"Barry B. Longyear - The Hangingstone Rat" - читать интересную книгу автора (Longyear Barry)

Everyone expects British sheriffs to look like Basil Rathbone.”

“Sorry?” I said. “Cranberries?”

“A Thanksgiving reference. U.S. holiday? Turkey and giblets? Forget
it.”

I glanced at Shad. “Legend has it that a seventeenth-century mayor of
Okehampton was hanged on Hangingstone Hill.”

“They must’ve brought their own gibbet with them,” said Shad as he
changed heading a few degrees south. “Look at the hills around here. Not a
tree in sight. Okay,” he relented, “why’d they hang him?”

“Stealing sheep.”

“They gave him the rope on a mutton rap? Tough town.”

“I’m certain the mayor represented the charges against him as being
politically motivated.”

“So that’s where that came from.”

“Indeed, but it wasn’t only the mayor’s body that was sentenced. His
spirit was sentenced to empty with a sieve Cranmere Pool—that’s at the
west foot of Hangingstone.”

“Now that’s hard time.”

“Not at all,” I said. “The clever fellow lined his sieve with sheepskin
and proceeded to empty the thing. Cranmere Pool has no water in it.”

“So he beat the rap?”

“Not quite. The punishment was altered to having to weave the sand
at the bottom of the pool into a rope. Poor fellow’s still at it, I imagine.” I
again looked for the constabulary electric. “Shad, I still do not see a car.”

“Nothing on the instruments,” he responded. “The scene analyzer
beacon is located on the northwest side of the hill. What’s that hut down
there?”

Directly in front of us was a high hill with gentle slopes. On its north
end were the remains of a stone shack, its shed roof partially collapsed.
“That’s an old artillery observation post. For centuries this end of the moor
was an artillery range. Incidentally, ducks, the army still advises hikers not to
pick up any curiosities they might find out here.”

“Souvenir go boom; important safety tip.”