"House On Parchment Street" - читать интересную книгу автора (McKillip Patricia A)

"Edward. Come."
And suddenly they were no longer looking through a jagged hole, but through an arch of stone. A man, his head turned away from them as he looked back through the cellar, smiled briefly at her smile, and wax rolled down his fingers from the candle in his hand.
He was hidden in a dark cloak. It opened briefly as
he stepped through the arch, and they caught a glimpse of something silver that gleamed from a chain. He wore a plain hat that shadowed his face; it seemed young as he passed them, yet lean and set; he glanced back again, his eyes quick and watchful in the half-light. His hair beneath the hat was the same color as the girl's.
Carol's hands closed against her mouth. She felt tears gathering, stinging behind her eyes. Bruce touched her and she followed him, stumbling a little, blinking away the tears so she could see.
There was movement behind them. Bruce stopped abruptly, his breath hissing, and drew her flat beside him against the wall. A big man with a helm on his head passed them. He was armed at breast and back with steel plate; he carried a long spear with an ax blade wide and curved beneath it. Bruce's light swept over it and it flashed in a wedge of silver. Bruce made a small, inarticulate protest, as though he were asleep, protesting a dream. Another man followed the first, similarly dressed, with a sword unsheathed in his hand. They moved quickly ahead. Bruce followed them. Carol stared after him. She moved finally, running a little to catch up, and a sob welled in her throat and eased away and welled again.
There was a murmur of voices ahead in the darkness and then a sudden shout. There was a scream, a young girl's scream, high, light, endless. It grew louder and louder; Carol put her hands over her ears. A light
flashed in her face, and she saw Bruce, turned back to her, saying something. She could not hear it above the scream. And then, as a stone dropped from the arch, thumped at her feet, the scream became the whine of the drilling above them. Another stone dropped. She saw Bruce's face, startled, turned upward. Then the stones broke and poured between them in a white shower of ancient mortar.
VIII.
"BRUCE!" THE SOUND OF HER OWN VOICE STARTLED her, as though she had wakened herself, calling. The mortar dust, thick, acrid, caught in her throat; she coughed. She heard his coughing. The sound of it twisted into a sharp dry sob and her heart stood still. "Bruce!"
She stumbled over the stones. Light sprang at an odd angle from the floor, near the wall. Above them, the drilling continued in short strident bursts.
"CarolЧ"
"Where are you? Where are you? I can't see youЧ" Her eyes flickered desperately over the shadowed stones. Something shifted into the light; she went toward it, unsteady on the pile of stones.
"NoЧgo backЧ" His voice broke again in the small taut sound. Her fingers, icy, curled against her mouth.
"Go get DadЧHurryЧ"
She ran down the dark tunnel, toward the small sunlit opening at the end of it. She climbed through and ran up the stairs to the quiet hall above, and as she slammed open the cellar door, three people turned toward her: Uncle Harold, opening the study door; Aunt Catherine at the open front door; and Alexander, whose face was suddenly shaken out of its calm. "HurryЧUncle Harold, the tunnel fell in on Bruce ЧhurryЧ"
Uncle Harold came toward her. His face was strained, puzzled, as though he were trying to understand a language he did not know. He put his hands on her shoulders. "What? Carol, I want to help, but calm down and tell meЧ"
"The tunnelЧthe priest tunnelЧ" Her eyes moved past him to Alexander. "Tell them to stop drilling; it knocked the stones down on himЧ"
Uncle Harold's lips parted. "The priest tunnel? WhatЧCarol, show me. You'll have to show me."
She led him and Aunt Catherine downstairs. Uncle Harold stopped at the sight of the hole, dark and jagged, in the wall, the stones neatly piled among Mrs. Brewster's books.
"You did this?" His voice was sharp with incredulity. Aunt Catherine followed Carol over to the hole. Carol turned, frightened at the tone of his voice.
"Yes."
"It is a tunnel," Aunt Catherine said wonderingly,
looking through over Carol's shoulder. She moved in after Carol; Uncle Harold followed them. The drilling had stopped; the tunnel was soundless, dark but for a tiny fan of light far ahead. Something blotted the light from the cellar; Alexander slipped through behind them.
"Where is he? I can't seeЧ" "Up there with the light."
