"China Mieville - Iron Council" - читать интересную книгу автора (Mieville China)
But Cutter and his companions were shushed by the sound of approach. They looked in unsaid panic, too late to hide.
Two men came stepping over fungused stumps into view. They were masked and uniformed in the militiaтАЩs dark grey. Each had a mirrored shield and ungainly
pepperpot revolver slack at his side. As they came into the clearing they faltered and were still, taking in the men and women waiting for them.
There was a dragged-out second when no one moved, when befuddled and silent conference was heldтАФ are you, are they, what, should we, should weтАФ? тАФtill
someone shot. Then there were a spate of sounds, screams and the percussion of shots. People fell. Cutter could not follow who was where and was gut-terrified that he
had been hit and not yet felt it. When the gunsтАЩ heinous syncopation stopped, he unclenched his jaw.
Someone was calling Oh gods oh fucking gods. It was a militiaman, sitting bleeding from a belly-wound beside his dead friend and trying to hold his heavy pistol up.
Cutter heard the curt torn-cloth sound of archery and the militia man lay back with an arrow in him and stopped his noise.
Again a beat of silence then тАЬJabberтАФтАЭ тАЬAre you, is everyoneтАФ?тАЭ тАЬDrey? Pomeroy?тАЭ
First Cutter thought none of his own were hit. Then he saw how Drey was white and held his shoulder, and that blood dyed his palsying hands.
тАЬSweet Jabber, man.тАЭ Cutter made Drey sit ( Is it all right? the little man kept saying.) Bullet had taken muscle. Cutter tore strips from DreyтАЩs shirt, and wound those
cleanest around the hole. The pain made Drey fight, and Pomeroy and Fejh had to hold him. They gave him a thumb-thick branch to bite while they bandaged him.
тАЬThey mustтАЩve fucking followed you, you halfwit bastards.тАЭ Cutter was raging while he worked. тАЬI told you to be fucking carefulтАФтАЭ
тАЬWe were, тАЭ Pomeroy shouted, jabbing his finger at Cutter.
тАЬDidnтАЩt follow them.тАЭ The hotchi reappeared, its rooster picking. тАЬThem patrol the pits. You been here long time, a day nearly.тАЭ It dismounted and walked the rim of
the arena. тАЬYou been too long.тАЭ
It showed the teeth in its snout in some opaque expression. Lower than CutterтАЩs chest but rotundly muscular, it strutted like a bigger man. By the militia it stopped and
sniffed. It sat up the one killed by its arrow and began to push the missile through the body.
тАЬWhen them donтАЩt come back, them send more,тАЭ it said. тАЬThem come after you. Maybe now.тАЭ It steered the arrow past bones through the dead chest. It gripped the
shaft when it came out the corpseтАЩs back, and pulled the fletch through with a wet sound. The hotchi tucked it bloody into his belt, picked the revolving pistol from the
militiamanтАЩs stiffening fingers and fired it against the hole.
Birds rose up again at the shot. The hotchi snarled with the unfamiliar recoil and shook its hand. The arrowтАЩs fingerthick burrow had become a cavity.
Pomeroy said: тАЬGodspit . . . who in hell are you?тАЭ
тАЬHotchi man. Cock-fighting man. Alectryomach. Help you.тАЭ
supposed to be. This ladтАЩs clan got no time for the militia. Give us passage. But . . . canтАЩt risk a real fight with the city, so theyтАЩve to make it look like it was us killed
the officers, not their arrows.тАЭ He understood as he said it.
Pomeroy and the hotchi rifled the killed men together. Pomeroy threw one of the pepperpot revolvers to Elsie, one to Cutter. It w was modernistic and expensive and
Cutter had never held one before. It was heavy, with its six barrels arranged in a fat rotating cylinder.
тАЬThey ainтАЩt reliable,тАЭ said Pomeroy, harvesting bullets. тАЬFast, though.тАЭ
тАЬJabber . . . we better fucking go.тАЭ DreyтАЩs voice went up and down with pain. тАЬFucking guns going off going to call them for miles . . .тАЭ
тАЬNot so many nearby,тАЭ said the hotchi. тАЬMaybe none to hear. But you should gone, yes. What you for? Why leave city? You looking for him come by on the clay
man?тАЭ
Cutter looked to the others and they watched him carefully, letting him speak.
He said: тАЬYou seen him?тАЭ He stepped toward the busy hotchi. тАЬYou seen him?тАЭ
тАЬI not seen him, but I know them as has. Some days, week or more gone. Man come through the wood on a grey giant. Running through. The militia come after.тАЭ
The light of afternoon came down to them all and the forest animals began to make their noises again. Cutter was locked in by miles of trees. He opened his mouth
more than once before he spoke.
Cutter said: тАЬMilitia followed him?тАЭ
тАЬOn Remade horses. I heard.тАЭ
On Remade horses with hammered metal hoofs, or with tigerтАЩs claws or with a tail prehensile and coated in poison glands. With steam-pistons giving their legs
ridiculous strength or with stamina from a boiler-excrescence behind the saddle. Made carnivorous and long-tusked. Wolf-horses or boar-horses, construct-horses.
тАЬI didnтАЩt see,тАЭ said the hotchi. He mounted his cockerel. тАЬThem went after the clay-man rider, south in Rudewood. You best go. Fast now.тАЭ He turned his fight-bird and
pointed a smoke-brown finger. тАЬStay careful. This is Rudewood. Go now.тАЭ
He spurred his gallus into the undergrowth and dense trunks. тАЬGo,тАЭ he shouted, already invisible.
тАЬDamn,тАЭ said Cutter. тАЬCome on.тАЭ They gathered their little camp. Pomeroy took DreyтАЩs pack as well as his own, and the six of them went up out of the cock-fighting pit
and into the forest.
They went southwest by CutterтАЩs compass, along the path the hot-chi had taken. тАЬHe showed us the way,тАЭ Cutter said. His comrades waited for him to guide them. They
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