined the walls. Subdued lighting glowed from
the corners. Two paintings hung on the opposite walls - oblongs of odd lines and twists that
made Ted Graham dizzy.
Warning bells clamored in his mind.
Martha Graham crossed to the windows, looked at the light far away below. 'I had no idea
we'd climbed that far,' she said. 'It's like a fairy city.'
Mrs Rush emitted a short, nervous laugh.
Ted Graham glanced around the room, thought: If the rest of the house is like this, it's
worth fifty or sixty thousand. He thought of the trailer: A good one, but not worth more than
seven thousand.
Uneasiness was like a neon sign flashing in his mind. 'This seems so ... ' He shook his head.
'Would you like to see the rest of the house?' asked Rush.
Martha Graham turned from the window. 'Oh, yes.'
Ted Graham shrugged. No harm in looking, he thought.
When they returned to the living room, Ted Graham had doubled his previous estimate on
the house's value. His brain reeled with the summing of it: a solarium with an entire ceiling
covered by sun lamps, an automatic laundry where you dropped soiled clothing down a chute,
took it washed and ironed from the other end ...
'Perhaps you and your wife would like to discuss it in private,' said Rush. 'We will leave you
for a moment.'
And they were gone before Ted Graham could protest.
Martha Graham said, 'Ted, I honestly never in my life dreamed-'
'Something's very wrong, honey.'
'But, Ted -'
'This house is worth at least a hundred thousand dollars. Maybe more. And they want to
trade this -' he looked around him - 'for a seven-thousand-dollar trailer?'
'Ted, they're foreigners. And if they're so foolish they don't know the value of this place,
then why should -'
'I don't like it,' he said. Again he looked around the room, recalled the fantastic equipment
of the house. 'But maybe you're right.'
He stared out at the city lights. They had a lacelike quality: tall buildings linked by lines of
flickering incandescence. Something Like a Roman candle shot skyward in the distance.
'Okay!' he said. 'If they want to trade, let's go push the deal ... '
Abruptly, the house shuddered. The city lights blinked out. A humming sound filled the air.
Martha Graham clutched her husband's arm. 'Ted! Wha - what was that?'
'I dunno.' He turned. 'Mr Rush!'
No answer. Only the humming.
The door at the end of the room opened. A strange man came through it. He wore a short
toga-like garment of gray, metallic cloth belted at the waist by something that glittered and
shimmered through every color of the spectrum. An aura of coldness and power emanated