"Child Of The Stones" - читать интересную книгу автора (Mcauley Paul J)

The two men in the vintage Jaguar had not yet found my house, but for the fourth night in a row, as I was making my way home after my unsatisfactory conversation with Miranda, they found me.

Their blood-red motor car was parked at a bus stop opposite Shoreditch Town Hall. As I approached it, ready to draw my blade, the passenger door opened and the man who had accosted me three times before climbed out. He was in his forties, tall and wide, with a seamed complexion and a boxerТs broken nose. His cream linen suit and mauve silk shirt looked expensive, but were rumpled and sweated through. He was beginning to get a beard, and had a dull, haggard expression. When I stepped around him, he walked after me. He did not quite dare lay hands on me - not yet.

УYouТre a stubborn man,Ф he said, Уbut my boss is very patient.Ф

УOthers might say he is foolishly persistent.Ф

УMy boss wants that book very badly. He told me to do everything I can to make you see sense. You understand what I mean, Mr Carlyle?Ф

He spoke flatly and mechanically, as if reciting something he had memorized.

УYou can tell him that he is wasting his time. The book is not for sale.Ф

I quickened my pace, but the man easily matched it. The Jaguar crawled alongside us. I glanced at the driver, but couldnТt see his face through the slick of light reflected from the windscreen.

УMy boss is generous with my time,Ф the man said. УHeТs altogether a very generous man. And as such, heТs prepared to consider any price you care to name. He told me to tell you that. I warned him, I said the man will rook you, but he doesnТt care. Money means nothing to him. Why donТt you get in the motor, Mr Carlyle? We can discuss this in comfort.Ф

УI think not.Ф

УYou donТt trust me?Ф

УOf course I do not trust you. Also, I find all modes of modern transport uncomfortable.Ф

УI noticed that you like to walk everywhere. Dangerous, that. Anything could happen.Ф

We had reached the junction with the A10, five lanes of newly laid tarmacadam as black as deep water. A handful of pale ghosts were spaced alongside it, like herons along a river bank. I stopped beside the traffic light, and the Jaguar stopped too. The light was green; a white van sounded its horn as it swerved past and shot across the junction.

УYou live somewhere near here,Ф the man said. УWhy donТt we go to your place and talk about it?Ф

УWhy does your boss send a puppet to talk to me?Ф

The traffic light above us turned red, and I started across the A10, moving between the handful of vehicles that accelerated away from the junction, racing each other towards the City. The man started after me, but had to jump back when a black cab nearly ran him down. I stepped past another black cab into the diesel wind of an enormous trailer truck and gained the far side of the road.

The man had retreated, and was standing impotently beside the Jaguar. He shouted at me, his voice torn by the brute noise of the traffic. УWeТll find you where you live! My boss, he doesnТt give up!Ф

I could not resist lifting my Homburg in salute. I walked for another hour until the feeling of being followed finally slipped away, and I could turn at last for home.
* * * *
I wasted the next evening in a fruitless search for Miranda. A few of my usual informants knew of a girl who was followed about by tame imps, but none knew where she lived. УShe spends a lot of time down KingТs Cross,Ф one of them said. УChases off punters with those pets of hers. They cruise up in their motors, looking for some short-time fun and games, and she leans in and lets them have it. TheyТre all over the road when they drive off, crying and screaming.Ф

It seemed that she had been frightening away kerb-crawlers for several months. When I asked my informant why he hadnТt told me about her before, he gave the equivalent of a shrug and said that I hadnТt asked.

УYou must know that I would be interested in someone like that.Ф

УSomeone like you, you mean. I suppose so. But I see all kinds, Mr Carlyle, especially these days. Things are waking up that should be long gone. Hungry things. I try to keep myself to myself these days, but it isnТt easy, even here.Ф

We had met at the edge of a patch of waste ground. On the far side, three men sat at a little fire theyТd built from scraps of wood and cardboard, passing around a bottle of jake.

УPoor sods,Ф my informant said. He was as thin as a wisp of smoke, and leaned at an angle, as if bent by a high wind. УTheyТll be joining me soon enough.Ф