"McCammon, Robert R. - The Wolf's Hour" - читать интересную книгу автора (McCammon Robert R)
Now it was his turn to look away from her, because she saw too deeply. УIsnТt everyoneТs?Ф he asked, and began walking through the water toward the steps. It was time to dry off and direct his mind to his mission.
The light bulbs flickered. Once, then again. They dimmed to brown and went out, and Michael stood in darkness with the chill water lapping at his waist. УAir raid,Ф Gaby said; he heard a tremor in her voice, and he realized she didnТt like the dark. УThe Germans have shut the power down.Ф
There was a distant, muffled noise like a hammer whacking a pillow. Either a bomb exploding or a large-caliber cannon going off, Michael thought. It was followed by other blasts, more felt than heard, and the stones shivered beneath MichaelТs feet. УThis may be a bad one,Ф Gaby said, and this time she couldnТt hide the fear in her voice. УHang on, everybody!Ф someone shouted in French from another chamber. There was a boom and shudder and Michael heard the roof crack like a pistol shot. Bits of stone splashed into the water. Either bombs were falling close overhead or a battery of anti-aircraft cannons was filling the sky with explosions. Roman dust wafted into MichaelТs nostrils, and the next blast felt as if it landed within fifty yards of his skull.
A warm, shivering body pressed against him. Gaby clung to his shoulders, and Michael put his arms around her.
Fragments of stone were splashing on either side of them. Six or seven pebble-sized pieces fell onto MichaelТs back. Another explosion made Gaby press closer into him, her fingers gripping at his flesh, and in a lull of silence between blasts he heard her gasp and moan in expectation of the next bomb fall. He stood, his muscles tensed, and stroked GabyТs wet hair as the bombs fell to earth and the anti-aircraft guns thundered.
Then, a minute later, there was nothing but the sound of their breathing. Their hearts were slamming, and Michael felt GabyТs body quake with the violence of her pulse. Someone was coughing in another chamber, and a voiceЧMcCarrenТsЧshouted, УAnyone hurt?Ф Other voices answered, saying that there were no injuries. УGaby?Ф McCarren called. УYou and the Brit all right?Ф
She tried to answer, but she had dust in her nostrils and throat and she felt as if she might pass out. She hated the dark, the sense of confinement, and the hammering blasts that brought back a terrifying moment four years ago when sheТd hidden in a basement with her family while Luftwaffe airplanes bombed her village to rubble.
УGaby?Ф McCarren shouted, sounding a little frantic.
УWeТre all right,Ф Michael told him calmly. УJust shaken up a bit.Ф
The Scotsman whuffed a sigh of relief and went on to check another area.
Gaby couldnТt stop shaking. It was the cold water and her own chilled blood. She had her head against the manТs shoulder, and it suddenly occurred to her that she didnТt knowЧand shouldnТt knowЧhis real name. That was one of the rules of the game. But she smelled his flesh through the musty aroma of wafting dust, and she thought for an instantЧbut no, of course that couldnТt beЧthat his skin had the faintest wild scent about it, like an animalТs odor. It was not unpleasant, justЕ different, in a way she couldnТt pinpoint.
The light bulbs flickered again. Off and on, off and on as someoneЧa German handЧthrew the switches that regulated the power flow. And then they came on and stayed on, though muted to a dim brownish cast. УAll clear,Ф Michael said, and Gaby looked up into his face. His eyes seemed to be slightly luminous, as if they were absorbing all the available light, and the sight frightened her, though she wasnТt exactly sure why. This man was different; something about him, something indefinable. She met his stare, as time was measured in heartbeats, and she thought she saw a glimpse of somethingЧa leaping, elemental thingЧbehind those green eyes like flames behind icy glass. She was aware of the heat of his body, steam beginning to drift from his pores, and she started to speakЧto say what, she didnТt know, but she did know that when her voice came out it would tremble.
Michael spoke first, with his body. He turned away from her, walked up the steps to the towel rack, took one for himself and one for her. УYouТll catch your death,Ф he told Gaby, offering her the towel as an inducement to leave the chilly water. She came out, and Michael felt his body respond as the water crept down from her breasts, down her flat stomach and her glistening thighs. And then she was standing in front of him, dripping, her black hair wet and sleek, and Michael gently folded the towel around her. His throat was tight, but he got the words out anyway. УIТd better get some rest,Ф he said, staring into her eyes. УIТve had an exciting night.Ф
УYes,Ф Gaby agreed. УMe, too.Ф She clutched the towel around her and left wet footprints on the stones as she went to her clothes and gathered them up. УYour room is down that corridor.Ф She motioned toward it. УItТs through the second archway on the right. I hope you donТt mind a cot, but the blanketТs good and thick.Ф
УIt sounds fine.Ф He could sleep in the mud when he was tired, and he knew heТd be asleep within two minutes of hitting that cot.
УIТll come for you when itТs time to get up,Ф she told him.
УI hope so,Ф he answered as he dried his hair. He heard her footsteps as she left the chamber, and when he lowered the towel, Gaby was gone. Then he dried his body off, picked up his clothes, and went along the corridor sheТd indicated. There was a candle in a brass holder and a box of matches on the floor outside the second archway, and Michael paused to light the wick. He followed the flame into his room, which was a musty, damp-walled chamber that held a narrow, decidedly uncomfortable-looking cot and a metal rod on the wall with a few clothes hangers dangling from it. Michael hung his clothes up; they smelled of sweat, dust, and German-tank engine exhaust, with a hint of scorched flesh. Michael thought that after the war was over he might go into the business of renting his sense of smell, maybe to a maker of perfumes. Once, on a street in London, heТd found a womanТs white glove, and in that glove heТd smelled the scents of brass keys, tea and lemons, Chanel perfume, the sweet earthy fragrance of an expensive white wine, the odors of more than one manТs perspiration, a distant hint of an ancient rose, and of course the rubber smell of the Dunlop tire that had run across it as it lay on the street. He had learned over the years and by virtue of practice, that scents were almost as powerful to him as vision. His ability was stronger when he was under the change, of course, but much of it had seeped into his life as a human.
