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

"Why do you tell me this?"
"Perhaps because I am a cat and it amuses me to be arbitrary and do you a good turn. I shall take the feather away with me and leave it at their window, concealed amid shrubs."
"I prowled last night after my walk," I said. "I was near your house beyond the hill. I saw Quicklime, the black snake who lives in the belly of the mad monk, Rastov. He rubbed against your doorpost, shedding scales."
"Ah! And why do you tell me this?"
"I pay my debts."
"There should not be debts between our folk."
"This is between us."
"You are a strange hound, Snuff."
"You are a strange cat, Graymalk."
"As it should be, I daresay."
And she was gone amid shadows. As it should be.




October 3


We walked again last night, and the master was hunting. He had donned his cloak and said to me, "Snuff, fetch!" And from the way he said it, I knew that it was the blade he required. I took it to him and we went out. Our luck was varied. That is, he obtained the ingredients he was after, but only with considerable turmoil and an inordinate passage of time. We were discovered near the end. I gave warning, and we had to flee. It was a long chase, till finally I hung back and nipped the other on the leg. We made good our escape, with the ingredients. As he was washing up later, Jack told me I was an excellent watchdog. I was very proud.
Later, he let me out to prowl. I checked Rastov's place, which was dark. Out and about business, I supposed. Lying behind a bush near Crazy Jill's, I could hear her chuckling within and talking to Graymalk.
They had already been out. The broom beside the rear entrance was still warm.
I was especially careful at Morris and MacCab's. Nightwind can be very potent after dark and could be anywhere.
I heard a small tittering from the nearly bare branches of a cherry tree. I sniffed the air, but Nightwind's gritty signature was not on it. There was something else, though.
The small laughter — so high-pitched a human might not hear it — came again.
"Who's there?" I asked.
A cluster of leaves unrolled itself from the tree and darted down, stitching the air at blinding speeds about my head.
"Another who watches," came its tiny voice.
"The neighborhood is getting crowded," I said. "You may call me Snuff. What may I call you?"
"Needle," it replied. "Whom do you serve?"
"Jack," I answered. "And yourself?"
"The Count," it said.
"Do you know whether Morris and MacCab found their ingredients?"
"Yes," it replied. "Do you know whether the crazy woman found hers?"
"I'm pretty sure she did."
"So she is abreast of us. Still, it is early. . . ."
"When did the Count join the Game?"
"Two nights ago," it said.
"How many players are there?"
"I don't know," it answered. Then it soared high and was gone.
Life was suddenly even more complicated, and I'd no way of knowing whether they were openers or closers.
As I made my way back I felt that I was being watched. But whoever it was, was very, very good. I could not spot him, so I took a long, long way about. He left me later to follow another. I hurried home to report.




October 4


Rainy day. Windy, too. I made my rounds.
"Up yours, cur."