"Simon R. Green - Drinking Midnight Wine" - читать интересную книгу автора (Green Simon R)

surroundings.
There were animals in the fields. Cows and sheep and sometimes horses, and, if you looked
closely, rabbits too. And the occasional fox, of course. Giving birth, living, dying, over and
over and over; Nature's ancient order continuing on as it had for countless centuries. Seasons
changed, the world turned and everything old was made new again, in spring. And
everywhere you looked, there were the trees. Not as many as there once were, of course. The
ancient primal forests of England's dark green past were long gone. Felled down the years to
make ships and towns and homes, or just to clear the land for crops and livestock. But still
many trees survived, in woods and copses, or slender lines of windbreaks; tall dark shapes,
glowering on the horizon, standing out starkly against the last light of day.
A single magpie, jet of black and pure of white, hopped across a field, and Toby tugged
automatically at his forelock and muttered, 'Evening, Mr Magpie', an old charm, to ward off
bad luck. Everyone knew the old rhyme: One for sorrow, two for joy, three for a girl and four for a
boy . . . Toby usually got lost after that, but it didn't really matter. It was a rare day when you
saw more than four magpies at once. Toby watched the countryside pass, and found what
little peace of mind he ever knew in contemplating the land's never-ending cycle. The trees
and the fields and the animals had all been there before him, and would still be there long
after he was gone; and some day they'd lay him to rest under the good green grass, and he'd
become a part of it all. And then maybe he'd understand what it had all been for.
The train paused briefly at the request stop for Avoncliff, a very short platform with stern
Do Not Alight Here signs at both ends, just in case you were too dim to notice that there was
nothing there for you to step out onto. The usual few got off. There was never anyone waiting
to get on, at this time of day. The train gathered up its strength and plunged on, heading for
Bradford-on-Avon like a horse scenting its stables. Toby closed his paperback and stuffed it
into his jacket pocket. Not long now; almost home. He felt tired and heavy and sweaty, and
his feet ached inside his cheap shoes, already on their second set of heels. He looked out of
the window, and there, on the very edge of town, was Blackacre. An old name and not a
pleasant one, for a seventeenth-century farmhouse and surrounding lands, all set within an
ancient circle of dark trees, cutting Blackacre off from the rest of the world - dead land, and
dead trees.
A long time ago, something happened in that place, but few now remembered what or
when or why. The old farmhouse stood empty and abandoned, in the centre of a wide circle
of dead ground, on which nothing grew and in which nothing could thrive. The deep thickets
of spiky trees were all dead too, never knowing leaves or bloom, scorched long ago by some
terrible heat. Animals would not go near the area, and it was said and believed by many that
even the birds and insects went out of their way to avoid flying over Blackacre. Local gossip
had it that the house and the land had a new owner, the latest of many, probably full of big-
city ideas on how to reclaim the land and make it prosper again, to succeed where so many
others had failed. Toby smiled tiredly. Some things should be left alone as a bad job.
Whatever poor fool had been conned into buying the place would soon discover the truth the
hard way. Blackacre was a money pit, a bottomless well you threw money into. Dead was
dead, and best left undisturbed.
Sometimes the local kids would venture into the dark woods on a dare, but no one ever
went near the farmhouse. Local builders wouldn't have anything to do with the place either.
Everyone knew the stories, the old stories handed down from father to son, not as
entertainment but as a warning. Bad things happened to those who dared disturb Blackacre's
sullen rest.
Which made it all the more surprising when Toby suddenly realised that there were lights
in some of the windows of Blackacre Farm. He pressed his face close to the carriage window,
and watched intently as a dull yellow glow moved steadily from one upper-floor window to