"Christopher Pike - Weekend" - читать интересную книгу автора (Pike Christopher)

"He said something like, we've brought help and hate with us."

"Great. If only we had Carlos Castaneda with us to figure that one out." But though he spoke in jest, the
man's words had sent a cold shiver through his spine; quite a feat in this heat.

"Shut up," Sol said. He spoke to the man: "Hay problema?"

The man gestured south with his covered left hand, which perhaps held something, hidden beneath the
folds of his gown. "Paloma petirrojo. Culebra. Culebra. Veneno. Veneno."

Park noted Sol's right hand sliding slowly towards the pocket where he carried his switchblade. Sol had
an antenna for danger more sensitive than NORAD's first strike-detection network. Nice voice or not,
Park took a step back. Sol said, "No comprendemos. Explique usted!"

In answer, the man jerked free a blackbird, letting it fly in their faces. Sol had his knife in hand and open
in an instant, but the bird did not attack them. It screeched loudly as it wheeled into the sky, vanishing
south into the glare of the sun. Trying to settle his pounding heart, Park noticed Flynn coming up the road
from the direction the bird had disappeared. For a moment he imagined Flynn had grown wings and a
beak. The sun must be short-circuiting his brain. Rubbing his eyes, he snapped at Sol. "What the hell was
that for?"

"Cuervo. ┴guila, Cuelbra veneno. Petirrojo," the man said, undisturbed by the blade pointed his way.
Sol lowered it in measured steps, frowning.

"I asked him if something was wrong. And he rattles on about a dove, an eagle, a robin, and a snake.
You saw what happened when I asked him to explain."

"Don't put your knife away," Park advised, the man smiling faintly at this remark. Despite his fear, he did
not feel a danger from the man per se. But that damn bird could have pecked their eyes out. He asked,
"What was that last thing he said?"

"More of the same: raven, eagle, snake, robin."

"Wait a second. Does he mean robin the bird, or Robin the person?"

"Robin the bird. I don't think there is a Robin name in Spanish."

"Ask him anyway."
Sol pressed a button. His blade vanished. But he kept the knife handy. "T· conoces a Robin Carlton?"

"Hermana," he said, holding up one hand. "Hermano," he added, pointing to where the bird had
disappeared.

"Sister... brother," Sol muttered. "He doesn't know her."

"Ask him if she's going to be all right."

"I said, he doesn't know her."