"C M Kornbluth - Thirteen O'Clock" - читать интересную книгу автора (Kornbluth C M)

"Packer!" Peter shouted. "What are you doing here?"

"Haw!" laughed the judge. "That's what I was going to ask you. But first we have this matter of Mr.
Morden to dispose of. Excuse me a moment? Clerk, read the charges."

A cowed-looking little man picked an index-card from a stack and read: "Whereas Mr. Percival
Morden of Mahoora has been apprehended in the act of practicing mancy and whereas this Mr. Morden
does not possess an approved license for such practice it is directed that His Honor Chief Judge
Balthazar Pike declare him guilty of the practice of mancy without a license. Signed, Mayor Almarish.
Vote straight Peace and Progress Reform Party for a clean and efficient administration." He paused for a
moment and looked timidly at the judge who was cleaning his talons. "That's it, your honor," he said.

"Oh-thank you. Now Morden-guilty or not guilty?"

"What's the difference?" asked the manufacturer sourly. "Not guilty, I guess."

"Thank you." The judge took a coin from his pocket. "Heads or tails?" he asked.

"Tails," answered Morden. Then, aside to Peter, "It's magic, of course. You can't win." The half-breed
demon spun the coin dexterously on the judical bench; it wobbled, slowed, and fell with a tinkle. The
judge glanced at it. "Sorry, old man," he said sympathetically. "You seem to be guilty. Imprisonment for
life in an oak-tree. You'll find Merlin de Bleys in there with you, I rather fancy. You'll like him. Next
case," he called sharply as Morden fell through a trapdoor in the floor.

Peter advanced before the bar of justice. "Can't we reason this thing out?" he asked hopelessly. "I mean,
I'm a stranger here and if I've done anything I'm sorry-"

"Tut!" exclaimed the demon. He had torn the cuticle of his left index talon, and it was bleeding. He
stanched the green liquid with a handkerchief and looked down at the man.
 "Done anything?" he asked mildly. "Oh-dear me, no! Except for a few trifles like felonious impediment of
an officer in the course of his duty, indecent display, seditious publication, high treason and unlawful
possession of military and naval secrets-done anything?" His two odd eyes looked reproachfully down on
the man.

Peter felt something flimsy in his hand. Covertly he looked and saw a slip of blue paper on which was
written in green ink: "This is Hugo, my other watchdog. Feed him once a day on green vegetables. He
does not like tobacco. In haste, Melicent."

There was a stir in the back of the courtroom, and Peter turned to see one of the fire-breathing horrors
which had first attacked him in the forest tearing down the aisle lashing out to right and left, incinerating a
troop of officers with one blast of its terrible breath. Balthazar Pike was crawling around under his desk,
bawling for more police.

Peter cried, "You^can add one more-possession of a bandur without a license! Sic 'em, Hugo!" The
monster flashed an affectionate look at him and went on with the good work of clearing the court. The
man sprang aside as the trapdoor opened beneath his feet and whirled on a cop who was trying to
swarm over him. With a quick one-two he laid him out and proceeded to the rear of the courtroom,
where Hugo was standing off a section of the fire-department that was trying to extinguish his throat.
Peter snatched an axe from one and mowed away heartily. Resistance melted away in a hurry, and Peter