"P. N. Elrod - Jonathan Barrett 01 - Red Death" - читать интересную книгу автора (Elrod P N)

a source of pleasure for him. Right now, he was a godsend, for he had saddl
ed up Roily, my favorite, and was leading him out to me.
I couldn't help but laugh at his foresight. "How did you guess? Magic?"
"No magic," he said, smiling at the old joke between us. He used to tease t
he servant girls about being able to read their deepest thoughts and being
a sharp observer of human nature made him right more often than not. The yo
unger ones were awed, the older ones amused, and one rather guilty-hearted
wench accused him of witchcraft. "I'd heard that Mrs. Barrett wanted to spea
k to you. Every other time you've come here to ride it off."
"And here I am once more. Thank you, Jericho. Will you come with me?"
"I rather assumed you would prefer the solitude."
Right again. Perhaps he did have hidden powers of divination.
He held Roily's head as I swung up to the saddle and helped with the stirrups
. "I'll tell Miss Elizabeth where you are," he said before I could ask him to
do exactly that.
I laughed again, not at him but at the wonderful normality he represented,
and took up the reins. Knowing what was to come next and how eager I was
to get started, Roily danced away and sprang forward with hardly a signal
from me. Doing something that Mother would disapprove of was what I needed
most, and leaving the stable yard at a full gallop to jump over a wall in
to the fields beyond was a most satisfying form of revenge.
Roily was almost as perceptive as Jericho and seemed to sense that I wanted t
o fly as fast and as far as possible. The cold wind roaring past us deafened
me to the strident echoes of her voice and blinded me to the memory of her di
storted face. She shrank away to less than nothing and was lost amid the joy
I now felt clinging to the back of the best horse in the world as he carried
me to the edge of that world ... or at least to the cliffs overlooking the So
und.
We slowed at last, though for a moment I thought that if Roily decided to le
ap out toward the sea instead of turning to trot parallel to it he would eas
ily sprout the necessary wings to send us soaring into the sky like some lat
ter-day Pegasus and Bellerophon. What a ride that might be, and I would cert
ainly know better than to try flying him to Mount Olympus to seek out the go
ds. They could wait for their own turn ... if I ever let them have one.
The air cutting over us was clean with the sea smell and starting to warm up
as the sun climbed higher. I drank it in like a true-born hedonist until my
lungs ached and my throat burned. Roily picked his own path and I let him,
content enough with the privilege of being on his back. We went east, into t
he wind, him stretching his neck, his ears up with interest, me busy holding
my balance over the uneven ground. The trot sped up to
a canter and he shook his head once as though to free himself of the bridle
as we approached another fence.
The property it marked belonged to a farmer named Finch who kept a few hors
es of his own. His lands were smaller than Father's and he could not afford
 to have riding animals, but the rough look of the mares on that side made
no difference to Roily, aristocrat though he was. In his eyes a female was
a female and to hell with her looks and age as long as she was ready for a
good mounting. I barely had time to turn him and keep him from sailing over
the fence right into the middle of them all.
Roily snorted and neighed out a protest. One of the other horses answered an