"George R. R. Martin - WC 4 - Aces Abroad" - читать интересную книгу автора (Martin George R R)

He could understand the mount's report well enough. It was, after all, their
world, and he'd had to make some accommodations, like learning to associate



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meaning with the sounds that spilled from their lips. He couldn't reply
verbally, of course, even if he'd wanted to. First, his mouth, tongue, and
palate weren't shaped for it, and second, his mouth was, and always had to be,
fastened to the side of his mount's neck, with the narrow, hollow tube of his
tongue plunged into his mount's carotid artery.
But he knew his mounts well and he could read their needs easily. The mount
who'd brought the report, for instance, had two. Its eyes were fastened on the
lithe nakedness of the female as it pleasured itself, but it also had a need for
his kiss.
He flapped a pale, skinny hand and the mount came forward eagerly, dropping its
pants and climbing atop the woman. The female let out an explosive grunt as it
entered.
He forced a stream. of spittle down his tongue and into his mount's carotid
artery, sealing the breach in it, then gingerly climbed, like a frail, pallid
monkey, to the male's back, gripped it around the shoulders, and plunged his
tongue home just below the mass of scar tissue on the side of its neck.
The male grunted with more than sexual pleasure as he drove his tongue in,
siphoning some of the mount's blood into his own body for the oxygen and
nutrients he needed to live. He rode the man's back as the man rode the woman,
and all three were bound in chains of inexpressible pleasure. And when the
carotid of the female mount ruptured unexpectedly, as they sometimes did,
spewing all three with pulsing showers of bright, warm, sticky blood, they
continued on. It was a most exciting and pleasurable experience. When it was
over, he realized that he would miss the female mount-it had had the most
incredibly sensitive skin-but his sense of loss was lessened by anticipation.
Anticipation of new mounts, and the extraordinary abilities they would have.

ii.
The Palais National dominated the north end of a large open square near the
center of Port-au-Prince. Its architect had cribbed its design from the Capitol
Building in Washington, D.C., giving it the same colonnaded portico, long white
facade, and central dome. Facing it on the south end of the square were what
looked like, and in fact were, military barracks.
The inside of the Palais stood out in stark contrast to everything else
Chrysalis had seen in Haiti. The only word to describe it was opulent. The
carpets were deep-pile shags, the furniture and bric-a-brac along the hallway
they were escorted down by ornately uniformed guards were all authentic
antiques, the chandeliers hanging from the high vaulted ceilings were the finest
cut crystal.
President-for-Life Jean-Claude Duvalier, and his wife, Madame Michele Duvalier,
were waiting in a receiving line with other Haitian dignitaries and
functionaries. Baby Doc Duvalier, who'd inherited Haiti in 1971 when his father,