"China Mieville - Iron Council" - читать интересную книгу автора (Mieville China)

long.
The massive cactus staggered at them, fast for all its palsied gait. It held a cudgel, a slab of tree. It raised it as it came, and from a face that hardly moved, it began to
shout. It called words they did not understand, some variant of Sunglari, as it lurched murderously toward them.
тАЬWait, wait!тАЭ Everyone was shouting. Elsie pointed, her eyes bloodshot, and Cutter knew she was trying to reach its mind with her feeble charms.
The cactus came in unstable strides. Fejh fired an arrow that hit it with a moist drum-sound and remained dripping and painless in its side.
тАЬKill you,тАЭ the cactus crooned in its feeble voice, in an ugly Ragamoll. тАЬMurder.тАЭ It heaved its enormous weapon.
тАЬIt werenтАЩt us!тАЭ shouted Cutter. He threw the militia insignia in the cactus-giantтАЩs path, and fired his repeater at the badge, making it dance and ring until all six barrels
were empty. The cactus was still, its shillelagh paused. Cutter spat at the badge until his mouth was dry. тАЬIt werenтАЩt us.тАЭ

He was something they had never seen. Cutter thought he must be Torqued, cancered by the bad energy of a cacotopic zone, but that was not right. In the last empty
village, the vast cactus-man told them of himself. He was geтАЩain тАФbetween them they rendered it тАЬtardy.тАЭ
By arcane husbandry, cactacae of the veldt kept a few of their bulbs nurtured in a coma for months after they should have been born. While their siblings crawled
squalling from the earth, the geтАЩain, the tardy, slept on below in their chorions, growing. Their bodies distended as occult techniques kept them unborn. When finally
they woke and emerged they were mooncalf. They grew prodigal.
Their aberrance afflicted them. Their woody bones were bowed, their skins corticate and boiling with excrescence. Their augmented senses hurt. They were the wards,
the fighters and lookouts for their homesteads. They were tabooed. Shunned and worshipped. They had no names.
The fingers of the tardyтАЩs left hand were fused. He moved slowly with arthritic pain.
тАЬWe not Tesh,тАЭ he said. тАЬNot our war, not our business. But them come anywise. Militia.тАЭ
They had come from the river, a mounted platoon with rivebows and motorguns. The cactacae had long heard stories from the north, where militia and Tesh legions
skirmished. Exiles had told them of monstrous acts at militia hands, and the cactus villagers fled the snatch-squad.
The militia reached one village before it was emptied. Those cactacae had sheltered northern refugees full of carnage stories, and they had determined to fight first.
They met the militia in a fearful band, with their clubs and flint machetes. There had been butchery. One militiaman body was left behind, to be punished by the geтАЩain
amid the ripped-up cactus dead.
тАЬTwo weeks gone they came. They hunt us after that,тАЭ the tardy said. тАЬThey bring Tesh war here now?тАЭ Cutter shook his head.
тАЬItтАЩs a fucking mess,тАЭ he said. тАЬThe militia weтАЩre followingтАФthey ainтАЩt after these poor bastards, theyтАЩre after our man. These cactacaeтАЩve panicked because of what
theyтАЩve heard, and made themselves targets.
тАЬListen to me,тАЭ he said to the leviathan green man. тАЬThey who done this to your village, theyтАЩre looking for someone. They want to stop him before he can give a
message.тАЭ He looked up into the big face. тАЬMore of themтАЩll come.тАЭ
тАЬTesh come too. To fight them. Fight us on both sides.тАЭ
тАЬYes,тАЭ said Cutter. His voice was flat. He waited a long time. тАЬBut if heтАЩs to win . . . if he can get away, then the militia . . . maybe theyтАЩll have other things to think on
than this war. So maybe you want to help us. We have to stop them, before they stop him.тАЭ

With misshaped hands to his mouth the tardy gave a cry as base as animal pain. His lament rumbled over the grass. The animals of the hot night paused, and in the still
there was an answer. Another cry, from miles off, that Cutter felt in his guts.
Again and again the tardy sounded, announcing himself, and over the hours of that night a little corps of the geтАЩain came to him on huge and painful steps. There were
five, and they were various: some more than twenty feet tall, some barely half that, limbs broken and reset, unshapely. A company of the lame, the crippled strong.
The travellers were cowed. The tardy mourned together in their own language. тАЬIf you might help us,тАЭ Cutter told them humbly, тАЬmaybe we can stop the militia for
good. And either way, itтАЩll mean a reckoning, and that can mean revenge.тАЭ
The tardy spent hours in a circle, talking with brooding sounds, reaching out to each other. Their motions were careful under the weight of their limbs. Poor lost
soldiers, thought Cutter, though his awe remained.
At last the convenor of the parley said to him: тАЬThem gone, one militia band. They gone north. Hunting. We know where.тАЭ
тАЬThatтАЩs them,тАЭ said Cutter. тАЬTheyтАЩre looking for our man. TheyтАЩre the ones we have to reach.тАЭ

The tardy plucked handfuls of their spines and lifted Cutter and his comrades. They carried them, easily. The deserted sables watched them go. The cactacae took
mammoth strides, swayed across terrains, stepping over trees. Cutter felt close to the sun. He saw birds, even garuda.
The geтАЩain spoke to them. The feathered figures circled when they passed, with a sound like billowing. They jabbered in severe avian voices. The geтАЩain listened and
crooned in reply.
тАЬMilitia ahead,тАЭ said CutterтАЩs mount.
They staggered, resting rarely, their legs locked in the cactus-manner. Once they stopped when the moon and its daughters were low. At the very edge of the savannah,
west, there was light. A torch, a lantern moving.