"Christopher Evans - The Rites Of Winter" - читать интересную книгу автора (Evans Christopher)

her husband until spring.
In the immediate aftermath of his death, Stella wrote a letter to the
authorities in the city, telling them what had happened and demanding that
Marguerite be tracked down and dispatched as a witch. She trudged through
two miles of knee-high snow to post the letter, but on her return had
immediately realised the futility of the gesture. Even assuming that the
authorities believed her story, she had no evidence that they would act on
it; indeed, if such creatures as Marguerite were commonplace in the city,
perhaps these very authorities might be numbered among them and would seek
to protect their own kind. There was also a more obvious practical
difficulty: if the road to the city was impassable with snow, postal
deliveries would be suspended until the weather improved.
She spent the dark, chill months huddled around the fire, feeling
strangely secure in her solitude. She hardened her mind against thoughts
of her dead husband; if she became restless she would wash linen, iron
curtains or take a brush to corners of the inn that had not been swept in
years. Some nights she would wake to the darkness and the keen wind
outside with the fleeting memory of some disturbing dream which faded even
as she tried to snatch at it. Then she would remember how Marguerite had
mesmerised Thomas from the moment he saw her and had sapped everything
vital from him before vanishing.
One morning in March Stella awoke to find the air milder and the frost
flowers vanished from her window. The ribbon of road which led north to
the city was visible in patches, and snow fell from tree branches. In
recent years the weather had become violently capricious; as quickly as
winter had come, it had departed. Soon travellers en route to the city
would start arriving from the south.
She removed the caged hooded crow from its winter quarters in a
south-facing room and set it on the tall pedestal outside the inn; the
bird had been inherited from the previous owner and gave the inn its name.
The placing of the crow outside the inn always symbolised the start of a
new season, and although she was aware that her responsibilities would be
heavy without Thomas, she was determined to carry on alone.
She spent the next few days spring-cleaning the guest rooms. Then, one
morning, she was drawn to the window by the fractious cries of the crow
and saw a stranger chasing away a small boy who had evidently been
throwing snowballs at the bird. When the boy was gone, the stranger turned
towards the inn, his long cloak damp at its edges from the melting snow.
He was a good-looking, bearded man little older than herself, with dark
hair and brown eyes. He gave his name as Simon and handed her a silver
coin. This was enough to pay for one month's board. Most guests usually
stayed no more than a few days, but the coin was offered without
expectation of change.
"Have you travelled far?" she asked him.
He gave a thin smile and a hint of a nod. "Far enough."
She handed him the key to the guest room next to her own; the fire
downstairs kept both rooms warmer than the rest. Later, when she had
brought him some cheese and cold pork, she found that the door to his room
was locked.
"Leave it outside," he called to her.