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

тАЬWho is he?тАЭ said CutterтАЩs tardy. тАЬMan on horse. Follows you?тАЭ
тАЬHeтАЩs there? Jabber . . . get to him! Quick. I need to know his game.тАЭ
The geтАЩain careened in drunken speed, eating distance, and the light went out. тАЬGone,тАЭ the tardy said. A whisper sounded in CutterтАЩs ear, making him start.
тАЬDonтАЩt be a damn fool,тАЭ the voice said. тАЬThe cactus wonтАЩt find me. YouтАЩre wasting time. IтАЩll join you by and by.тАЭ
When they continued the way they had been going, the light came back, kept pace with them to the west.

After two nights, breaking only for brief rests or to sluice Fejh with what water they found, the geтАЩain stopped. They pointed at a track of pulped greenery and
ploughed-up landscape.
Over miles of dried grass, before greener hills, a haze was ris-ing, what Cutter thought was dust-smoke, then saw was mixed with darker grey. As if someone had
smudged an oily finger on a window.
тАЬThem,тАЭ said CutterтАЩs geтАЩain. тАЬMilitia. Is them.тАЭ
The tardy did not plan. They uprooted knotted trees of the prairie and made them bludgeons, then continued toward the murderers of their kin.
тАЬListen!тАЭ Cutter and Pomeroy and Elsie shouted, to persuade them of the sense in a strategy. тАЬListen, listen, listen.тАЭ
тАЬKeep one alive,тАЭ said Cutter. тАЬFor JabberтАЩs sake let us talk to one,тАЭ but the tardy gave no sign that they heard or cared.
The veldt buckled; heat reverberated between stones like houses. Animals scattered at the geтАЩain oncoming, loud as the fall of trees. The tardy stamped up a fold of land
and became still. Cutter looked down over the militia.
There were more than a score, tiny figures in grey, and they had dogs, and something expressing the smoke: an ironclad tower as tall as the tardy pulled by Remade
horses. Its summit was corbelled, and two men looked out from between battlements. It tore up the bushes and left ruined land and oil.
Very slowly the tardy put their passengers down. Cutter and his comrades checked their weapons.
тАЬThis is idiocy,тАЭ said Pomeroy. Some dusty bird of prey went over, sounding excitement. тАЬLook at their firepower.тАЭ
тАЬWhat do they care?тАЭ Cutter nodded at the tardy. тАЬThey only want revenge. ItтАЩs us who want more. I ainтАЩt going to stand in the way of this lot getting whatтАЩs theirs. As
if I could.тАЭ The tardy lumbered down the slope toward the militia. тАЬWe best get going.тАЭ

The companions spread out. They did not need to hide. The militia had seen the tardy, and could see nothing else. Cutter ran in the dust that the cactus-giants left.
A motorgun fired. Bullets purged from the rotating barrels. The militia were running their horses in panic. They had left the cactacae regions and thought themselves
safe. Their bullets pattered like gravel against the tardy, with little bursts of sap, not even slowing them.
One geтАЩain hurled her weapon like a trebuchet. It was a club in her hand, but as it spun it was visible again for what it was: a tree. It hit the minaret and bent its plating.
Cutter lay on his belly and fired his repeater into the milling militia.
They fired; they showed impressive and stupid bravery, standing their ground so that a tardy could lift his leg high and stamp them down, crushing them and their
mounts in a brutal two-
step. The cactus-man swept his huge sapper, cracked a manтАЩs neck with the fringe of its roots.
The militia with rifles fell back behind those carrying rivebows and tanks of pyrotic gas. The tardy raised their hands. The fire-throwers made them dance back, their
skins black and spitting.
The smallest geтАЩain staggered as rivebow chakris of sharpened metal spun into his vegetable muscle and severed his arm. He held his left hand against the stump,
kicked at the dismounted men and sent two dead or broken-boned; but his pain took him to his knees, and a marksman killed him with a chakri to his face.
FejhтАЩs arrows and the growl of PomeroyтАЩs blunderbuss uncovered them. The towerтАЩs guns fingered at the copse where Fejh hid. Cutter shouted as the motorgun spun,
its chains and gears loud as hammers, and a storm of bullets tattered the vegetation.
There were four tardy now in an ecstasy of murder, stamping and grabbing. The tower pitched and moved. Its motorgun took another geтАЩain, a line of bullets perforating
her hip to breast, so she staggered then hinged in gross unnatural movement along her new seam.
Pomeroy was standing. He was shouting and Cutter knew he was shouting FejhechrillenтАЩs name. Pomeroy rammed shot down and fired repeatedly. The dogs were
frantic, snapping pointlessly with misshapen jaws.
From a long way off, there was a shot. Again, and a man fell from the top of the iron tower.
That voice spoke up close in CutterтАЩs ear. тАЬDown. YouтАЩre seen.тАЭ Cutter dropped, and watched through gaps in the wiry grass and heard another of those far-off shots. A
militiaman fell from his horse.
Cutter saw a captain-thaumaturge, watched veins and tendons score his skin while dark sparks dissipated from him. Cutter fired and missed, and it was the last bullet.
The thaumaturge shouted and his clothes smouldered, and a lance of milky energy spurted from the ground below the largest geтАЩain тАЩs feet and punctured her right
through, soared skyward and was gone. She flailed as her sap poured. Black flame immolated her. The thaumaturge stood bleeding from his eyes but triumphant, and he
was shot down by the unseen marksman. The last two geтАЩain were treading the militiamen to death.
One hugged the gun-spiked tower, wrestling it, twisting it violently. While his sibling crushed the last men and horses and mutant dogs, he shoved and grappled the
column. It reared, grinding, overbalanced, panicking the horses that dragged it. It fell slowly, smashed and split, spilt men living and dead.