"Michael Scott Rohan - Chase the Morning" - читать интересную книгу автора (Rohan Michael Scott)

himself.
He almost dropped the jug when he saw me, and all but overturned his
table leaping out. "Steve! Told you you'd be back, you hoot-owl! Hey, sit
down, have a beer -hell, I gotta get to work, you know, we can't make tonight
that party I promised you, dammit - but we've still got time for a beer - or
maybe two beers, or three -' When he'd pounded what little breath I had out of
me I managed to break in and let him know I'd something to tell him, something
serious. He insisted on getting me beer before I started; but when he heard
about the raid on the office he almost choked on his.
'ObeahF Ouanga? Yeah, I heard of those all right. I've sailed those
waters, once or twice. And Mazanxas...' His face wrinkled up as if at some
disgusting smell. 'Them and the Zobops and the Vlinblindingues. They're bad
news. They're secret societies, brotherhoods of cunning men, warlocks,
sorcerers - bokors, they call them. Powerful brotherhoods. And ouanga's just
their style.'
'Great. And just what the hell sort of voodoo is this ouanga?'
He shrugged. 'You said it.'
I swallowed my mouthful very carefully. *You mean - it really is voodoo?'
He spread his hands. 'Well - not exactly. Voodoo now, I can guess what you'd
think about it, but truth is it's a faith like any other - still a mite rough
at the edges, maybe. Worshippers dance 'emselves into a trance, call down
their gods to possess them - but Christians, Jews, way I hear it is they were
all doin' that once. Kind of a stage faith goes through, maybe; I'm no
scholard. Only there's good and bad in any faith. S'pose ... suppose it was a
stone in the ground, okay, and you turn it over? What's underneath, darkness
and things crawling - that. That's ouanga.'
I said nothing, and he nodded to himself. 'Kind of like devil-worship is
to us, I guess - only there's a lot more of it about. Plain voodoo, now, it's
a little wild, maybe, but its gods or spirits - loas, they're called -they're
mostly good guys, or neutral at least. But the worst of these bokors, they
worship with different rites, rites of blood and wrath. They call down
different loas -real bastards, mean, destructive, maneaters, the lot. Only
- funny thing, this - they're called by pretty much the
same names. As if the rites could somehow twist their
natures right about. All got their good counterparts
save one, and he's the one the rites are named for - a
shadowy type called Don Pedro. Not a nice guy, by all
accounts.'
I started; but Jyp, still thinking hard, didn't seem to notice. 'So yeah,
it sounds like some kind of voodoo guys turned you over. But who - or whether
it had anything to do with the other night - it's beyond me, Steve! I can't
guess. If it'd been round here now, this raid, I'd have said yeah, it might've
been the Wolves handing out a warning
- or just their little bit of fun. It's from down that way the
bastards stem, same as most of the Iskander's cargo; and
they'll follow any god who's as big a stinker as they are.
But on the other side of town - the everyday side, the
Core? Hell, no! I just can't believe it, Steve! The Pack'd
never stray so far in - never! What's to make them?
Greed, fear, those are the things drive their breed