"Wolfe, Gene - The Urth Of The New Sun" - читать интересную книгу автора (Wolfe Gene)

knives.
"I'm Purn," the blond man told me.
"Severian."
He held out his hand, and I took it--a sailor's hand,
large, rough, and muscular.
"She's Gunnie--"
"Burgundofara," the woman said.
"We call her Gunnie. And he's Idas." He gestured
toward the white-haired man.
The man in armor was looking down the corridor in
back of us, but he snapped, "Be still!" I had never seen
anyone who could turn his head so far. "What's his
name?" I whispered to Purn.
Gunnie answered instead. "Sidero." Of the three, she
seemed least in awe of him.
"Where is he taking us?"
Sidero loped past us and threw open a door. "Here. This
is a good place. Our confidence is high. Separate widely. I
will be in the center. Do no harm unless attacked. Signal
vocally."
"In the name of the Increate," I asked, "what are we
supposed to be doing?"
"Searching out apports," Gunnie muttered. "You don't
have to pay too much attention to Sidero. Shoot if they
look dangerous."
While she spoke, she had been steering me toward the
open door. Now Idas said, "Don't worry, there probably
won't be any," and stepped so close behind us that I
stepped through it almost automatically.
It was pitch dark, but I was immediately conscious that I
no longer stood on solid flooring but on some sort of open
and shaky grillwork, and that I was entering a place much
larger than a common room.
Gunnie's hair brushed my shoulder as she peered past
me into the blackness, bringing with it the mingled smells
of perfume and sweat. "Turn on the lights, Sidero. We can't
see a thing in here."
Lights blazed with a yellower hue than that of the
corridor we had just left, a jaundiced radiance that seemed
to suck the color from everything. We stood, the four of us
crowded together in a compact mass, upon a floor of black
bars no thicker than a man's smallest finger. There was no
rail, and the space before us and below us (for the ceiling
just above us must have supported the deck) would have
held our Matachin Tower.
What it now held was an immense jumble of cargo:
boxes, bails, barrels, and crates of all kinds; machinery and
parts of machines; sacks, many of shimmering, translucent
film; stacks of lumber.
"There!" Sidero snapped. He pointed to a spidery ladder