"Cedric Walker - The Guinea Pig" - читать интересную книгу автора (Walker Cedric)

He managed the flitter with expert hands. The school dropped away, became a toy
and vanished. They sped over the dismal, sodden land towards the distant hills.
Sellon thought: Why the devil doesn't the man say something? Obviously he knew.
The janitor must have told him something. "There was a fight," he said, hating
the fact that he had to tell him. But he knew he had. "They had been calling him
names--one boy in particular."
Mostyn seemed to come to life. He turned to face Sellon. It was as if for the
first time he realized the presence of the other. "What sort of names?"
Sellon swallowed. He didn't like this. "The allusion wasn't even correct," he
said, wondering why he made the words sound so apologetic.
"What name?"
"Frankenstein."
Mostyn turned away, his lips compressed. Sellon saw his hands clenching and
unclenching. He said: "There was a fight. He lost his temper. When it was over
the boy who had called him the name was dead. None of the masters learned of the
fight until it was too late. The boys who were present said he had a mad look in
his eyes, and they gave him a wide berth. From the beginning they were always a
bit afraid of him--even when they ragged him. They say he looked wildly around
him and at the body of the boy for a time as if he were lost. When he made for
the flitter-park they followed him, keeping at a respectable distance. But he
seemed to have forgotten that they were there. Someone went for one of the
masters. But by the time he had arrived the.........boy had scrambled into one
of the flitters and was careering off madly over the treetops.
"But they're difficult things to handle--especially for a boy of his size. We
saw the flitter continue its crazy flight for a time, dipping and weaving like a
wounded bird, barely managing to keep above ground. The nose seemed to have a
tendency to drop. Finally he slipped down below the hill--just there--and he
didn't rise again.
"Here we are." Sellon touched the flitter down on the hillside as lightly as a
feather.
Mostyn looked around him. About a hundred yards away down the hill was the
wreckage of a flitter. Nearby a group of men stood motionless in the rain. Their
faces were without expression. One of them had a crude bandage round one arm.
Their heads drooped helplessly. They seemed to be waiting for something to
happen. They hardly stirred as the two approached.
An icy dread washed over the headmaster. He singled out one of the men.
"He's gone mad," said the man. "Completely. He's got a gun from somewhere. One
of the chaps was wounded. We daren't go near him."
"Where is he?" asked Mostyn.
THE MAN glanced at him for a moment, then gestured up the hillside towards a
pile of rocks. "Up there somewhere. Can't tell you where exactly. He's been
moving around behind them. He warned us, but we thought he was only saying
that--like a boy would. Then he shot Wilson, so we've kept back. He keeps
shouting something about 'hope you're satisfied now.'"
Mostyn started walking towards the pile of rocks. Sellon clutched at his arm,
but he shook him off. "Come back, you fool! He's mad! He'll kill you!" He
hesitated then made to follow him.
A shot broke the silence of the hillside.
Sellon stopped dead in his tracks. Mostyn walked on as if he hadn't heard.
A shrill voice floated down the hill to them. "Go back! Go back or I'll shoot!"