"Andre Norton - Here Abide Monsters" - читать интересную книгу автора (Norton Andre)

Here Abide Monsters
1
To Nick's left the sun had hardly topped the low trees. It was a ball of red
fire; today was going to be a scorcher. He hoped he could make it into the
woods road before the heat really hit Of course he had wanted to start earli
er, but there was always some good reason why- Behind the faceplate of his h
elmet Nick scowled at the road ahead.
Always some good reason why the things he wanted to do did not fit in with
plans, not his plans, naturally. Did Margo actually sit down and think it
out, arrange somehow ahead of time so that what Nick had counted on was j
ust what was not going to happen? He had suspected that for some time. Yet
her excuses why this or that could not be done were so perfectly logical
and reasonable that Dad always went along with them.
At least she had not ruined this weekend. Maybe because she and Dad had thei
r own plans, or rather her plans. Give Nick another year-just one-and Margo
could talk to the thin air. He would not be there to listen to her. That-he
relished the satisfaction that thought presented-was the day he was going to
start living!
Dad- Nick's thoughts squirmed hurriedly away from that path. Dad-he had ch
osen Margo, he agreed with Margo's sweet reasonableness. All right, let hi
m live with it and her! Nick was not going to a minute longer than he had
to.
The trees along the road were taller now, closer together. But the surface
over" which the motorbike roared was clear and smooth. He could make good t
ime here. Once he turned into the lake road it would be different. But in a
ny event he would reach the cabin by noon.
His thoughts soared away from what lay behind, already seeking the peace a
head. The weekend, and it was a long one from Friday to Monday, was his al
one. Margo did not like the lake cottage. Nick wondered why she had never
talked Dad into selling it. Maybe she just did not care. There was plenty
else for her to own. Just as she owned Dad.
Nick's scowl deepened, his black brows drawing together, his lips thinly st
retched against his teeth. That scowl line now never completely faded, it h
ad had too much use over the past three years. He swayed and adjusted to th
e swing of the machine under him as an earlier generation would have ridden
a horse, the metal framework he bestrode seemingly a part of his own perso
n. The bubble safety helmet covered his head front and back. Below that he
wore a tee shirt, already dust streaked, and faded jeans, his feet thrust i
nto boots.
Saddlebags, tightly strapped against loss, held the rest of his weekend war
drobe and supplies, save for the canned food at the cabin and what he would
 buy at the store going in. He had a full tank of gas, he had his freedom f
or four days-he had himself! Nick Shaw as he was, not Douglas Shaw's son, n
ot Margo's stepson (though, of course, that relationship was hardly ever me
ntioned). Nick Shaw, himself, personal, private and alone.
A twisting curve downhill brought him to the store at the foot of the bend
, a straggle of houses beyond. This was Rochester, unincorporated, with no
"Pop." on the sign Nick flashed past. He came to a stop at the store. A C
oke would go good. Ham Hodges always had those on ice.
Bread, cheese, Nick had no list, just had to remember to get things that wo