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

"Let's go somewhere private and talk about it."
Digger was obviously reluctant to discuss Hartmann openly. Intrigued, Chrysalis
glanced at the antique brooch watch pinned above the bodice of her gown. "I have
to leave in ten minutes." She grinned like a Halloween skeleton. "I'm going to
see a voodoo ceremony. Perhaps if you care to come along, we might find time to
discuss things and come to a mutual understanding about the newsworthiness of my
background."
Digger smiled. "Sounds fine to me. Voodoo ceremony, huh? They going to stick
pins in dolls and stuff? Maybe have some kind of sacrifice?"
Chrysalis shrugged. "I don't know. I've never been to one before."
"Think they'll mind if I take photos?"
Chrysalis smiled blandly, wishing she was on familiar turf, wishing that she had
something to use on this gossipmonger, and wondering, underneath it all, why his
interest in Gregg Hartmann?
In a fit of sentiment Ti Malice chose one of his oldest mounts, a male with a
body almost as frail and withered as his own, to be his steed for the night.
Even though the mount's flesh was ancient, the brain encased in it was still
sharp, and more strong-willed than any other Ti Malice had ever encountered. It
said, in fact, a lot for Ti Malice's own indominatable will that he was able to
control the stubborn old steed. The mental fencing that accompanied riding it
was a most pleasurable experience.
He chose the dungeon for the meeting place. It was a quiet, comfortable old
room, full of pleasurable sights and smells and memories. The lighting was dim,
the air was cool and moist. His favorite tools, along with the remains of his
last few partners in experience, were scattered about in agreeable disarray. He
had his mount pick up a bloodencrusted flaying knife and test it on its callused
palm while he drifted in pleasant reminiscence until the snorting bellow in the
corridor outside proclaimed Taureau's approach.
Taureau-trois-graines, as he had named this mount, was a huge male with a body
that was thick with slabs of muscle. It had a long, bushy beard and tufts of
coarse black hair peered through the tears in its sun-faded work shirt. It wore
frayed, worn denim pants, and it had a huge, rampant erection pushing visibly at
the fabric that covered its crotch. It always had.
" I have a task for you," Ti Malice told his mount to say, and Taureau bellowed
and tossed its head and rubbed its crotch through the fabric of its pants. "Some
new mounts will be awaiting you on the road to Petionville. Take a squad of
zobops and bring them to me here."
"Women?" Taureau asked in a slobbering snort. "Perhaps," Ti Malice said through
his mount, "but you are not to have them. Later, perhaps."
Taureau let out a disappointed bellow, but knew better than to argue.
"Be careful," Ti Malice warned. "Some of these mounts may have powers. They may
be strong."
Taureau let out bray that rattled the tattered half-skeleton hanging in the wall
niche next to it. "Not as strong as me!" It thumped its massive chest with a
callused, horny hand.
"Maybe, maybe not. Just take care. I want them all." He paused to let his
mount's words sink in. "Do not fail me. If you do, you will never know my kiss
again."
Taureau howled like a steer being led to the slaughter block, backed out of the
room, bowing furiously, and was gone.