"Paul McAuley - The Book of Confluence 01 - Child of the River" - читать интересную книгу автора (Mcauley Paul J)

of oysters and fish roe, and baby goats tender as the butter
they were seethed in."
Perhaps there was a grain of truth in the story. Perhaps
the man had been one of the guests at such a wedding, but
he could not have sponsored it. No one desperate enough to
try to smuggle cigarettes to the hill tribes would have been
able to lavish that kind of money on an act of charity.
The Constable flicked his whip across the legs of the prisoners
. He said, "You are a dead man, and dead men have
no friends. Compose yourself. Our city might be a small
place, but it has a shrine, and it was one of the last places
along all the river's shore where avatars talked with men,
before the heretics silenced them. Pilgrims still come here,
for even if the avatars are no longer able to speak, surely
they are still listening. We'll let you speak to them




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after
you've been sentenced, I suggest you take the time to think
of what account you can give of your life."
One of the Constable's son's laughed, and the Constable
gave their broad backs a touch of his whip. "Row, " he told
them, "and keep quiet."
"Quails' tongues, " the talkative trader said. "Anything
you want, captain. You have only to name it and it will be
yours. I can make you rich. I can offer you my own home,
captain. Like a palace it is, right in the heart of Ys. Far from
this stinking hole-"
The boat rocked when the Constable jumped into the well.
His sons cursed wearily, and shipped their oars. The Constable
knocked off the wretched trader's turban, pulled up the
man's head by the greasy knot of hair that sprouted from his
crown and, before he could scream, ffirust two fingers into
his mouth and grasped his writhing tongue. The trader gagged
and tried to bite the Constable's fingers, but his teeth scarcely
bruised their leathery skin. The Constable drew his knife,
sliced the trader's tongue in half and tossed the scrap of flesh
over the side of the skiff. The trader gargled blood and
thrashed like a landed fish.
At the same moment, one of the Constable's sons cried
out. "Boat ahead! Leastways, there's running lights."
This was Urthank, a dull-witted brute grown as heavy and
muscular as his father. The Constable knew that it would not