"Christopher, John - Tripods 03 - The Pool of Fire 2.0" - читать интересную книгу автора (Christopher Barbara)
He rode down the slope toward the distant silver gleam of the river. He had gone perhaps a quarter of a mile before the Tripod moved. A huge metal foot uprooted itself, soared through the sky, and was followed by another. It was not hurrying particularly. I thought of the man on horseback, and felt his fear rise as bile in my own mouth. I looked from the scene to the faces around me. Fritz's was impassive, as usual, intent and observing. The others . . . they nauseated me, I think, more than what was taking place outside.
It did not last long. The Tripod got him as he galloped across the bare brown slope of a vineyard. A tentacle came down and picked him from the horse with the neatness and sureness of a girl threading a needle. Another cry rose from those who watched. The tentacle held him, a struggling doll. And then a second tentacle . . .
My stomach heaving, I scrambled to my feet, and ran from the room.
The atmosphere was different when I returned, the feverishness having been replaced by a sort of relaxation. They were drinking wine and talking about the Hunt. He had been a poor specimen, they decided. One, who appeared to be a senior servant from the estate of a count who had a castle nearby, had lost money on him and was indignant about it. My reappearance was greeted with a few mocking remarks and some laughter. They told me I was a weakbellied foreigner, and urged me to have a liter of wine to steady my nerves. Outside, the same relaxation-a sense almost of repletion-could be observed in the crowd. Bets were being paid off, and there was a brisk trade in hot pastries and sweetmeats. The Tripod, I noticed, had gone back to its original position in the field.
Gradually, as the hour ticked by, tension built up once more. At ten o'clock, the ceremony repeated itself, with the same quickening of excitement in those about us, the same roar of joy and approval as the Hunt began. The second victim gave them better sport. He rode fast and well, and for a time avoided the Tripod's tentacle by riding under the cover of trees. When he broke into the open again, I wanted to shout to him to stay where he was. But it would have done no good, as he must have known: the Tripod could have plucked the trees out from around him. He was making for the river, and I saw that there was another copse half a mile farther on. Before he got there, the tentacle swept down.
The first time he dodged it, swerving his horse at just the right moment so that the rope of metal flailed down and hit the ground beside him. He had a chance, I thought, of reaching his objective, and the river was not so very much farther on. But the Tripod's second attempt was better aimed. He was plucked from the saddle and his body pulled apart, as the first man's had been. In a sudden hush, his cries of agony came thinly to us through the bright autumnal air.
I did not come back after that killing. There were limits to what I could stand, even in the cause of duty. Fritz stuck it out, but he looked grim when I saw him later, and was even more taciturn than usual.
A few weeks later, we reached the caves. Their gloomy depths were strangely attractive, a haven from the world through which we had journeyed for almost a year. The walls of rock enfolded us, and the lamps flickered warmly. More important, though, was the release from the strain of mixing with and dealing with the Capped. Here we conversed with free men like ourselves.
For three days we were idle, apart from the ordinary duties which all shared. Then we had our orders from the local commander, a German whose name was Otto. We were to report, in two days' time, at a place specified only as a point on a map. Otto himself did not know why.
3) The Green Man on the Green Horse
It took us two full days, on horseback, riding hard for the most part. Winter was closing in again fast, the days shortening, a long fine spell of St. Luke's summer breaking up into cold unsettled weather coming from the west. For the whole of one morning we rode with sleet and sharp rain driving into our faces. We slept the first night in a small inn, but as the second day drew to its close we were in wild deserted country, with sheep cropping thin grass and not even a sign of a shepherd, or a shepherd's hut.
As we got nearer, we could see that it was the ruin of a castle, set on a promontory of rock Nearer still, we could make out that there had been a small harbor on the far side and that there were more ruins there, though on a more modest scale. Fishermen's cottages, most likely It would have been a fishing village once, but was now abandoned. We saw no indication of life, either there or in the castle, which loomed harsh and black against the deepening gray sky. A broken, potholed road led up to a gateway from which, on one side, hung the shattered remnants of a wooden gate barred with iron. Riding through, we found ourselves in a courtyard.
It was as empty and lifeless as everything else, but we dismounted, and tied our horses to an iron ring that had, perhaps, been used for that very purpose a thousand years before. Even if we had got our map reference wrong, we were going to have to leave the search until morning. But I could not believe we had erred. From behind an embrasure, I saw a dim flicker of light, and touched Fritz's arm, pointing. It disappeared, and was visible again farther along the wall. I could just make out that there was a door and that the light was moving in that direction. We went toward it, and reached it as a figure, carrying a lamp, turned a corner in the corridor within. He held the lamp higher, shining it in our faces.
"You're a bit late," he said. "We'd given you up for today."
I went forward with a laugh. I still could not see his face, but I knew well enough whose voice it was!
Beanpole's.
Certain rooms (those facing seaward, for the most part) and a section of the dungeons had been refurbished and made habitable. We were given a good hot supper, of rich stew, followed by home-baked bread and French cheese, wheelshaped, dusted white outside, creamy yellow within, strong-tasting and satisfying. There was hot water to wash ourselves, and beds had been made up in one of the spare rooms, with sheets. We slept well, lulled by the roar and rumble of the sea breaking on the rocks, and awoke refreshed. For breakfast, there were others present, as well as Beanpole. I recognized two or three faces that I had known as belonging to that group which studied the wisdom of the ancients. Someone else who was familiar came in while we were eating. Julius hobbled across the room toward us, smiling.
"Welcome, Fritz. And Will. It's good to see you back with us again."
We had asked questions of Beanpole, and received evasive answers. All would be explained in the morning, he told us. And after breakfast we went, with Julius and Beanpole and half a dozen others, to a huge room on the castle's first floor. There was a great gaping window looking out to sea, across which a frame of wood and glass had been fastened, and an altogether enormous fireplace in which wood crackled and burned. We sat down on benches behind a long, rough-hewn table, in no particular order. Julius spoke to us.
"I shall satisfy the curiosity of Will and Fritz first," he said. "The rest of you must bear .with me." He looked at us. "This is one of several places at which research into ways of defeating the Masters is being carried out. Many ideas have been put forward, many of them ingenious. All have drawbacks, though, and the chief drawback, common to every one, is that we still, despite the reports you two made, know so little about our enemy:"
He paused for a moment. "A second trio was sent north to the Games last summer. Only one qualified to be taken into the City. We have heard nothing more of him. He may yet escape -we hope he will-but we cannot depend on that. In any case, it is doubtful that he could give us the information we want. Because what we really need, it has been decided, is one of the Masters in our hands, alive for preference, so that we can study him."
My face may have shown my skepticism; I have always heard it shows too much. At any rate, Julius said, "Yes, Will, an impossible requirement, one would think. But perhaps not quite impossible. This is why you two have been called in to help us. You have actually seen the inside of a Tripod, when you were being taken to the City. You have, it is true, described it to us already, and fully. But if we are going to capture a Master, we must get him out of that metal stronghold in which he strides about our lands. And for that, the smallest recollection which you may be able to dredge from your memories could be of help."
Fritz said, "You talk of taking one alive, sir. But how can that be done? Once he is out of the Tripod, he will choke, within seconds, in our atmosphere."
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