"Martha Wells - Wheel of the Infinite" - читать интересную книгу автора (Wells Martha)

She leaned over it in time to see him catch an old net that hung over the side and swing down to drop
into the water washing over the lower floor.
The gallery audience roared, the leader and her lieutenants shouting and cursing as they ran for the
railing.
 Down on the floor below, the waving mass of combatants broke into little whirling eddies. In the
instant of stillness she saw several rivermen with knives or bori clubs surrounding the one man armed with
a sword. The blade flashed and the rivermen scattered.
Perhaps it was the rivermen who were trapped now and not the traveller. Bemused, Maskelle
watched the leaping, dodging figures. It was like a game, or an entertainment so primitive it looked like
violence to eyes long accustomed to the sophistication of Ariaden or kiradi theater. The prisoner wasn’t
wielding that blade with deadly intent yet; the plank floor below was awash in dirty water as the rising
river encroached on the lower level of the outpost, but not high enough to conceal the dead bodies that
would surely be sprawled there if he was. Maskelle knew if he killed some of them that would only fire
the others to more fury; it was all or nothing. She was a little surprised he recognized that as well. The
crowd pressed in again, trying to rush him, but their nerve failed and they splashed away.
“Well, Sister, where’s our blessing?” the leader demanded, trying to recover her control of the
situation.
Maskelle tried to decide just which invocation would annoy the Ancestors the most. The Great
Opening, the signal part of the Year Rite, would get their immediate attention and hearing the words of it
on her lips should elicit the quickest response. She turned away from the railing and stepped up onto the
platform, clearing her mind.
As Maskelle faced the room and lifted her staff above her head, the raiders’ leader called out,
“Attend to the nun, you bastards!” She grinned derisively around at her companions. “She’s going to give
us a blessing!”
Some of the raiders turned toward this new diversion, but most were too occupied by the fighting to
listen. A man almost too drunk to stand on his feet staggered up on the platform muttering, “Kill the
Koshan bitch—”
Maskelle swung her staff down and around, slamming him in the chest and sending him crashing
backward off the platform. That got their attention.
The shouts and drunken roaring died away. Into the relative quiet Maskelle said, “I am the Voice of
the Adversary.”
She hadn’t spoken loudly, but her words carried across the room. There were gasps and outcries,
proving that some of the raiders at least were among the devout. One quick thinker turned and dived out
the nearest window. The leader stared around, baffled and angry.
Maskelle spoke the first words of the Great Opening. This was too much presumption for the myriad
forces of the Infinite to ignore. All the lamps in this half of the chamber flickered and died.
In the sudden darkness Maskelle swung around to the cargo doors and with the end of her staff threw
the latch up.
The doors flew open and wind-driven rain rushed in. There were shrieks and shouts as the rivermen
began to panic, shoving and pushing. Maskelle stepped quickly to the crane’s counterweight, drawing the
little knife she used for cutting fruit. It was too small for the job, but she slashed at the half-rotted ropes
until suddenly the counterweight dropped.
The reaction was more violent than she had anticipated. The counterweight smashed right through the
floorboards, knocking her backwards. The arm swung and toppled, taking the railing, part of the gallery,
and a dozen yelling river-men with it.
“I meant to do that,” Maskelle muttered to herself, stumbling to her feet. The raiders must think the
post was under attack by hostile river spirits. They were pouring out the door Maskelle had entered by,
blocking it, fighting and snarling like rats. Then a figure tore away from the other panicked, shoving
bodies and charged toward her, bori club upraised.
 It was the leader. Maskelle met her with the end of her staff, catching the woman a hard blow in the