"Tad Williams - Otherland 1 - City of Golden Shadows" - читать интересную книгу автора (Williams Tad)

shocking or dangerous, but the moment passed. "I am no one. You must go before the Old Man
returns."
"But what is this place? Where am I? All I have are questions and more questions."
"You should not be here. Only ghosts visit me here--and the Old Man's evil instruments. He
says they are to keep me company, but some of them have teeth and very unusual senses of humor.
Butterball and Nickelplate--they are the cruelest."
Overwhelmed, Paul suddenly stepped forward and grasped her hand where it curled around the
bars. Her skin was cool and her face was very close. "You are a prisoner. I will free you."
She jerked her hand away. "I cannot survive outside this cage. And you cannot survive if the
Old Man finds you here. Have you come hunting the Grail? You will not find it here--this is only a
shadow place."
Paul shook his head impatiently. "I know nothing of any grail." But even as he spoke he knew
it was not the full truth: the word set up an echo deep inside him, touched parts that were still
out of his reach. _Grail._ Something, it meant something. . . .
"You do not understand!" the bird woman said, and shining feathers ruffled and bunched around
her neck as she grew angry. "I am not one of the guardians. I have nothing to hide from you, and I
would not see you . . . I would not see you harmed. Go, you fool! Even if you _could_ take it, the
Old Man would find you no matter where you went. He would hunt you down even if you crossed the
White Ocean."
Paul could feel the fear beating out from her, and for a moment he was overwhelmed, unable to
speak or move. She was afraid for him. This prisoned angel felt something . . . for _him._
And the grail, whatever it might be--he could feel the idea of it, swimming just beyond his
grasp like one of the bright fish. . . .
A terrible hissing sound, loud as a thousand serpents, set the leaves around them swaying. The
bird woman gasped and shrank back into the center of her cage. A moment later a great clanging
tread sounded through the trees, which shivered, stirring more dust.
"It's him!" Her voice was a muffled shriek. "He's back!"
Something huge was coming nearer, huffing and banging like a war engine. A harsh light
flickered through the trees.
"Hide!" The naked terror in her whisper set his heart hammering. "He will suck the marrow from
your bones!"
The noise was becoming louder; the walls themselves were quivering, the ground pitching. Paul
took a step, then stumbled and sank to his knees as terror fell on him like a black wave. He
crawled into the thickest part of the undergrowth, leaves slapping against his face, smearing him
with dust and damp.
A loud creak sounded, as of mighty hinges, then the room was filled with the smell of an
electrical storm. Paul covered his eyes.
"I AM HOME." The Old Man's voice was loud as cannon-fire and just as boomingly inhuman. "AND
WHERE IS YOUR SONG TO GREET ME?"
The long silence was broken only by that hiss like escaping steam. At last the bird woman
spoke, faint and tremulous.
"I did not expect you back so soon. I was not prepared."
"AND WHAT DO YOU HAVE TO DO BESIDES PREPARE FOR MY RETURN?" More crashing footsteps sounded as
the Old Man moved nearer. "YOU SEEM DISTRACTED, MY NIGHTINGALE. HAS BUTTERBALL BEEN PLAYING
ROUGHLY WITH YOU?"


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