"Brian Lumley - A Coven Of Vampires" - читать интересную книгу автора (Lumley Brian)

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of his head, 'are members of a little-known, er, religious sect. We have a ceremony to perform and
would appreciate it if you two gentlemen would remain quiet during the proceedings . . .' I heard
him out and nodded my head in understanding and agreement - I am a tolerant person - but Jock was
of a different mind.
'Sect?' he said sharply. 'Ceremony?' He shook his head in disgust. 'Well; Ah'm a member o' the
Church o' Scotland and Ah'll tell ye noo - Ah'll hae no truck wi' bleddy heathen ceremonies . . .'
Funny-Mouth had been sitting ram-rod straight, saying not a word, doing nothing, but now he turned
to look at Jock, his eyes narrowing to mere slits; above them, his eyebrows meeting in a black
frown of disapproval.
'Er, perhaps it would be better,' said Pin-Stripe hastily, leaning across the narrow aisle towards
Funny-Mouth as he noticed the change in that person's attitude, 'if they, er, went to sleep . . .
'
This preposterous statement or question, which caused Jock to peer at its author in blank
amazement and me to wonder what on earth he was babbling about, was directed at Funny-Mouth who,
without taking his eyes off Jock's outraged face, nodded in agreement.
I do not know what happened then - it was as if I had been suddenly unplugged - I was asleep, yet
not asleep - in a trance-like condition full of strange impressions and mind-pictures - abounding
in unpleasant and realistic sensations, with dimly-recollected snatches of previously absorbed
information floating up to the surface of my conscious mind, correlating themselves with the
strange people in the railway compartment with me . . .
And in that dream-like state my brain was still very active; possibly fully active. All my senses
were still working; I could hear the clatter of the wheels and smell the acrid tang of burnt
tobacco from the compartment's ash-trays. I saw Moustache produce a folding table from the rack
above his head - saw him open it and set it up in the aisle, between Funny-Mouth and himself on
their side and Pin-Stripe and his companion on my side - saw the designs upon it, designs
suggestive of the more exotic work of Chandler Davies, and wondered at their purpose. My head must
have fallen back until it rested in the corner of the gently rocking compartment, for I saw all
these things without having to move my eyes; indeed, I doubt very much if I could have moved my
eyes and do not remember making any attempt to do so.
I saw that book - a queerly bound volume bearing its title, The Tuscan Rituals, in archaic, burnt-
in lettering on its thick spine - produced by Pin-Stripe and opened reverently to lie on that
ritualistic table, displayed so that all but Funny-Mouth, Jock, and I could make out its
characters. But Funny-Mouth did not seem in the least bit interested in the proceedings. He gave
me the impression that he had seen it all before, many times . . .
Knowing I was dreaming - or was I? - I pondered that title, The Tuscan Rituals. Now where had I
heard of such a book or books before? The feel of it echoed back into my subconscious, telling me
I recognized that title - but in what connection?
I could see Jock, too, on the fixed border of my sphere of vision, lying with his head lolling
towards Funny-Mouth -in a trance similar to my own, I imagined - eyes staring at the drawn blinds
on the compartment windows. I saw the lips of Pin-Stripe, out of the corner of my right eye, and
those of Moustache, moving in almost perfect rhythm and imagined those of Other - as I had named
the fourth who was completely out of my periphery of vision - doing the same, and heard the low
and intricate liturgy which they were chanting in unison.
Liturgy? Tuscan rituals? Now what dark 'God' was this they worshipped? . . . And what had made
that thought spring to my dreaming or hypnotized mind? And what was Moustache doing now?
He had a bag and was taking things from it, laying them delicately on the ceremonial table. Three
items in all; in one corner of the table, that nearest Funny-Mouth. Round cakes of wheat-bread in
the shape of wheels with ribbed spokes. Now who had written about offerings of round cakes of- . .