"Ken MacLeod - Fall Revolution 04 - The Sky Road" - читать интересную книгу автора (MacLeod Ken)

alcohol-breath and weed-smoke. People were al-
ready dancing, swinging and swirling among the re-
maining stalls of the day's market. I caught glimpses
and greetings from various of my workmates, Jondo
and Druin and Machard and the rest, as they
whirled past in the throng with somebody who
might be their partner for the hour, or for the
night, or for longer.
For a moment, I felt intensely alone, and was
about to jump up and plunge in and seek out some-
one, anyone, who would take me even for one
dance. It was not normally this way; usually at such
occasions through the summer I had got lucky. Like
most of my fellow-workers, I was young and - of ne-
cessity - strong, and my vanity needed no flattery,
and we were most of us open-handed strangers, and
therefore welcome. But I was in a serious and ab-
stracted mood, the coming autumn's study already
casting its long shadow back, and in all that eve-
ning's gaiety I had not once made a woman laugh,
and my luck had fled.
She walked through that dense crowd as if it
wasn't there. I saw her before she saw me. Her long
black hair was caught around the temples by two
narrow braids; the tumbling waves of the rest
showed traces of auburn in the late sun. That
golden light and ruddy shadow defined her tanned
and flushed face: the large bright eyes, the high
cheekbones, the curve of her cheek and jaw, the red
lips. She wore a gown of plain green velvet that
seemed, and probably was, made to show off her
strong and well-endowed figure. Her gaze met mine,
and locked. Her eyes were large and a little slanted,
and they caught my glance like a trap.
There is, no doubt, some bodily basis for the
crude cartoon of such moments - the arrow
 THE SKY ROAD 3
through the heart. A sudden demand on the sugar
reserves of the cells, perhaps. It's more like a thorn
than an arrow, and passes in less than a second, but
it's there, that sharp, sweet stab.
A moment later she stood in front of me, looking
down at me quizzically, curiously, then she came to
some decision and sat down beside me on the cold
black marble. The hooves of the Deliverer's horse
reared above us. We stared at each other for a mo-
ment. My heart was hammering. She appeared
younger, more hesitant, than she'd seemed with her
first bold gaze. Her irises were golden-brown, ringed
with green-blue. I could see a faint spatter of freck-