"Brian Lumley - Born Of The Winds" - читать интересную книгу автора (Lumley Brian)

Just why this determination to dabble should have so enthused me I still cannot say; unless it was the
way that Tha-thka, which Being Bridgeman had equated with Ithaqua, was shown upon the Toros
Mountains tablet as walking splay-footed through a curious mixture of cumulonimbus and nimbostratus –
cloud formations which invariably presage snow and violent thunderstorms! The ancient sculptor of that
tablet had certainly gauged the Wind-Walker’s domain well, giving the mythical creature something of
solidity in my mind, though it was still far easier for me to accept those peculiar clouds of ill omen than the
Being striding among them …




II
It was something of a shock for me to discover, when finally I thought to look at my wristwatch, that
Bridgeman’s books had kept me busy all through the afternoon and it was now well into evening. I found
that my eyes had started to ache with the strain of reading as it grew darker in the small library room. I
put on the light and would have returned to the books yet again but for hearing, at the outer door of the
house, a gentle knocking. The library door was slightly ajar so that I could hear the judge answering the
knocking and his gruff welcome. I was sure that the voice that answered him was that of Bridgeman’s
widow, for it was vibrant with a nervous agitation as the visitor entered the house and went with the judge
to his study. Well, I had desired to meet her; this seemed the perfect opportunity to introduce myself.

Yet at the open door to the judge’s study I paused, then quickly stepped back out of sight. It seemed
that my host and his visitor were engaged in some sort of argument. He had just answered to some
unheard question: “Notme , my dear, that is out of the question … But if you insist upon this folly, than
I’m sure I can find someone to help you. God knows I’d come with you myself – even on this
wild-goose chase you propose, and despite the forecast of heavy snow – but … my dear, I’m an old
man. My eyes are no good any more; my limbs are no longer as strong as they used to be. I’m afraid that
this old body might let you down at the worst possible time. It’s bad country north of here when the
snows come.”

“Is it simply that, Jason,” she answered him in her nervous voice, “or is it really that you believe I’m a
madwoman? That’s what you as good as called me when I was here earlier.”

“You must forgive me for that, Lucille, but let’s face it – that story you tell is simply …fantastic! There’s
no positive proof that the boy headed this way at all, just this premonition of yours.”

“The story I told you was the truth, Jason! As for my ‘premonition’, well, I’ve brought you proof! Look
at this –”

There was a pause before the judge spoke again. Quietly he asked, “But what is this thing, Lucille? Let
me get my glass. Hmm – I can see that it depicts –”

“No!” her cry, shrill and loud, cut him off. “No, don’t mentionThem, and please don’t say His name!”
The hysterical emphasis she placed on certain words was obvious, but she sounded calmer when, a few
seconds later, she continued: “As for what it is –”HiHHI heard a metallic clinking, like a coin dropped on
the tabletop, “just keep it here in the house. You will see for yourself. It was discovered clenched in
Sam’s right hand when they – when they found his poor, broken body.”

“All that was twenty years ago –” the judge said, then paused again before asking: “Is it gold?”