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

 "Yes, that there was," replied the rider in an overly silky, disturbing tone.
"But, ah, it was quite close, those things are dangerous," he spluttered. "They're known to bite."
The rider leaned forward in the saddle, staring the man directly in the eyes and smiling beneath the
stubble on his face. "I too am dangerous, and I am known to bite," he replied.
The man took a pace back, bumped into his wife and trod on her foot. She squealed, and he tripped
on the folds of her skirts and fell to the sand. A rather more corpulent man in a checked frock coat now
arrived.
"What a pity you weren't armed, sir!" he declared in a breathless pant. "That seal would have yielded a
fine skin and a good lot of oil."
The rider drew a patent Colt revolver from beneath his coat and displayed it on the palm of his hand.
"You, sir, would also yield a fine skin and a good lot of tallow, but I am as compassionate to seals as I
am to people."
With that he put his gun away and urged Vikki into a trot before the astonished man could think to
reply. Once across the sand dunes and out of sight he rode for a clump of scrub. He was weak and
unsteady as he dismounted.
"I had to hold this form too bloody long, Vikki," he said as he dropped to his knees in the grass. "A
pox take that crowd."
His face began to blur as if seen through an unfocussed telescope, and his hands became indistinct
beside his body. The mare watched warily, but was by now used to the transformation. The rider's
shirtfront swelled with growing breasts, and several buttons popped open. Now Julia Branchester again,
the rider forced herself to her feet and began to pull skirts and more feminine riding boots from her
saddlebags.
***


The sky was quite dark by the time Julia reached the horse punt on the lower Yarra River. It was tied
up on the southern bank and the puntman was sitting on the pier smoking his pipe as she dismounted and
led Vikki aboard.
"Riding late tonight, Miss Julia," he remarked as he jumped aboard and pushed off from the bank. "Did
you see the Shenandoah?"
"It's just a ship with guns, Ferryman. The Victoria is far more impressive."
"Ah, but the Victoria is no more than a guard ship for our quiet colony. The Shenandoah is a warrior
with a tale to tell, and is midway through becoming a legend. Don't you want to be part of that legend?"
"You are a legend, Ferryman. Metalsmith is a legend, Shapemaster is a legend, but I am a raptor.
My kind's place is in the shadows of history."
"There's nothing wrong with being a legend."
"Of course not, everyone knows Charon."
"Please!" the puntman gasped. "Not that name. Res publica, Miss Julia, res publica."
"Of course, Ferryman, but this is my point. Res publica binds you to discretion in this place and in this
age, just as being a mortal raptor binds me to eternal discretion."
The puntman worked his drive oar in silence for a spell, puffing at his pipe as if he was a little steam
engine.
"The Shenandoah is not that type of legend," he said eventually. "It's the romance of one little ship
against a mighty armada."
"An armada of unarmed Union merchant vessels and whalers, more precisely. You show an unusual
interest in the Shenandoah, Ferryman."
"Well, that could be because I'll be trialing my new steam ferry out and around Sandridge tomorrow,"
he finally confessed. "Would you have an interest in being there?"
"Merely because I'm American?" she replied, spotting his intent at once.
"Well, aren't you?"