"Ian R. Macleod - Sealight" - читать интересную книгу автора (Macleod Ian R)

least of which was grounding the keel on some hidden mudflat. The sail sagged in
the still air. Ran unstowed the oar and swept it slowly to each side, canoe-fashion.
The wooden blade made a sucking sound. Otherwise there was silence.

Ran glanced down over the side of the boat, praying for the continuance of
open water, wishing, too, that he did not have to fish here. He jumped as water
erupted close to his elbow, but it was no more than a bubble of marshgas,
foul-smelling but harmless. The disturbance caused a shoal of skidling to scatter
through the silt like spilled coins. He nodded to himself and leaned forward to stow
the oar. This was as good a place as any. He unfurled the nets.

The dark air was hot. He sweated as he worked, drawing the nets through the
sleek water. Gutting the skidling, feeling the bright shudder as each life spilled in a
gathering slick, he pictured Jolenta, alone in her tower. He saw the fall of her hair
against pale shoulders, the gleam and shift of silk across her limbs, a sea-diamond
glinting in the soft valley between her breasts. . . . He shook his head and squeezed a
skidling eyeball between finger and thumb until it popped.

Noon came. Time for Ran to eat the skidling sandwiches his mother had made
for him. Off to the west, he had noticed astony gray island that seemed more
substantial than the rest. Welcoming the prospect of resting on solid ground for half
an hour, Ran eased his boat through the maze of channels. He threw a grappling iron
across the last few feet. It struck the gray surface of the island with an oddly liquid
smack. He hauled himself in.

Ran had half his mind on the grim horizon, watching the glint of distant
marshlight. If he hadnтАЩt been doing so, he might have noticed the gray-green coils
that began to seethe beneath the boat a vital moment earlier. As it was, when he
jumped from the prow his feet struck the island with a fleshy slap. His right boot
split the surface and black blood puddled up over his ankle, but by then it was too
late. The water was starting to boil with angry, seeking flesh.

Tentacles writhed dripping from the water. A rough grayish lump that Ran had
assumed to be a rock set in the middle of the island split open to reveal a malevolent
yellow eye. A tentacle swung around his arm like a wet rope. Others smacked across
his waist, his neck. The muscular flesh bulged, then relaxed, holding without
crashing. It lifted Ran lightly toward its steaming maw. Ran screamed and straggled,
but the creatureтАЩs strength was enormous. And he was no hero тАФ he could think of
nothing he could do that would make any difference to his fate. He thought instead
of his mother, he thought of Piir, the way she furrowed her brow when she was
unhappy, the way she crinkled her eyes when she smiled. The beak and lips dilated
to accept his kicking feet, his legs, his thighs.

It would all have been over quickly enough had the creature not been indolent
and ancient, used to eating nothing larger than the frogs and snakes and gray things
of the marshes. Somehow it couldnтАЩt swallow Ran past his hips. He was stuck тАФ
the mouth would widen no further. The throat pulsed uselessly, grinding RanтАЩs legs.
The creature began to thrash wildly, turning pinkish in anger, then red as it began to
choke. The yellow eye watered and blinked. The creature grew desperate. One of the
tentacles pulled hard at RanтАЩs right arm. For a moment, he felt as though it might