"E. C. Tubb - Dumarest 05 - The Jester at Scar" - читать интересную книгу автора (Tubb E. C)

"And that is enough? No," he mused answering himself. "It
cannot be enough; the monks do not give all to one and nothing
to another. You need food and oil, fuel and clothing, medicines
too, perhaps. In order to survive you need more than the monks
can provide." He extended his hand; the back was covered with a
fine down. Steel had been wedded to the fingernails; the metal
was razor-edged and needle-pointed. The tips pricked her skin.
"Speak truthfully, woman, or I will close my hand and tear out
your throat. You need lodgers in order to survive; is that not so?"
 She swallowed, not answering. Spots of blood shone like tiny
rubies at the points of steel.

"We will assume that it is so," purred Brephor from where he
stood in darkness. "And yet when we, two travelers, come seeking
food and shelter, we are repulsed. You did not invite us in out of
the rain; you did not suggest terms; you were not even curious as
to how we knew both your name and business. But that is
acceptable. You are dependent on publicity and offer a
commission to those who send you clients." The spots of blood
grew, swelling to break and fall in widening streams from the
lacerating claws. "I scent a mystery, woman. You are in business,
but have no time for customers. Perhaps you no longer need to
sell food and shelter. It could be that you have someone now to
provide, someone lurking in the darkness." The purr hardened
and became vicious. "Tell me, woman!"

"Tell him," said Dumarest as he stepped from where he stood
against the wall. The reaction was immediate. Brephor
straightened his arm with a jerk, sending the woman staggering
backwards, the lamp flickering as , she fought to retain her
balance. As she stumbled he sprang through the doorway, landed
and turned to face Dumarest.

"So," he purred. "Our friend who lurks in shadows. The brave
man who stands and watches as his woman is molested. Tell me,
coward, what is your name?"

Silently Dumarest studied the intruder. His eyes were huge
beneath lowering brows, ears slightly pointed, mouth pursed
over prominent canines. His face and neck were covered with the
same fine down as the backs of his hands. Brephor was a
cat-man, a mutated sport from some lonely world, the genes of
his forebears jumbled by radiation. He would be fast and vicious,
a stranger to the concept of mercy, a stranger also to the concept
of obedience.

"I asked you a question, coward," he said. "What is your
name?"