"Colin Wilson - Spiderworld 03 - The Fortress" - читать интересную книгу автора (Wilson Colin)

The cold wind against his face restored him to a sense of normality. He was in
almost total darkness. A few moments later, the moon emerged briefly from behind
flying black clouds, so that he could take his bearings. The grass underfoot was wet
and slippery; it had evidently been raining heavily. He had to walk carefully to avoid
losing his footing. He held the metal rod by its narrow end, using it as a staff, and a
few minutes later felt the hard pavement under his feet. The clouds parted again, and
the moon revealed the avenue that stretched northward towards the bridge. He turned
left and walked in the direction of the women's quarter of the city.
As he crossed to the far side of the square, the wind was so powerful that he
had to lean into it. It was a relief to be in the shelter of tall buildings. According to his
map, this section of the city was deserted, forming a kind of no-man's-land between
the southern part and the slave quarter. He paused in a doorway to shelter from the
wind, which made his teeth chatter, and to wait for the moon to emerge. When it did
so, he saw something that made his heart contract with fear. The white tower was
gleaming in the moonlight, looking as if it was shining with its own inner
phosphorescence. And around its base, clearly visible against its whiteness, there was
a movement of heaving black shadows. For a moment, he convinced himself that they
were cloud shadows; then, as the moon was isolated for a moment in a calm space of
unclouded blue, the light strengthened, and he knew they were living creatures. As
the light dimmed again, the shadows seemed to be moving across the grass towards
him.
His immediate response was to run, but he knew at once that this would be an
error. He was already using all his self-discipline to repress the panic; fleeing would
amplify it beyond his control. His next impulse was to take refuge in the nearest
building. This he also rejected; sooner or later, every building in the city would be
searched. The spiders possessed the thoroughness of endless patience. His hiding
place would soon become a prison. The correct solution was to keep on the move and
hope that the darkness and the wind would delay the search.
He began moving westward, towards the women's quarter, but turned north at
each intersection so that he was also moving towards the river. In these narrow, man-
built canyons, the darkness was so complete that he had to walk like a blind man, the
metal rod stretched out as a feeler, the other hand groping at railings or the walls of
buildings. The pavements were cracked and uneven. At one street corner -- he could
tell it was a corner because the wind converged from two directions -- he stumbled
over the kerbstone into the gutter, and the rod shot out of his hand. As he groped
around on all fours, he had to wrestle with rising panic; the thought of losing the rod
filled him with despair. Then he recollected the thought mirror. He reached inside his
shirt and turned it on his chest, then sat down in the roaring darkness and
concentrated his attention. There was a momentary pain in the back of his skull; then
he experienced the sense of power and control. He stood up and spread out his hands
within a foot of the ground, walking forward slowly. A tingling feeling in the
fingertips of his right hand guided him to the object of his search. Now his mind was
calm, it was as if he was able to pick up some faint signal from the metal rod. A
moment later, he found it lying in the gutter. He turned the disc again away from his
chest, aware of how much this kind of concentration drained his energy.
When the moon came out again, he saw that he had reached a broad avenue.