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

In the confusion, Jane made good her escape. She was back at her bench in a minute, hastily pulling on
her gloves. Maybe Blugg hadn't really seen her. Maybe he'd forgotten her in all the excitement.

"Did you get them?" Smidgeon whispered. For a second Jane couldn't imagine what she was talking
about. Then she remembered, nodded, and spat out the stolen nail parings into her hand. Smidgeon took
them and passed them down the line to Lumpbockle who palmed them off to Little Dick, and from there
Jane lost track. She scooped some emery powder into the palm of her glove. Back to work. That was
the safest course.

To the far side of the factory, Rooster's still body was being carted away. Leather-helmeted spriggans
ran about, dousing small fires the molten metal had started. Water sizzled and gushed into steam. A
scorched smell filled the air.

Over it all rumbled the Sand Slinger's laughter, like thunder.

***

Blugg descended upon the workbench, face black with rage. He slammed his hand on the table so hard
the emery trays jumped. "Stand up, damn you!" he shouted. "Stand when I'm talking to you!"

They scrambled to their feet.
"You vile little pieces of shit. You worthless, miserable . . . " He didn't seem able to compose his
thoughts. "Who put Rooster up to this? That's what I want to know. Who? Eh?" He seized Smidgeon in
one enormous hand and hauled the wretched creature struggling off her feet. "Tell me!" He twisted her
ear until she whimpered.

"I-I think he did it himself, sir. He's always been a wild one."

"Bah!" Blugg contemptuously flung Smidgeon down, and turned on Jane. His face swelled up before her,
as large and awful as the moon. Jane could smell his sweat, not the fine, clean astringency of a Rooster or
a shadow-boy, but the strong, sour smell of an adult male. She smelled his breath, too, sweet with
corruption. He had yellow little stumps of teeth, black where the gums drew away from them. A bit of
rotten meat caught between two of his teeth mesmerized Jane. She could not look away.

"You—" he began. Then, shaking his head bullishly, he drew back and addressed them all: "You think
you can ruin my career, don't you?" They were too fearful to speak.

"Well, I have news for you! I'm not some dickless wonder you can fuck over anytime you feel like. You
make things hard on me, and I'll make things hard on you. I'll make things harder on you than you could
ever imagine!"

He bent over, turning sideways, and pointed to his own rump. "When you make trouble, Management is
going to land on me right here, get that? And if they land on me here, I'm going to land on you here too."
Every time he said here, he waggled his backside and jabbed his forefinger at it; it would have been
funny, if it weren't so frightening. "Do you read me?"

They stood trembling and silent before him.

"I said: Do you read me!"