James P. Hogan Giants 2 The Gentle Giants of Ganymede
James Clavell Asian Saga 03 King Rat
James Patterson Alex Cross 05 Pop Goes the Weasel
James Alan Gardner [League Of Peoples 03] Vigilant
James Axler Deathlands 044 Crucible of Time
Computer Viruses The Technology and Evolution of an Artificial Life Form
Norton Andre Pani Krainy Mgiel
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Baxter Mary Lynn Najwaśźniejsza noc
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He squinted at them again. "Would Mr. Cornelius want to be in it?"
Ryan heard the soft, insinuating voice, coming from much closer then he expected. The man had a
definite talent for silent movement. "Yes, Mr. Cornelius would very much like to 'be in it,' as you put it. I
shall place myself right in the middle, with Mr. Winthrop on my right hand, as befits the right-hand man.
And Miss Simpkins on my left, as befits the oldest inhabitant of the ville of Bramton."
"Age ain't no benefit, as well you know," she spit. "To everything there's a season, Cornelius, and that
means a time to be born and a time to die. Just wish you and the Family would recall that now and again."
Ryan waited to see if the white-haired man would respond, listening for the touch of barbed steel beneath
the delicate silken glove.
He wasn't disappointed.
"My dear Zenobia I may call you by that name, since we have known each other for all your lifefor all of
my life, I meant to say. It would be a sorry mistake to imagine that age alone was a reason for preserving
life in that shrunken heart and those frail, withered lungs."
Ryan caught the fluttering note of panic in the old woman's voice. "Don't tell the other members of the
Family that I spoke out of turn, Elric. Please?"
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The man obviously had to have nodded some sort of agreement, as the subject was dropped.
And the filming took place.
Despite his objections, Ryan was placed in the front row, toward the left, at the center of his companions,
his face turned to where he believed the camera to be.
"Even if I had my seeing, I wouldn't have wanted this," he muttered to Krysty.
"When your sight returns, you'll be pleased we made you do it," she replied. "Johannes'll keep a copy for
us, and we can watch it in a few days."
"He getting paid by the ville for this?"
"Surely. One of his horses is lame and he'll get a fresh draft animal for nothing."
"Good deal," Ryan said.
Forde called out, "Quiet now. Here we go, ladies and gentlemen. No moving, but your best smiles. Now!"
Chapter Seventeen
"He put on a pair of rinky-dinky little sunglasses," Krysty said.
"Yeah. Square rims, just like Vincent Price wore in What was it called? In Tomb of Ligeia , wasn't it?"
Mildred said. "Saw it in a student film festival of movies by that director."
"Roger Gorman, the unchallenged maestro of the cheapie-quickie," Johannes Forde stated. "I've read a
great deal of all his wonderful works."
Mildred grunted her agreement. "Think that was it. Guess his eyes must suffer in sunlight. Elric, I mean.
Yours do, too, don't they, Jak, sometimes?"
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"Not on day like this. His worse than mine."
The weather had become humid and overcast again. Ryan could feel a trickle of sweat running down
between his shoulder blades. Somehow, having lost his sight, everything seemed to be much more like
hard work than before.
Though Bramton had a flowing river, it was still closed in by the mangrove swamps and bayous, with
their oppressive warmth and insidious damp.
Ryan yawned and rubbed his eye, taking care not to press too hard as it was still tender and painful. He
shook his head, trying to clear the slight feeling of sickness, closing his once-good eye tight, opening it to
the momentary illusion that he could make out patches of light and dark.
He held his breath and repeated the experiment, but there was nothing.
Nobody spoke to him at that moment, so he guessed he hadn't been observed.
"How long before we need to make our move toward the house of the Family?"
J.B. answered him, having checked his chron. "About three hours."
"Want to take a walk, lover?"
Ryan turned to Krysty's voice. "Why not? Better than sitting around here getting sweaty for no reason.
Anyone else fancy coming along?"
"I'd like to walk with" Dean stopped so sharply that Ryan had the distinct feeling that the boy had been
given an urgent signal from someone else, possibly from Krysty herself. "Oh, sorry, just remembered.
Said I'd go out with Jak to see if we could scare up a gator."
"That's all right, son."
Krysty took Ryan's arm and led him away from the others, along the main street for about fifty yards,
then turned to the left, toward the bank of the river.
"Watch it here. Steep down and the mud's slippery. Overhanging branch on your right. That's it."
The faint noises of the township had faded away behind them. Now there was only the noise of their
boots sucking through the wet dirt and the buzzing of insects. Within six or seven minutes Ryan found
himself becoming irritated by the slow pace caused by his own clumsiness.
"Mebbe you should leave me here to sit a spell and you go on ahead for a walk, Krysty."
"That what you want?"
"Best."
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"Sure?"
He heard the hesitation in his own voice and hated it even more. "Fucking said so, didn't I?"
"What you say and what you mean aren't always the same, lover, are they?"
He bit his lip, feeling the familiar throbbing in the old scar that seamed his face. "I just Fireblast!" He put
his head in his hands and stood still.
Krysty didn't touch him, waiting a few seconds before she spoke. "Listen, Ryan, and listen good. I
probably sound like a preacher at a river-crossing meeting, but it has to be said. If I put my arms around
you now and give you a hug and tell you how I love you and it'll be all right, then I'll certainly start
weeping right off."
"Guess I might, too."
"Sure thing. Anyhow, you know all that. