"Stephen Palmer - The Green Realm Below" - читать интересную книгу автора (Palmer Stephen)

before she knew it the slip was being ingested by the bracelet, until all
that was left was the smell of lavender incense. The whole incident had
lasted just seconds.
"What did it do?" Dhow-lin asked.
"I don't know," Kytanquil replied, "I had no idea it was active."
Dhow-lin was unimpressed. "It's trouble, that's certain. Throw it. It's
useless for bartering and it ain't a weapon."
"It is an heirloom," Kytanquil pointed out.
"An heirloom that even Kray's greatest cat-burglar can't identify,"
Dhow-lin scoffed, adding in a sing-song voice, "That's dangerous."
"My mother doesn't know everything."
Dhow-lin's response was cut short when another slit opened up and a
translucent orange wafer slid out. It fell to the bar with a metallic
plink.
Dhow-lin gasped. "A Garden fret!"
Kytanquil did not recognise the phrase, but she understood the shock in
Dhow-lin's voice. "A what?" she asked.
After a pause, Dhow-lin said, "A call from the secret inhabitants of the
Garden. They want to meet you."
"Why?"
"Nobody but them can know, can they? They're the ultimate secret society,
older by far than the Phallists, more skilled than the Club of Shadowy
Thieves. You better go."
"But where exactly?" Kytanquil asked.
"Go to the Greenhouses, that's my advice. But don't tell nobody I said
so."
And so Kytanquil found herself outside the Spired Inn, looking south,
wondering what to do.
Only one thing to do. Prepare weapons and locate the Greenhouses.
The Garden was shunned by all in Kray, too dangerous to cross, with its
sucking marshes, carnivorous plants, and razor flowers that leaped from
the ground to cut out the eyes of the unwary. So Kytanquil followed its
southern wall, until she saw the single safe area, a zone of grass by a
gate, at its far end the twinkling panes of the Greenhouses. She called
out her name and purpose, but nobody answered. Slowly, she walked up to
the nearest Greenhouse, and entered.
A man stood up from behind a wooden box. Kytanquil jumped, her hand at the
dagger on her belt. He was dressed in a leather apron and boots, under
these muddy protectives rough garments of denim. She could not see his
eyes, for they were hidden behind wraparound sunglasses so polished they
reflected every gleam of candle and lamp. When he smiled, she saw teeth
filed to points.
"Hello," he said in a deep voice. "Who are you?"
In silence Kytanquil held up the orange wafer.
"Ah," he said. "Then welcome to our realm! I am Awanshyva."
"Who are you?"
"The Advocate of the Plants."
Kytanquil looked at him, dread making her skin crawl. Bloodstains marked
his clothes, and his teeth were decayed to the colour orange. "Why did you
call for me?" she asked.