"George R. R. Martin - In the House of the Worm" - читать интересную книгу автора (Martin George R R)

broken bronze fists that clutched at air. Twice they passed bones├втВмтАЭwhether groun or human Annelyn
could not tell; the rest was all dark nothingness. Finally, when they reached a juncture where many
tunnels met and branched, they could hear Vermyllar's weeping again, and they knew which way to
choose.

They followed for a long time, losing the sound twice in the maze of interconnecting burrows, but each
time quickly retracing their steps when the sobs began to grow faint. These, Annelyn realized with a
shiver, were the groun-runs, the real things, and he was in them, descending to infinity. His blue eyes
grew wide and sharp, and he watched everything in the flickering torchlight: the black beckoning squares
of the tunnels they passed, the endless corroded fists, row on row, the carpets of dust that lay thick in
some places and were strangely absent in others. Noises, too, he heard, as he had when they waited for
the Meatbringer: soft mutters and softer footsteps, growls, the stirring of impossible cold winds in tunnels
not chosen, and a dim, distant rumble like nothing he had ever imagined. Real noises, phantoms, fevers of
a nervous brain├втВмтАЭAnnelyn did not know. He only knew that he heard them, so that the empty burrows
seemed to fill with dark and unseen life.

There was no talk. They went down and around until Annelyn had lost track of their turnings. They
descended twisted stone stairways, climbed down rusted ladders in echoing empty wells (always afraid
that the rungs would snap), passed wide, slanted ramps, and vast galleries that swallowed the light of
their torch, and furnished chambers where all the furniture was covered with dust and worm-rich rot.
Once they walked through a high-ceilinged room much like a mushroom farm; but here the water-runs
were dry and empty, and the long, sunken growing tanks held only a foul-smelling fungus that glowed a
faint and evil green. Another hall they found was rich with tapestries, but each of the hangings was a gray
rag that came apart at the touch.

The noises went ahead of them. Always.
Groff spoke only once, when they had stopped at the end of a bricked-in tunnel and were preparing to
descend another of the round, black wells. ├втВм┼УThere are no grouns left,├втВмтАв he muttered, more to
himself than to them. ├втВм┼УThese are the places they once swarmed, and now they are empty.├втВмтАв He
shook his head, and his face was troubled. ├втВм┼УThe Meatbringer goes deep."

Neither Annelyn nor Riess replied. They found the rungs, and began to climb down. Then there were
more tunnels.

Finally, though, they seemed to lose the way. At first the noise was ahead of them├втВмтАЭVermyllar's sobs,
holding steady├втВмтАЭbut suddenly the sound grew less. Groff muttered something, and the three of them
walked back to the last turning and chose another burrow. But they had gone only a few steps into the
blackness when they lost the sound altogether. Back again they went, and into a third path; it proved
silent and bricked-in.

"This was the right way,├втВмтАв Groff insisted when they returned yet again to the junction, ├втВм┼Уthe way we
went first, though the noise did dwindle.├втВмтАв He led them back, and they heard Vermyllar again, but
once again the sound began to fade after they had followed it a short way.

Groff turned and paced down the tunnel. ├втВм┼УCome,├втВмтАв he said, and Riess hurried to his side with the
torch. The knight was standing next to an air duct, its breath warm around them. The torch flame danced.
Annelyn saw that the duct had no gridding. Then Groff reached inside. ├втВм┼УA rope,├втВмтАв he whispered.

Suddenly Annelyn realized that the sounds were coming from the shaft.