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

"Forasmuch as it hath pleased Almighty God of His great mercy to take
unto
Himself the soul of Orlando Richards, here departed, we therefore
commit
his body to the ground. . . ."
As he read, the words became more than words: every one a weight that
had
to be lifted and laid, each a single stone in the solemn edifice he was
constructing. He came to the final prayer and, despite his aching
throat,
read it loudly, almost triumphantly. After the final amen, he heard,
far
off in the winter dawn -- for it was dawn now, although still so dark
that
he could distinguish no colours -- a cock crowing, the traditional end
to
a night of magic. Tolley blew out the candle and, with the blunt edge
of
his car key, inscribed the name Orlando Richards on the headstone.
Done.
 Every step was light on the frosty ground as he walked away from the
church. It was over, he thought, his hands trembling lightly with
relief.
Over. I've done my duty, atoned for what my great-grandfather did. As
he
skirted the trees and the ruined chimney of the manor house, the dog
came
bounding towards him, barking frantically, dancing around and running
back
towards the ruins, turning and barking. Tolley followed it.
"What is it, boy? Quiet now. Where's your master? Where -- "
And then he saw Gerald Beaumont.
The man's body was slumped in a tangle of briers at the base of the
great
chimney stack. The face was entirely gone, a mess of blood and bone,
but
Tolley recognised the Norfolk jacket, the checkered cap that lay a
little
way off.
He turned aside and vomited, though there was little to come. As he
straightened, wind blew around him out of nowhere, shaking the bare
branches of the surrounding trees. Tolley began to run, the dog at his
heels. Wind bent the frosty tufts of grass, whirled leaves into the
shape
of a human figure before collapsing and blowing on, always in front of
Tolley, who was now only stumbling as best he could, his terror leached
by
exhaustion. All he could think of were Marjory Beaumont's words about
female ghosts, that they were stronger than those of men. And their
hate