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

there were no immortals to feed upon it."
"I know, I know. These people are British, they get taught Greek and Roman classics then get sent out
to run the empire."
 "Strange folk, the British."
"Get on with it!"
"I was off my guard, like who would expect to find a raptor running an inn at the ends of the earth?
She knew my rule of obligation, though. She crept into my room at noon and bound me as I lay asleep at
noon. Siderial noon, too. She demanded to know how to shapeshift. I had no option."
"Option you may not have had, obligation you now do have."
"I'm not her obligate."
"I mean an obligation to the rest of us! An obligation to kill her or take back the powers not meant for
mortals. You arrived twenty three years ago, Shapemaster, and after all that time Branchester is still
running her inn and you are lord of a pack of dogs."
"Messenger, Hermes," implored the Shapemaster, "You don't understand raptors. They're unequalled
at surviving."
"I understand what they are, and I understand that you are the mighty Proteus, formed from the
elemental matter of the world itself. Pah! How much for Ben, this terrier?"
"But he's not trained."
"I'm not surprised. Until two nights ago he was a drover, but as a human he looked to be a good
companion."
"Mate."
"Mate, 'eh? I need a mate, someone who knows the way of sheep and, ah, drovers while I wait for the
True Briton to sail. How much?"
"One pound four shillings."
Diactoros scratched the wary terrier under the chin, and the dog immediately closed his eyes and
wagged his tail.
"Julia Branchester must die, Shapemaster, else the OverMaster will turn his attention to this squalid
arcadia and you will all have to leave."
"What? Me kill her?" exclaimed the Shapemaster. "Just like that? Don't you think I haven't tried
already?"
"Well try harder," replied Diactoros, checking the terrier's teeth. "She must be dead when I sail from
here. I have arranged-- "
"Messenger, I've lost thirty dogs trying to kill her! I've even been injured myself."
"One pound, you say?" asked Diactoros, as if he had not heard.
"One pound three and-- But she's a raptor, dammit! Julia Branchester is nine hundred years old.
Mortals who survive as long as that are not easily surprised, most especially by me. "
"If she merely flees, you must go after her, hunt her down and kill her. She must die. I'll give you a
guinea for Ben: his eyes are a little bloodshot."
"He was drinking heavily before I changed him. How long have I got to kill her?"
"I was told to give you a lunar month. It took a few days to find you and the True Briton sails on
February 22nd, so that is your date. If she is still alive by then, you all return with me." In the meantime I
have arranged help for you. Pack up and come with me, you must talk with your little army."
"Pah, and I suppose you are in charge."
"Not so, Shapemaster. You are the leader. I shall be in the company of the Australian shepherds and
their flocks, preserving my true form with pure res publica."
"Drovers and their mobs," snapped the Shapemaster. "And the terrier's one pound two shillings and
sixpence. That's my final price."
"One pound one and six, and I shall sell him back for fifteen shillings when I return."
"Done!"
The Shapemaster shook his head as he watched Diactoros walking away with the terrier at his heels.