"A. E. Van Vogt - Slan" - читать интересную книгу автора (Van Vogt A E)

cooking. And it fooled you, didn't it? She knew it would. Granny'll look after you. Granny
hates the police, too.'
With a gasp of dismay, Jommy recognized the mind of the rapacious old woman who had
clutched at him as he ran from John Petty's car. That one fleeting glimpse had impressed the
evil old one on his brain. And now, so much of horror breathed from her, so hideous were
her intentions, that he gave a little squeal and kicked out at her.
The heavy stick in her free hand came down on his head even as he realized for the first
time that she had such a weapon. The blow was mind-wrecking. His muscles jerked in
spasmodic frenzy. His body slumped to the ground.
He felt his hands being tied, and then he was half lifted, half dragged for several feet.
Finally he was hoisted onto a rickety old wagon, and covered with clothes that smelled of
horse sweat, oil and garbage cans.
The wagon moved over the rough pavement of the back alley, and above the rattling of
the wheels Jommy caught the old woman's snarl. 'What a fool Granny would have been to
let them catch you. Ten thousand reward -- Bah! I'd never have gotten a cent. Granny
knows the world. Once she was a famous actress, now she's a junk woman. They'd never
give a hundred dollars, let alone a hundred hundred, to an old rag and bone picker. Bah on
the whole lot! Granny'll show them what can be done with a young slan. Granny'll make a
huge fortune from the little devil -- '




Chapter Two


There was that little boy again, who had once been friendly, and was now so nasty. And
she sensed several other boys were with him.
Kathleen Layton stiffened defensively, then relaxed. There was no escape from them
where she stood at the five-hundred-foot battlements of the palace. But it should be easy,
after these long years as the only slan among so many hostile beings, to face anything, even
what Davy Dinsmore, age eleven, had suddenly become.
She wouldn't turn. She wouldn't give them any intimation that she knew they were
coming along the broad, glass-enclosed promenade. Rigidly, she held her mind away from
the minds of the approaching gang of youngsters. She must keep right on looking at the
city, as if they weren't there.
The city sprawled in the near distance before her, a vast reach of houses and buildings,
their countless colorations queerly shadowed now and subdued, seemingly dead in the
gathering twilight. Beyond, the green plain looked dark, and the normally blue, gushing
water of the river that wound out of the city seemed blacker, shiningless, in that almost
sunless world. Even the mountains on the remote, dimming horizon had taken on a somber
hue, a grim moodiness that matched the melancholy in her own soul.
'Ya-a-ah! You better take a good look. It's your last.'
The discordant voice rasped on her nerves like so much senseless noise. For a moment,
so strong was the suggestion of completely unintelligible sounds, the meaning of the words
did not penetrate to her consciousness. And then, in spite of herself, she jerked around to
face him.
'My last! What do you mean?'
Instantly, she regretted her action. Davy Dinsmore and his cronies stood there less than a
dozen feet away. He had on long, thin, green trousers, and a yellow shirt open at the neck.