"David Wingrove - Assimilation(1)" - читать интересную книгу автора (Wingrove David)

tiny trinkets. "This is what I trade. You like them?"
The Governor came closer, bending his long, stiff body to examine the tiny
jewelled artefacts, his great compound eyes glittering through the
peepholes of the mask. There was the slightest fluttering of the wing
cases beneath the reinforced cloth of his shirt -н a clear indication of
his excitement -н and then he moved back again, composing himself,
straightening his mask.
"Excellent. Quite excellent. That one there. The red one. My wife..."
The Trader took the ring and handed it to him. "Here. A gift for her."
The Governor held the ring close to his face, examining it through one of
the peepholes. "Capital. Just capital. As for your license. Well, I'm
certain we can come to some arrangement, eh?"
The Trader nodded.
"Good. Then you'll come to dinner tonight, I hope. We eat at eight, on the
dot. Or you could join us in church before, if you like. We have our own
pew. The service begins at seven, so you'd best be there at five-to."
"I'd like that," Ka-Ta answered, his violet eyes glinting momentarily.
"Yes. I'd like that very much."

The church stood at the head of the valley, overlooking the village. It
was a solid-looking building with a tower at one end. Inside, stone
pillars formed a line to either side, while overhead huge beams of oak
formed a kind of rib cage. Like props, Ka-Ta thought, holding back the
weight of the stone. Seeing them, he smiled inwardly, feeling more at
home, then followed the Governor and his wife down the aisle, taking his
seat beside them in the massive pew.
He looked about him as the service began and the great building echoed
with the reedy voices of the congregation. At the far end of the church,
beyond the altar, a single window filled the wall. Its coloured segments
depicted a tall figure on a cross, its long face drawn back in agony, its
red compound eyes raised to heaven. Nails penetrated its thorax and wing
cases in several places, pinning it to the wood. Above the figure, framed
between its two antennae, were the letters I.N.R.I.
Ka-Ta shivered and lowered his eyes, staring at the back of the pew in
front of him. There, carved into the wood, were myriad interlocking
shapes, the great swarm stylised to form a regular pattern. He turned,
glancing up at the giant figure sat beside him. The Governor had changed
his mask. Now his painted face expressed a bland devotion, the peephole
eyes raised to heaven. Beside him his wife wore a similar mask, the cheeks
rouged, thin eyebrows pencilled above the eyes.
They were singing about a place called Jerusalem. About a green and
pleasant land called England. Ka-Ta frowned, not understanding. Then,
taking the hymnbook, he raised his voice, joining it with theirs.
Afterwards he stood outside in the graveyard, looking about him. Most of
the stones seemed new, their hard, chitinous surfaces untouched by time,
but in one corner were a group of smaller stones, untended, the grass
grown long and wild about them. He went across and studied them, drawing
back the grass, trying to make out the long-faded inscriptions, then
reached out, tracing the indented letters with his fingers, but the
ancient marble flaked beneath his touch.