"Karl Edward Wagner - Kane 05 - Night Winds" - читать интересную книгу автора (Wagner Karl Edward)

all the while." Sniffling in the cool air, be pushed his rotund bulk between
the narrow aisles, careful to avoid the stained and filthy shrouds. Looming
over his guide, the cloaked figure followed in silence.
Low-flamed lamps cast dismal light across the necrotorium, of Carsultyal.
Smouldering braziers spewed fitful, heavy fumed clouds of clinging incense
that merged with the darkness and the stones and the decay--its cloying
sweetness more nauseating than the stench of death it embraced. Through the
thick gloom echoed the monotonous drip-drip-drip of melting ice, at times
chorused suggestively by some heavier splash. The municipal morgue was crowded
tonight--as always. Only a few of its hundred or more slate beds stood dark
and bare; the others all displayed anonymous shapes bulging beneath blotched
sheets--some protruding at curious angles, as if these restless dead struggled
to burst free of the coarse folds. Night now hung over Carsultyal, but within
this windowless subterranean chamber it was always night. In shadow pierced
only by the sickly flame of funereal lamps, the nameless dead of Carsultyal
lay unmourned--waited the required interval of time for someone to claim them,
else to be carted off to some unmarked communal grave beyond the city walls.
"Here, I believe," announced the custodian. "Yes. I'll just get a lamp."
"Show me," demanded a voice from within the hood.
The portly official glanced at the other uneasily. There was an aura of power,
of blighted majesty about the cloaked figure that boded ill in arrogant
Carsultyal, whose clustered, star-reaching towers were whispered to be
overawed by cellars whose depths plunged farther still. "Light's poor back
here," he protested, drawing back the tattered shroud.
The visitor cursed low in his throat--an inhuman sound touched less by grief
than feral rage.
The face that stared at them with too wide eyes had been beautiful in life; in
death it was purpled, bloated, contorted in pain. Dark blood stained the tip
of her protruding tongue, and her neck seemed bent at an unnatural angle. A
gown of light-colored silk was stained and disordered. She lay supine, hands
clenched into tight fists at her side.
"The city guard found her?" repeated the visitor in a harsh voice.
"Yes, just after nightfall. In the park overlooking the harbor. She was
hanging from a branch--there in the grove with all the white flowers every
spring. Must have just happened--said her body was warm as life, though
there's a chill to the sea breeze tonight. Looks like she done it
herself--climbed out on the branch, tied the noose, and jumped off. Wonder why
they do it--her as pretty a young thing as I've seen brought in, and took well
care of, too."
The stranger stood in rigid silence, staring at the strangled girl.
"Will you come back in the morning to claim her, or do you want to wait
upstairs?" suggested the custodian.
"I'll take her now."
The plump attendant fingered the gold coin his visitor had tossed him a short
time before. His lips tightened in calculation. Often there appeared at the
necrotorium those who wished to remove bodies clandestinely for strange and
secret reasons--a circumstance which made lucrative this disagreeable office.
"Can't allow that," he argued. "There's laws and forms--you shouldn't even be
here at this hour. They'll be wanting their questions answered. And there's
fees..."