"Ian Watson - Slow Birds" - читать интересную книгу автора (Watson Ian)

as you did on my brother Dan. Who's missing now; maybe forever, thanks
to you."
"I neverтАФ"
"Admit it, then we might cut you down."
"And happen we mightn't," said Ned. "Not till the Wheatsheaf closes.
But look on the bright side: happen we might."
Tarnover's legs twitched as he tested the bonds. He winced. "I honestly
meant your brother no harm."
Sam smirked. "Nor do we mean you any. Ain't our fault if a bird decides
to fly off. Anyway, only been here an hour or so. Could easily be here all
night. Right, lads?"
"Right," said Ned. "And I'm thirsty. Race you? Last ones buys?"
"He's admitted he did it," said Jason. "You heard him."
"Look, I'm honestly very sorry ifтАФ"
"Shut up," said Sam. "You can stew for a while, seeing as how you've
made the Babbidges stew. You can think about how sorry you really are."
Partridge hoisted his sail.
 It was not exactly how Jason had envisioned his revenge. This seemed
like an anticlimax. Yet, to Tarnover no doubt it was serious enough. The
champion was sweating slightly . . . Jason hoisted his sail, too. Presently
the men skated away ... to halt by unspoken agreement a quarter of a mile
away. They stared back at Tarnover's little silhouette upon his metal steed.
"Now if it was me," observed Sam, "I'd shuffle myself along till I fell off
the front. . . Rub you a bit raw, but that's how to do it."
"No need to come back, really," said Ned. "Hey, what's he trying?"
The silhouette had ducked. Perhaps Tarnover had panicked and wasn't
thinking clearly, but it looked as if he was trying to lean over far enough to
unfasten the knot beneath, or free one of his ankles. Suddenly the distant
figure inverted itself. It swung right round the bird, and Tarnover's head
and chest were hanging upside down, his arms flapping. Or perhaps
Tarnover had hoped the cord would snap under his full weight; but snap it
did not. And once he was stuck in that position there was no way he could
recover himself upright again, or do anything about inching along to the
front of the bird.
Ned whistled. "He's messed himself up now, and no mistake. He's ruddy
crucified himself."
Jason hesitated before saying it: "Maybe we ought to go back? I mean, a
man can die hanging upside-down too long . . . Can't he?" Suddenly the
whole episode seemed unclean, unsatisfactory.
"Go back?" Sam Partridge fairly snarled at him. "You were the big
mouth last night. And whose idea was it to tie him to the bird? You
wanted him taught a lesson, and he's being taught one. We're only trying
to oblige you, Jay."
"Yes, I appreciate that."
"You made enough fuss about it. He isn't going to wilt like a bunch of
flowers in the time it takes us to swallow a couple of pints."
And so they skated on, back to the Wheatsheaf in Atherton.