"Myst - 01 - The Book Of Atrus" - читать интересную книгу автора (Miller Rand)

before the caravan was due he would dream of them night and day, conjuring them
up in his mind; imagining himself cloaked and hooded, up on the back of one of
the great beasts, leaving with them. Off into the greater world.

Of those dreams he told his grandmother nothing. No. For he knew how she
fretted; worrying that one of the more unscrupulous traders might come in the
night and take him, to sell him into slavery in the markets of the south. And so
he hid when she said hide, and held his tongue about the dreams, lest he add to
her worries.

Right now the boys eyes were focused on the face of one of the eight men: one he
often studied-a dark man with a narrow head, his features sharp and curved
within the hood of his jet black cloak, his beard trimmed close to'his cheeks.

Studying the halted caravan, the boy noted the changes since they had last
passed by. They had nineteen camels now-two more than last time. This and other,
smaller signs-new necklaces on several of the camels, small items of jewelry on
the wrists and about the necks of the men, the heavier lading of the camels
revealed that trade was good right now. Not only that, but the ease of the men
spoke volumes. As they haggled with his grandmother, the boy noted how they
laughed, revealing small, discolored teeth. Teeth that, perhaps, evidenced an
addiction to the sweet things they sold.

He watched, taking it all in, knowing that his grandmother would ask him later.

What did you see, Atrus?

I saw ...

He saw the one with the knifelike face turn to his camel and, reaching across
the ornate and bulging saddlebag, take a small cloth sack from within a strange,
hemispherical wicker basket. The sack seemed to move and then settle.

Atrus adjusted his glasses, certain that he had imagined that movement, then
looked again, in time to see his grandmother place the sack upon the pile of
other things she'd bartered for. For a brief while longer he watched, then, when
it showed no sign of moving, looked to his grandmother.

Anna stood facing the eldest of the traders, her gaunt yet handsome face several
shades lighter than his, her fine gray hair tied back into a bun at the nape of
her neck. The hood of her cloak was down, as was his, their heads exposed to the
fierce, late afternoon heat, but she did not seem to mind. Such she did
deliberately, to convince the traders of her strength and self-reliance. Yes,
and suffered for it, too, for even an hour out in that burning sun was more than
enough, not to speak of the long walk back, laden down with heavy sacks of salt
and flour and rolls of cloth, and other items she'd purchased.

And he lay here, hidden, impotent to help.

It was easier, of course, now that he could help her tend the garden and repair