"Clive_Barker_Tortured_Souls" - читать интересную книгу автора (Barker Clive - Coldheart Canyon)

Lucidique instantly demanded to know why she was being held. If Cascarellian intended to kill her, why the hell didn't he get on with it? She was sick and tired, she told him. Of him, of his sons, of life itself. She'd seen too much blood.
"You were at the Palace, weren't you? The Night of the Great Insurrection?"
"Yes. I was there."
"You have something to with this creature: this Scythe-Meister?"
"My business, Cascarellian."
"I could give you to my sons for half an hour. They'd have it out of you!"
"Your sons don't intimidate me. And neither do you."
"I don't wish to make you uncomfortable. You're here under my protection; that's all. Do you know what it's like out there on our streets? Pandemonium! The city is coming apart at the seams!"
"Do you think holding me here is going to protect you from what's coming your way?" Lucidique said.
A look of superstitious fear crossed Cascarellian's face. "What's coming my way?" he said. "You know something about the future?"
"No." Lucidique said wearily. "I'm not a prophet. I don't know what's going to happen to you and frankly I don't care. If the world ends tomorrow, I don't think you'll be judged very kindly, but-—" she shrugged, "--why should I care? I won't be there to see you suffer in Hell."
Cascarellian had grown pale and clammy while Lucidique spoke. She only half-knew what she was doing to him, but she took a certain pleasure in it. This was the man who'd orphaned her; why not enjoy his superstitious fear?
"You think I'm a stupid man?" he said.
"To be afraid the way you're afraid now? Yes. I think that's pitiful."
"I don't want your contempt." Cascarellian said, with a strange sincerity.
"I have enough enemies."
"Then don't make one of me." Lucidique said. "Let me go. Let me see the sky!"
"I'll take you out, if that's what you want."
"You will?"
"Yes. We'll go wherever you like."
"I want to go out into the desert. Away from the city."
"Really? Why?"
"I told you. I want to see the sky..."

IV
The next day, a convoy of three cars wound through the chaotic streets of Primorduim and headed for the West Gate. In the first car, two of Cascarellian's best men--loyal bodyguards who'd seen him through many attempts upon his life. In the back car, the three brothers, wondering aloud (as they increasingly did these days) if a kind of lunacy had overtaken their father. Why was he indulging this woman Lucidique in her whims? Didn't he understand that she had every reason to hate him, to plot against him?
In the middle car, chauffeured by Marius, Cascarellian's driver for three decades, sat the Don himself, accompanied by Lucidique.
"Satisfied?" he said to her, once they were outside the gates, and in sight of the open sky.
"A little further, please..." she said.
"Don't think you can fool me, woman. You may be cleverer than most of your sex, but you won't escape me, if that's your thought!"
They drove on in silence for a distance.
"I think we've come far enough. And you've seen enough of the sky for one day!"
"Can't I just get out and walk?"
"Walking now, is it?"
"Please. There's no harm in that surely? Look...open ground in every direction."
Cascarellian considered this for a moment. Then he called the convoy to a halt.
A dust storm was on the horizon, slowly approaching the road.
"You'd better be quick!" the Don told her.
Lucidique watched the approaching wall of sand, then glanced round at the men who were getting out of the cars; particularly the brothers. They smiled slyly as they eyed her. One of them flicked his tongue between his lips, the obscene inference plain.
It was the last straw. Lucidique turned her back on him--on them all--and began to walk towards the sand-storm.
A chorus of warnings instantly erupted behind her. "Don't take another step!" one of the brothers said, "Or I'll shoot you!"
She turned to him, her arms opened wide. "So shoot! she said.
Then she turned again and strode on.
"Come back here, woman!" the Don yelled. "There's nothing out there but sand."
The wind from the storm was whipping up Lucidique's hair now. It was like a dark halo around her head.
"Do you hear me?" the Don called after her.
Lucidique looked over her shoulder.
"Come walk with me," she said to him.
The old man drew hard on his cigar, and then went after the woman.
His sons set up a chorus of complaint: what was he doing? Was he out of his mind?