"Stephen Palmer - The Green Realm Below" - читать интересную книгу автора (Palmer Stephen)

"They're only people, probably religious zealots who think they've found
the answer, just like those of the Temple of Dead Spirits, or of the
Goddess for that matter."
Awanshyva nodded, and a cruel smile came to his lips. "I do not recall
describing those of the secret societies as human."
Kytanquil said nothing. She had not considered the possibility of pyutons
inhabiting the depths of the Garden, but now it seemed obvious, since the
entire rotting green heart of Kray was inimical to human life. And this
might also explain the references to longevity...
She replied, "I don't think I want anything to do with this. Take me back
to the surface."
"Are you certain that is what you want?"
"Yes."
Awanshyva considered for a moment, then said, "Ah, so you wish to die
along with the city."
Kytanquil sighed. She wanted to live. She wanted to survive. The dilemma
that faced her was one of life and death. She wished she was somewhere
else, in a quiet, warm inn, with people she knew and a glass of baqa in
her hand.
"I'm not prepared to do dangerous things," she said. "These Slow People
might kill me. How can I live on a different time scale to the one
biologically programmed in me?"
"I see that I must show you more," Awanshyva remarked.
"More?"
"It was hoped that experience of the Slow People would be enough to
convince you of the importance of your task."
"And?"
"We must return to the Garden."
Kytanquil did not like the sound of this. "And then?"
"Another meeting. And then your decision."
They departed.

Back in Awanshyva's greenhouse, Kytanquil asked what would happen next. He
replied, "You have two choices. Either you journey into the heart of the
Garden and meet the secret society who charged me with bringing you here,
or one of them comes to meet you. The former option would be the best for
us all."
"I'll take the latter."
Without a word, Awanshyva turned to a panel of controls on one of the
planting benches. It glowed yellow under the warmth of his hands, causing
his wraparound shades to glitter with reflections like motes of sunlight.
She thought she heard him muttering under his breath, as if speaking to
it, but the patter of rain upon the panes above her head drowned out the
sound. Then he jerked his head up, as if he had heard a noise.
"One comes," he said.
Unnerved, Kytanquil said, "What, already?"
"It will be here soon."
Kytanquil did not like the sound of that it.
So they waited. After half an hour, red and green lights outside the
greenhouse indicated the arrival of guests. The rear door of the