"Michael Swanwick - Cold Iron" - читать интересную книгу автора (Swanwick Michael)

This was more terrifying than threats would have been, for it made no sense at all. Jane stared up at
Blugg uncomprehendingly.

He laid his hands on her shoulders, turned her around slowly. "You've been working for me how long?
Why, it's been years, hasn't it? How time has flown. You're getting to be a big little girl, aren't you?
Perhaps it's time you were promoted. I'm going to put in for a Clerk-Messenger Three. How would you
like that?"

"Sir?"

"Don't sir me! It's a simple enough question." He looked at her oddly, then sniffed the air again. "Pfaugh!
You're bleeding. Why haven't you kept yourself clean?"

"Bleeding?" she said blankly.

Blugg pointed down at her leg with a fat, blunt finger. "There." Jane looked down. There was blood
trickling down her calf. She could feel it now, itching all the way down from her thigh.

This final indignity broke her delicately maintained control. The sudden, sorcerous appearance of blood
from some previously unsuspected wound ruptured the membrane holding back all her fear and
apprehension. She began to cry.

"Oh, shit." Blugg made a face. "Why does all this crap always happen to me?" Disgusted, he waved her
to the door. "Go on! Go straight to the nurse's station and do whatever she tells you."

***

"Congratulations," the nurse said. "You're a woman now."

The nurse was a sour old creature with piggy eyes, a pointed nose, and two donkey's ears. She showed
Jane how to fold a sanitary napkin, and what to do with it. Then she delivered a memorized lecture on
personal hygiene, gave her two aspirins and sent her back to the dormitory.
Rooster was there already. He lay delirious upon his bed, head swathed in bandages. "He's going to lose
his left eye," Dimity said. "That's if he lives. They said if he doesn't die tonight, he'll probably be okay."

Jane timidly touched Rooster's shoulder, though she could scarcely bear doing so. His skin was pale as
wax, and cold. "Fly the friendly skies," he mumbled, lost in some faraway delirium. "Join the Pepsi
generation." Jane snatched her hand away from him, as if scorched.

"I'm taking care of him. So don't you interfere." Dimity smoothed the blanket down fussily. There was a
defiant edge to her voice. When she was done, she leaned back, hands on hips, waiting for Jane to
challenge her. Then, when Jane did not, she smiled meanly. "Time for you to go to bed. Isn't it?"

Jane nodded and went to her corner.

The grimoire was waiting for her. The shadow-boy had left it under her folded blanket as instructed. She
undressed slowly, managing to spread out the blanket and slip beneath without exposing the book. When
she put her arms around it, she experienced a tingling sensation, like a low-voltage electrical current
running through her. It made her feel strange.