"Rhys Hughes - The Singularity Spectres" - читать интересную книгу автора (Hughes Rhys)

out onto the island, I clambered up a steep path while Zimara dragged the crate beyond the arms of the tide.
Lacking a toupee, my scalp began to burn under the bijou but torrid sun. My guide followed, caught me up
and we reached the summit together. "The midriff of the Earth!" he cried.

The sight was astonishing. In the centre of a perfectly flat plain, a pearly sphere rotated on its own axis. It
was the size of an expensive house in Berkshire. And yet it gave the appearance of instability, as if it might
collapse in upon itself at any moment. It therefore had more in common with an expensive house in Essex.
Even as we watched, white forms descended from above and were drawn into the ball. I looked up and saw a
score of wispy figures plop through the stone ceiling and plummet toward the orb. With each new arrival, the
fragility of the structure increased and I feared for its integrity.

Because of my anxieties, it was some minutes before I noticed a man standing on a ladder which was
propped against the sphere. As it rolled, it threatened to hurl him off, but he kept his balance with panache.
Now I realised he held a net and seemed to be casting at the ghosts speeding into the orb. Zimara mumbled,
"He wasn't here when I came. I wonder what he's trying to do?" Striding to the base of the ladder, he shouted,
"Are you in need of any assistance?"

The man looked down and puffed out his cheeks. Then he descended to stand before us, removing his
tall hat and bowing low. He was dressed in Victorian garb, with bushy whiskers muffling his ears. The very
image of a northern industrialist, he fulfilled the role admirably when he opened his mouth to respond. He
spoke as if his consonants had been drenched in vinegar and wrapped in newspaper; his vowels were like
mushy peas. For a moment, I had the taste but not the meanings of his words. His smile was grimy with
pitch and lampblack.

"Mortals, eh? And what brings ye to these parts? Come to behold the demolition of Heaven, I guess?"

Zimara frowned. "We're innocent explorers. It's the sphere of souls we're interested in. I don't know
anything about Heaven. My companion is an Applied Eschatologist and I'm a lovable rogue. He wants to
measure it and take photographs for work."

"Applied Eschatology?" The man scratched his head. "Are there other kinds? Don't answer: it's too late
now to study the thing. It's about to collapse into a singularity..."

"I don't follow you. You mean to say it will vanish?" Zimara turned to me with a regretful gesture. The
man coiled up his net and offered his hand. "My name is Kingdom Noisette. Possibly you've heard of me? I
was one of the finest engineers in the Empire. Prince Albert himself praised my achievements. This is my
greatest work, my pièce de résistance, as they say in France." He ground his teeth and spat. "Scurvy
foreigners! Never trust 'em, I say. Smell of garlic and deception, they do!"

At last I broke my silence. "You built this cavern? Did you win any awards for it? What about the sun,
moon and escalator? How do they work? Did they cost much to install?"

He waved a dismissive hand. "Steam powers them all. As for finance, revenue from the colonies provided
ample funds: Africa, India, Australia and Wales bore the brunt. But these were straightforward projects. I was
referring to the phantom-ball as my masterpiece. That's the enterprise I had most difficulties with. It's why I
collaborated with that devil from across the sea. Gallic tyrant!"

"You made the sphere?" I was incredulous.

"Aye, together with my arch-rival. Well, we didn't build it so much as enable it to form itself. But now it's