Michael pulled the cotТs blanket back and got into bed. The springs stabbed his back, but heТd been stabbed by sharper blades. He got himself situated under the blanket, and then he blew out the candle, put the candle holder on the stones beside the cot, and lay his head back on a pillow stuffed with goose down. His body was tired, but his mind wanted to roam, like a beast pacing behind bars. He stared into the darkness, and he listened to the sound of water dripping slowly down a wall.
Your battle is inside, Gaby had said. Yes?
Yes, Michael thought. And it came to him, something he pondered every day and every night since he was a child in the Russian forest: IТm not human. IТm not an animal. What am I?
Lycanthrope. A word coined by a psychiatrist, a man who studied jibbering patients in mental wards, their eyes glassy in the glare of the full moon. The peasants of Russia, Romania, Germany, Austria, Hungary, Yugoslavia, Spain, and Greece all had different words for it, but those words converged on the same meaning: werewolf.
Not human. Not an animal, Michael thought. What am I, in the eye of God?
Ah, but there was another bend in the thicket of thought. Often Michael imagined God as a huge white wolf, striding across a snowfield under a sky ablaze with stars, and GodТs eyes were golden and very clear, and GodТs white fangs were very, very sharp. God could smell lies and treachery across the firmament, and he tore the hearts out of the disloyal and ate them bleeding. There was no escape from the cold judgment of God, the King of Wolves.
But how, then, did menТs God view the lycanthrope? As a pestilence or a miracle? Michael, of course, could only speculate, but he knew one thing for certain: there were very few times when he didnТt wish he might be a beast for all of his life, and run free and wild in the green halls of God. Two legs fettered him; four legs let him fly.
FOUR
The Change
1
He sat up, and heard water dripping down a wall of ancient stones. His vision was fogged by sleep and brain fever, but a small fire of pine branches smoldered in the center of the chamber and by its ruddy glow Mikhail could see the figure of a man standing over him. He said the first thing that came to him: УFather?Ф
УIТm not your father, boy.Ф It was the voice of Wiktor, speaking with a hint of rough agitation. УYouТll not call me that again.Ф
УMyЕ father.Ф Mikhail blinked, trying to focus. Wiktor towered over him, clad in his deerskin robe with its snow-hare collar, his gray beard trailing down his chest. УWhereТsЕ my mother?Ф
УDead. All of them are dead. You already know that; why do you persist in calling to ghosts?Ф
The little boy pressed his hand against his face. He was sweating, but his insides felt cold, as if he were July on the skin and January in the blood. His bones were throbbing, like a dull axblade chopping an ironwood tree. Where was he? he wondered. His father, mother, and sisterЕ where were they? It began to come back to him, through the murk of memory: the picnic, the shootings in the meadow, the bodies lying on scarlet-spattered grass. And the men after him, the crash of horse hooves through the underbrush. The wolves. The wolves. Here his mind sheared away, and the memories fled like children past a graveyard. But deep down he knew where he wasЧthe depths of the white palaceЧand he knew the man standing before him like a barbarian king was both more and less than human.
УYouТve been with us for six days,Ф Wiktor said. УYouТre not eating anything, not even the berries. Do you want to die?Ф
УI want to go home,Ф Mikhail answered, his voice weak. УI want to be with my mother and father.Ф
УYou are home,Ф Wiktor said. Someone coughed violently, and Wiktor glanced over with his keen amber eyes to where the shape of Andrei lay under a cover of cloaks. The coughing turned into a choking noise, and AndreiТs body lurched. When the sound of mortal illness faded away, Wiktor returned his attention to the little boy. УListen to me,Ф he commanded, and squatted down on his haunches before Mikhail. УYouТre going to be sick soon. Very soon. YouТll need your strength, if youТre going to live through it.Ф
Mikhail held his stomach, which felt hot and swollen. УIТm sick now.Ф
УNot nearly like youТre going to be.Ф WiktorТs eyes shone like copper coins in the low red light. УYouТre a thin whelp,Ф he decided. УDidnТt your parents feed you any meat?Ф He didnТt wait for an answer, but grasped MikhailТs chin with his gnarled fingers and lifted the boyТs face so it caught most of the fireТs glow. УPale as milk pudding,Ф Wiktor said. УYou wonТt be able to stand it. I can tell.Ф
УStand what, sir?Ф
УStand the change. The sickness thatТs going to come over you.Ф Wiktor released his chin. УDonТt eat, then. It would be a waste of good food. YouТre finished, arenТt you?Ф
УI donТt know, sir,Ф Mikhail admitted, and shivered as a chill passed through his bones.
УI know. IТve learned to recognize strong reeds and weak ones. A lot of weak reeds lie in our garden.Ф Wiktor motioned outward, beyond the chamber, and Andrei suffered another spasm of coughing. УAll of us are born weak,Ф Wiktor told the boy. УWe have to learn to be strong, or we perish. A simple fact of life and death.Ф
Mikhail was tired. He thought of a mop heТd once watched Dimitri use to swab the carriage, and he felt the way that wet old mop had looked. He lay down again, on a pallet of grass and pine straw.
УBoy?Ф Wiktor asked. УDo you know anything about whatТs happening to you?Ф
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