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

At ten thirty, somewhat the worse for wear, the three men spilled out of
the alehouse into Sheaf Street. A quarter moon was dodging from rift to
rift in the cloudy sky, shedding little light.
"I'm for bed," said Sam. "Let the sod wriggle his way off."
"And who cares if he don't?" said Ned. "That way, nobody'll know. Who
wants an enemy for life? Do you, Jay? This way you can get on with things.
Happen Tarnover'll bring your brother back from wherever it is."
Shouldering his sail and swinging his skates, Ned wandered off up
Sheaf Street.
"But," said Jason. He felt as though he had blundered into a midden.
There was a reek of sordidness about what had taken place. The memory
of Tarnover hanging upside-down had tarnished him.
"But what?" said Sam.
Jason made a show of yawning. "Nothing. See you." And he set off
homeward.
But as soon as he was out of sight of Sam he slipped down through
Butcher's Row in the direction of the glass alone. It was dark out there
with no stars and only an occasional hint of moonlight, yet the breeze was
steady and there was nothing to trip over on the glass. The bird wouldn't
have moved more than a hundred yards. Jason made good speed.



The slow bird was still there. But Tarnover wasn't with it; its belly was
barren of any hanged man.
As Jason skated to a halt, to look closer, figures arose in the darkness
from where they had been lying flat upon the glass, covered by their sails.
Six figures. Eight. Nine. All had lurked within two or three hundred yards
of the bird, though not too closeтАФnor any in the direction of Atherton.
They had left a wide corridor open, which now they closed.
As the Tuckerton men moved in on him, Jason stood still, knowing that
he had no chance.
Max Tarnover skated up, accompanied by that same beefy farmer with
the wart.
"I did come back for you," began Jason.
The farmer spoke, but not to Jason. "Did he now? That's big of him.
Could have saved his time, what with Tim Earnshaw happening
alongтАФwhen Master Tarnover was gone a long time. So what's to be done
with him, eh?"
"Tit for tat, I'd say," said another voice.
"Let him go and look for his kid brother," offered a third. "Instead of
sending other folk on his errands. What a nerve."
Tarnover himself said nothing; he just stood in the night silently.
 So, presently, Jason was raised on to the back of the bird and his feet
were tied tightly under it. But his wrists were bound together too, and for
good measure the cord was linked through his belt.
Within a few minutes all the skaters had sped away towards Tuckerton.
Jason sat. Remembering Sam's words he tried to inch forward, but with
both hands fastened to his waist this proved impossible; he couldn't gain
purchase. Besides, he was scared of losing his balance as Tarnover had.