The light shifted, pointed toward them as they came, and they stopped, blinking, at the edge of the fall of stones. "Bruce," Uncle Harold said. "Move the light downward if you can, so we can see what we're doing. Stay still." "Dad, it was the drillingЧ" "I know," Uncle Harold said. "Alexander stopped them." He reached Bruce and took the flashlight from him. Aunt Catherine knelt beside him. Uncle Harold shifted a stone; Bruce's breath hissed sharply. "All right. Lie still. Catherine, call the hospital." An ambulance came, and men maneuvered him through the hole and bore him away. Aunt Catherine and Uncle Harold followed in the car. The siren wailed down Parchment Street like a banshee, and Emily Raison came out, frightened and anxious, to find out what was wrong. Alexander explained. Carol stood, staring at the half-finished drains. The men had gone; the street lay torn and empty in the late afternoon. She wandered back into the yard. A breeze rustled through the half-cut hedge, stirred the dandelions. A lump
burned dry in her throat; it would not go away.
"He's probably all right," Alexander said. "There weren't any stones on his head or his back. He was still talking."
"They wouldn't let him walk out."
"They never do until they know what's wrong."
Carol sat down on the front step. Her head dropped onto her knees; she closed her eyes and saw again the darkness of the tunnel. "Where were you, anyway? Why didn't you come?"
He dropped beside her, sighing. "Oh. I had a long conversation with Mrs. Brewster about flowers."
"Flowers?"
"Squashed flowers. The kind you get when five bicycles ride over them in your front lawn. She got it into her head that I had something personal against her flowers, just because I happened to be riding a bicycle. When she finally let me go, I rode to Sandy's house and had a long conversation with him about flowers. I'm ten times bigger than he is, and he was nervous, but he'll probably do something malicious, because he didn't like being lectured by me. But I was angry. And then I remembered what time it was. Did you follow the girl?"
Carol nodded. She sat hunched over herself, holding her arms, and her throat tightened, hurting. She swallowed. "She came, and she said 'Edward. Come,' and he came."
"Edward came?"
"Yes. He had a hat and a long cloak on, and he was carrying a candle. His hair was the same color as hers." She swallowed again. Tears formed, hot and swollen, behind her eyes. "And we followed them. And people followed usЧmen with swords and helmetsЧand they walked past us and they didn't see us. So, the Puritan had gone in before Edward, and he was waiting in the tunnel in front of him, and the men came in after him, and they all had swords and I thinkЧI thinkЧThe tunnel fell in before we could see anything, but just before it fell, I could hear her screaming."
The wind rose, shivered through the leaves above the wall. Alexander stirred, drawing breath.
"They're all dead, you know. It happened centuries ago. There's no need to feel sad."
"That's the funny part. Bruce was trying to tell me about the light, but I didn't think it was important, until today. When heЧwhen the men in armor went by, and when Bruce pointed the flashlight at them, the light reflected off the armor as ifЧas if they were real in our century Е or we were real in theirs."
"I wish I'd been there. Oh, I wish I'd been there. Life is so unfair. Were you frightened?"
A tear ran down her bent face. "OnlyЧonly for Edward. She was leading him through, and he must have been her brother or a cousin, and I think they killed him right in front of her, and she can'tЧit's like when something terrible happens and you can't sleepЧ"
"Are you crying?" he said anxiously.
She rubbed her face with her sleeve. "No. But I don't see why everything had to go wrong at once. I don't see why they had to kill EdwardЧWhat difference does it make if you wear lace collars or plain collars, or if you like stained glass windows or plain windows, or if you like running around barefoot or drawing cowsЧThere's enough room for all those things, isn't there?"
"Sometimes not," Alexander said. "There's not enough room in people's heads." He stood up. "I've got to call my mother and tell her why I'm not at home putting up screens. I'll stay here and wait for your aunt and uncle with you, because they've probably started wondering by now how we found the tunnel, and when you start explaining about the ghosts, you'll need someone of sane and sober character to back you up."
Carol straightened. "I forgot about that." She sighed, brushing mortar dust out of her hair. "I thought we were already past the hard part."
Alexander called his mother, and then they sat in the living room watching for Uncle Harold and Aunt Catherine out of the window. They came home finally, late in the evening. Carol opened the front door for them, and Aunt Catherine's tired face eased into a smile.
"Carol, you're still as white as a ghost. What is that all over you?"
"Centuries-old mortar, I should think," Uncle Har-
old said. "Bruce instructed me that I was not to plague you for explanations; he is going to explain everything when he comes home, but I doubt if I can wait that long."