"Tepper, Sheri S - A Plague Of Angels - plangel2" - читать интересную книгу автора (Tepper Sherri)

"We do know that, uncle," said Ander, with a graceful gesture. "You're
quite correct when you say we all know her.""Then you know what she wants?"
Ander knew what Ellel said publicly. But he also knew what she hinted
to him privately, pretending she jested, just to see his reaction.He said, "She wants weapons. And the starship."
"The starship?" gasped Forsmooth, amid a chorus of other gasps. "We
assumed she wanted weapons, but what starship?""The one that's up there."
"Our records don't say anything about a starship," he said in amazement. "Not a word!"
"Hers do. Or perhaps it's something she heard from her father. One of the Gaddirs told Jark the Third there's a starship there, and Ellel wants it.
If not this first trip, then sometime later."They glanced at one another, nodding.
Forsmooth said, "We needn't concern ourselves with that now. She certainly doesn't intend to break it down for salvage!"


118 Sheri S. Tepper

"That's true, uncle."
"So what she wants is weapons. What does she say she wants them for?"
"Salvage. She says they have self-contained power sources we can use in the shops."
"Power is one thing the Place doesn't need any more of, Artder. We're sitting on top of the world's last fusion plant, Why would we go flying to the moon to get self-contained power sources?"
"Uncle, I wouldn't go flying to the moon to get a lifetime supply of tea and cakes. Don't ask me why Quince Ellel is going to do this or that. She does what she does, that's all. You've all studied her far more diligently than I!"
Forsmooth Artder brought his brows together, "Fashimir, my boy, if Quince Ellel is going into space to get weapons, then you may be sure she has plans for them. Thus far, we four Domer Families have managed to keep things reasonably well balanced among ourselves. None of us has been preeminent; none of us has been at the bottom of the ladder. Life has been equitable. None of us has had an advantage over the others. But things are changing. We can feel it. Surely you can feel it. Look at the symbolism of the mask Ellel wears! She has hidden her face. What does that say to you'? She doesn't realize what the act betrays! She's planning secretly. And more and more, Ellel is at the root of events. More and more, when things happen, we find that Ellel has caused them to happen. And weapons are an advantage, my boy."
"Indeed," said Aunt Bivina. "And if she's going after weapons, then in the interest of family equity, it should be with our help, with us as allies, share and share alike."
Ander sighed. "What makes you think I can convince her of that?"
It was Aunt Bivina who answered. "She'll listen to you just now, Artder. You're right that we've been studying her. Analyzing her. Ellel believes Berkli is her enemy, and because Mitty gets on well with Berkli, she mistrusts him as well. That's two to one. She needs us to balance the equation, to keep it two against two. Without us, she feels isolated. She counts on us to be her ally, and she'll welcome our statement of support. She doesn't have all power gathered into her own hands yet. That's what she wants the space weapons for."
"I don't understand."
"The Edges, Fashimir, the Edges. With the walkers, she could conquer any place on earth except the Edges. The Edges have technology of their own. So she needs weapons powerful enough to subdue the Edges. Trust us. Until she has them, she'll welcome our support. Before she has them, we have to assure that we don't become her next victims."
Forsmooth nodded agreement. "Talk to her, Ander. Convince her it should


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119

be a two-family expedition. Some Ellels, some Anders. Share and share alike. Helping one another to keep Berkli and Mitty at bay."
Ander spread his arms in a graceful gesture of acceptance, one that showed off his robe to advantage. There was just time for a murmur of appreciation from those assembled before the master of ceremonies announced dinner.


CHAPTER 6

~hen the sun edged the mountain crests to the west of Long Plain, Abasio stopped at the first farm he came to and dickered for some meat, salad stuff, and salt. He also asked for potatoes, though he couldn't remember whether it was late enough in the season for the farmers to have dug their root crops. Living in the city so long had put him out of touch with the soil. The Farmwife said of course she had potatoes, who wouldn't have potatoes by this time of year, smooth and brown and smelling of earth. He bought six of them and a sizable lump of butter in a gourd pot, and he filled his canteen at the farm well. A mile or two farther south, he made camp on a breezeswept height far enough from any stream to be free of mosquitoes, close enough to the north-south highway to be relatively safe from monsters, so he told himself, and beside a copse littered with fallen tree limbs and grown up with clumps of burdock.

He gathered a handful of burdock leaves and a bundle of deadfall branches, shaving some of the latter into


A PLAGUE OF ANGELS 121

paper-thin kindling. Once his fire was burning well, he tipped his canteen onto the clayey soil, stirred the resultant mud into a paste, wrapped his potatoes first in burdock leaves and then in an even layer of clay, and buried the sticky bundles in the coals of his fire. He ate the meat and lettuces while he waited for the sun to set, the stars to come out, the fire to bum down. When nothing was left of it but grayed embers, he dug out the blackened balls, cracked off the clay, and put all but two of the cooked potatoes in his saddlebags. Those two he buttered copiously and ate with salt and enjoyment before drowning the fire, rolling up in the blankets, and falling asleep.
Deep in the night, he came awake to the sound of growling, like animals fighting. Huge animals. He sat up, stood up, went to the edge of the copse. and peered out at the night, suddenly aware that the wind was blowing from behind him toward the sound. His awareness was matched by something else's. The snarling stopped. A long silence, followed by a questing howl, then another, joined together and ct)ming toward him.
Cursing under his breath, more than a little panicky, Abasio untied the horse and slapped it into motion, rolled his possessions inside a blanket, strapped the untidy bundle on his back, then climbed the tallest of the nearby pines, up the dea0~ and broken lower branches, stopping to kick off the stub of each dead branch behind him, then on up among the living branches, prickled by the needles and stained with resin. These were lessons learned in youth, drilled into him by Grandpa. "If what's chasing you doesn't have wings, go high, cut off your route behind you, get hid if you can." So he went high, so far up that the trunk diminished alarmingly, bending and swaying under his weight.
The yammering howls came closer. He put his folded blanket on the best branch he could find, cushioning his seat so discomfort would not make him move, took several deep breaths, then concentrated on being absolutely silent.
The howls broke off in midyell. From beneath him came shuffling, snarling, gulping noises. Stench rose around him, like smoke. The miasmic cheesy smell meant it was trolls. Ogres and manticores smelled like rotten meat, chimeras smelled like cats, minornuts like cows, but manticores, chimeras, and minotaurs didn't hunt at night--strictly speaking, minotaurs didn't "hunt" at all, though they were dangerous enough for all that. Trolls and ogres hunted at night. The tree shuddered as something huge hit it, perhaps only by accident, as the result of the scuffle going on. They could smell him, Lord only knew how, above their own stink. At least, they could smell where he had been, including the tree trunk.