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

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be long before Urthank roared his challenge, and knew too
that the boy would lose. Urthank was too stupid to wait for
the right moment; it was not in his nature to suppress an
impulse. No, Urthank would not defeat him. It would be one
of the others. But Urthank's challenge would be the beginning
of the end.
The Constable searched the darkness. For a moment he
thought he glimpsed a fugitive glimmer, but only for a moment
. It could have been a mote floating in his eye, or a dim
star glinting at the edge of the world's level horizon.
"You were dreaming, " he said. "Set to rowing, or the
sun will be up before we get back."
"I saw it, " Urthank insisted.
The other son, Unthank, laughed.
"There!" Urthank said. "There it is again! Dead ahead,
just like I said."
This time the Constable saw the flicker of light. His first
thought was that perhaps the trader bad not been boasting
after all. He said quietly, "Go forward. Feathered oars."
As the skiff glided against the current, the Constable fumbled
a clamshell case from the pouch hung on the belt of his
white linen kilt. The trader whose tongue had been cut out
was making wet, choking sounds. The Constable kicked him
into silence before opening the case and lifting out the spectacles
that rested on the waterstained silk lining. The spectacles
were the most valuable heirloom of the Constable's family;
they had passed from defeated father to victorious son for
more than a hundred generations. They were shaped like
bladeless scissors, and the Constable unfolded them and carefully
pinched them over his bulbous nose.
At once, the hull of the flat skiff and the bales of




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contraband
cigarettes stacked in the forward well seemed to gain a
luminous sheen; the bent backs of the Constable's sons and
the supine bodies of the two prisoners glowed with furnace