"Paul J. McAuley - Inheritance" - читать интересную книгу автора (Mcauley Paul J)

of
the manor house. He froze, his blood knocking heavily in every corner
of
his body: but it was only the Beaumonts' dog. It came towards him
uncertainly, its tail low.
"Good boy," Tolley said. "Where's your owner, huh?"
The dog whined, then started towards the trees; when it saw that Tolley
wasn't following, it danced back, barking. Tolley called again.
"Beaumont!"
Night. Silence. Tolley's breath plumed in the air.
And then he heard, faint and far off, a harsh squealing, metal on
metal.
Every hair on the back of his neck rose as a kind of tide of coldness
swept across his skin. He turned and saw, against the advancing light
of
dawn, a black figure on top of the embankment. It was still for a
moment,
then seemed to swoop down the steep slope, moving as swiftly as a
gliding
bird. Already, Tolley's line of retreat was cut off; he turned and
began
to run, the dog following for a moment before breaking back towards the
trees.
Tolley ran on, breathing hard and hardly daring to look back, nothing
in
his head but the thudding of his pulse and the blind imperative to
flee,
flee before the thing was upon him. He blundered through the church
gate,
gravel scattering under his flying feet. The door, the door. . . .
It gave. Tolley stumbled through and leaned against it. A great wind
got
up around the church, howling and howling, rattling the panes of
stained
glass. Tolley fumbled inside his coat for a book of matches and, by the
light of one, found the door's iron bolt and pushed it home just as
something crashed into the door on the other side. The wind was even
louder now: the hardboard that had patched the broken window flew in
with
a clatter, and a thick stench of burning began to fill the dark space
of
the church. The match stung Tolley's fingers. He dropped it and
instantly
lit another. To be alone in the dark was intolerable.
Whatever was on the other side of the door began to turn the handle
back
and forth. Tolley retreated, and something struck the back of his knees
before toppling to the stone flags. Tolley struck another match. A
bench.
A pile of little books that had been stacked on one end spilled at his