"Sean McMullen - Rule of the People" - читать интересную книгу автора (McMullen Sean)

Rule of the People
by Sean McMullen
This story copyright 1998 by Sean McMullen. This copy was created for Jean Hardy's personal use. All
other rights are reserved. Thank you for honoring the copyright.

Published by Seattle Book Company, www.seattlebook.com.

* * *


Herman Diactoros watched as the two men came staggering down lamplit Stephen Street, rolling
drunk and only upright because they supported each other. Trailing after them were twelve dogs,
bunched together in a disciplined pack.
"Spent it all," bawled the taller of the pair, who was dressed as a bushman.
"Aye, it's true Ben, but the beer were cold an' the pork pies were hot," his companion replied, taking
his ancient top hat off and waving it.
A hunchback, Diactoros noted, nodding. They passed him, then the dogs passed. The leader of the
pack gave him a sharp, nervous glance. Clever dog, thought Diactoros.
"Down here then, matey, there's a nymph o' the pave who owes me a little favour," cried the
hunchback as he guided the bushman into a narrow lane.
Diactoros noted that the dogs were guarding the entrance to the lane. He had seen enough. Walking
back down another laneway he sprang for a high ledge, caught it and pulled himself up, then inched along
it until he reached a window ledge. Here he stood, reaching higher until his fingers closed on guttering.
With a motion as fluid as if his body had been quicksilver he pulled himself up and rolled onto the roof,
then crawled silently over the slates.
"Yer knockin' but there's nobody home," the bushman was complaining as Diactoros peered over the
edge of the roof into the laneway.
"She's as real as I be meself," retorted the swaying hunchback. "Here's me hand on it."
The bushman spat on his own palm and rubbed it on the seat of his trousers. "Water," whispered
Diactoros. As the bushman grasped the hunchback's hand he spasmed, as if shot in the back. There was
a hissing sound like steam escaping from a boiler. "Air." The bushman man stiffened, and the hissing
became a high-pitched squeal. It was coming from the bushman's mouth, his ears, the entire skin of his
body. Agonised, he slowly sank to his knees. The hunchback still gripped him, and it was as if a tiny,
bright lantern burned between their hands. "Fire." The light that leaked out brightened with every
heartbeat, and the bushman's skin began to glow creamy white beneath his clothing. By now the
hunchback was also blazing with light, but from his clothes as well as his skin. The lane was L-shaped, so
that nothing but the glow was visible from Stephen Street where the dogs stood guard. The intensity of
the light grew and grew, until the two men were nothing but brilliant lumps as bright as the sun. The light
faded abruptly.
"'Ere, I seen the glow again," called a voice in the distance.
Down in the lane were now two dogs, a terrier struggling and floundering amid a pile of clothing and a
nondescript little hound sitting back and watching. "Earth," Diactoros concluded. The terrier began to
whine, then tried to turn upon itself and fell over. The other dogs dashed in, seized the boots and clothing
then dashed out. A few remained to shepherd the confused, staggering terrier from the lane as the sound
of footsteps in Stephen Street grew louder.
"'Tis Jack O'Lantern, all right, he's scared them dogs wi' his light," called a man who was entering the
laneway with his cane held high.
"Yer talkin' broggers, Marty, there's nowt 'ere but barrels an' rats."
"But you saw the light too!" insisted the man with the cane.
 "That I did, but now I sees nowt an' I'se afeard o' this place."