"William Gibson, Bruce Sterling "The difference engine"" - читать интересную книгу автора They left. She hung on his arm, trying to slow his pace. "
'Adventurer,' that's what you are, then, eh, Mr. Mick Radley?" "So I am, Sybil," he said softly, "and you're to be my 'prentice. So you do as you're told in the proper humble spirit. Learn the tricks of craft. And someday you join the union, eh? The guild." "Like my father, eh? You want to make a play of that, Mick? Who he was, who I am?" "No," Mick said flatly. "He was old-fashioned, he's nobody now." Sybil smirked. "They let us wicked girls into this fancy guild of yours, do they, Mick?" "It's a knowledge guild," he said soberly. "The bosses, the big'uns, they can take all manner of things away from us. With their bloody laws and factories and courts and banks . . . They can make the world to their pleasure, they can take away your home and kin and even the work you do . . . " Mick shrugged angrily, his lean shoulders denting the heavy fabric of the greatcoat. "And even rob a hero's daughter of her virtue, if I'm not too bold in speaking of it." He pressed her hand against his sleeve, a hard, trapping grip. "But they can't ever take what you know, now can they, Sybil? They can't ever take that." Sybil heard Hetty's footsteps in the hall outside her room, and the rattle of Hetty's key at the door. She let the serinette die down, with a high-pitched drone. Hetty tugged the snow-flaked woollen bonnet from her head, shrugging free from her Navy cloak. She was another of Mrs. Winterhalter's girls, a in her way, and always kind to Toby. Sybil folded away the china-handled crank and lowered the cheap instrument's scratched lid. "I was practicing. Mrs. Winterhalter wants me to sing next Thursday." "Bother the old drab," Hetty said. "Thought this was your night out with Mr. C. Or is it Mr. K.?" Hetty stamped warmth into her feet before the narrow little hearth, then noticed, in the lamplight, the scattering of shoes and hat-boxes from Aaron & Son. "My word," she said, and smiled, her broad mouth pinched a bit with envy. "New beau, is it? You're so lucky, Sybil Jones!" "Perhaps." Sybil sipped hot lemon-cordial, tilling her head back to relax her throat. Hetty winked. "Winterhalter doesn't know about this one, eh?" Sybil shook her head and smiled. Hetty would not tell. "D'ye know anything about Texas, Hetty?" "A country in America," Hetty said readily. "French own it, don't they?" "That's Mexico. Would you like to go to a kinotrope show, Hetty? The former President of Texas is lecturing. I've tickets, free for the taking." "When?" "Saturday." "I'm dancing then," Hetty said. "Perhaps Mandy would go." She blew warmth into her fingers. "Friend of mine comes by late tonight, wouldn't trouble you, would it?" "No," Sybil said. Mrs. Winterhalter had a strict rule against any girl |
|
|