"Barker, Clive - Weaveworld (b)" - читать интересную книгу автора (Barker Clive)

The sun was hot on his neck and the top of his head, and thing of the giddiness he'd experienced climbing the stairs returned. He straddled the wall as though it were a horse, until he got used to the height. Though the perch was the width of a brick, and offered ample enough walking space, heights and he had never been happy companions.

'Looks like it's been a nice piece of handiwork,' said Gideon, in the yard below. Cal glanced own to see that the West Indian was now on his haunches beside the carpet, which he'd rolled out far enough to expose an elaborately woven border.

Bazo wandered over to where Gideon crouched, and scrutinized the property. He was balding, Cal could see, his hair scrupulously pasted down with oil to conceal the spot.

'Pity it's not in better nick,' said Shane.

'Hold yer horses; said Bazo. 'Let's have a better look.’

Cal returned his attention to the problem of standing upright. At least the carpet would divert his audience for a few moments; long enough, he prayed, for him to get to his feet. There was no breath of wind here to alleviate the fury of the sun; he could feel sweat trickle down his torso and glue his underwear to his buttocks. Gingerly, he started to stand, bringing one leg up into a kneeling position - both hands; dinging to the brick like grim death.

From below, there were murmurs of approval as more of the carpet was exposed to light.

'Look at the work in that; said Gideon.

'Are you thinkin' what I'm thinkin?’ said Bazo, his voice lowered.

'I don't know 'til you tell me,' came Gideon's reply.

'What say we take it down to Gilchrist's. We might get a price for this.’

'The Chief'll know it's gone,' Shane protested.

'Keep it down; said Bazo, quietly reminding his companions of Cal's presence. In fad Cal was far too concerned with his inept tight-rope act to bother himself with their petty theft. He had finally got the soles of both feet up on to the top of the wall, and was about to try standing up.

In the yard, the conversation went on.

Take the far end, Shane, let's have a look at the whole thing . . .

'D'you think it's Persian?’

'Haven't a fuckin' clue.’

Very slowly, Cal stood upright, his arms extended at ninety degrees from his body. Feeling as stable as he was ever going to feel, he chanced a quick look up at the window sill. The bird was still there.

From below he heard the sound of the carpet being unrolled further, the men's grunts punctuated with words of admiration.

Ignoring their presence as best he could, he took his first faltering step along the wall.

'Hey there . . .’ he murmured to the escapee'. . . remember me?’

33 took no notice. Cal advanced a second trembling step, and a third, his confidence growing. He was getting the trick of this balancing business now.

'Come on down,' he coaxed, a prosaic Romeo.

The bird finally seemed to recognize his owner's voice, and cocked his head in Cal's direction.

'Here, boy. . .’ Cal said, tentatively raising his hand towards the window as he risked another step.