"Henry Lion Oldie. The prophet" - читать интересную книгу автора

Henry Lion Oldie.

The prophet


"Arise, oh prophet, hark and see,
Perform that will o'mine!
And wandering through lands and seas
Burn hearts by verbal fire."
A. S. Pushkin

Antisthenes took the test-tube and examined the fluid against the
light. The elixir was dark-golden, thick, resembling old Tokay. Was this
the one or not? Hope, Antishpenus' eternal companion, cried yes, it was!
But scepticism -- the invariable burden of a scientist -- demanded a
trial. Antishpenus came up to the old table, corroded by acids and
charred in some places, took a flask with reagent. At that very moment
came a demanding knock on the door. He knew that would happen, sooner or
later, but... oh no, not now! Too much pain. The knock was getting more
and more persistent.
Antisthenes came to with a startle. The door would stand no longer
than two minutes. He should act. Feverishly he grabbed a pile of tattered
papers with formulae, figures and designs, and tossed them into the
fireplace. Then the papers from the drawer went flying into the fire.
What else? The apparatus! Antisthenes grasped the poker and, his eyes
closed, swung and struck the entanglement of coil pipes, filters, boiling
retorts, and copper wires. Something hissed letting out clouds of smoke.
The upper lock on the door went off, the bar hardly holding on.
Antisthenes struck once more, then again... It seemed to him he was
breaking his own ribs. Well, that was all. Perhaps, he still had time to
escape? Antisthenes darted for the window when his look fell on the test-
tube he was still squeezing in his hand. The elixir? Or poison?.. Didn't
matter now -- and in a gulp he drained the tube. The liquid had an acrid
taste with some elusive flavour, breathtaking, giving pressure to his
temples.
For a second he stood listening to what was going on inside him.
Whatever the test-tube had contained would not take effect instantly.
Antishpenus tossed the tube into fire. The next second the hinges gave in
and the door collapsed smashing the remains of the apparatus. Guardsmen
broke into the room. It was too late to run. He didn't notice the coming
blow and the room growing dark swam before his eyes...

The Dictator, rosy-cheeked and clean-shaven, sitting at the bulky
oak table of antique artwork, was smiling. In the whole huge hall, with
columns and a vaulted ceiling with stucco ornaments, there was nothing
except that table. Upon it there was a telephone and a shabby office
folder. Antisthenes kept silent looking in the face so familiar by
newspaper clips and TV shows. The bruised lip hurt, his tongue was
involuntarily feeling the hole in the place of a knocked-out tooth, but
in general he got off quite lightly.