"Zelazny, Roger - A Night In The Lonesome October" - читать интересную книгу автора (Zelazny Roger)

October 1

Made the circuits. The thing in the Circle changed shapes, finally making itself look like a lady dog of attractive person and very friendly disposition. But I was not fooled into breaking the Circle. It didn't have the smell part down yet.
"Nice try," I told it.
"You'll get yours, mutt," it said.
I walked past the various mirrors. The Things locked in them gibbered and writhed. I showed them my teeth and they writhed away.
The Thing in the Steamer Trunk pounded on the sides and hissed and sputtered when it became aware of my sniffing about. I snarled. It hissed again. I growled. It shut up.
I made my way to the attic then and checked out the Thing in the Wardrobe. It was scratching on the sides when I entered but grew still as I approached.
"How's everything inside?" I asked.
"Be a lot better if someone could be persuaded to turn the key with his paws."
"Better for you maybe."
"I could find you lots of great bones — big ones, fresh, juicy, lots of meat on them."
"I just ate, thanks."
"What _do_ you want?"
"Nothing special just now."
"Well, I want out. Figure what it's worth to you and let's talk."
"You'll get your chance, by and by."
"I don't like waiting."
"Tough."
"Up yours, hound."
"Tsk, tsk," I replied, and I went away when it began using more abusive language.
I went back downstairs, then passed through the library, smelling its musty volumes and incense, spices, herbs, and other interesting matters, on my way to the parlor, whence I stared out the window at the day. Watching, of course. That is my job.




October 2


We took a walk last night, acquiring mandrake root in a field far from here at the place of a killing by somebody else. The master wrapped it in silk and took it to his work space direct. I could hear him engage in good-natured banter with the Thing in the Circle. Jack has a long list of ingredients, and things must be done properly on schedule.
The cat Graymalk came slinking about, pussyfoot, peering in our windows. Ordinarily, I have little against cats. I can take them or leave them, I mean. But Graymalk belongs to Crazy Jill who lives over the hill, in towards town, and Graymalk was spying for her mistress, of course. I growled to let her know she had been spotted.
"About your watching early, faithful Snuff," she hissed.
"About your spying early," I responded, "Gray."
"We have our tasks."
"We do."
"And so it has begun."
"It has."
"Goes it well?"
"So far. And you?"
"The same. I suppose it is easiest simply to ask this way, for now."
". . . But cats are sneaky," I added.
She tossed her head, raised a paw and studied it.
"There are certain pleasures to be had in lurking."
"For cats," I said.
". . . And certain knowledges gained."
"Such as . . . ?"
"I am not the first come calling here today. My predecessor left traces. Are you aware of this, faithful watcher?"
"No," I replied. "Who was it?"
"The owl, Nightwind, consort of Morris and MacCab. I saw him flee at dawn, found a feather out back. The feather is tainted with mummy dust, to do you ill."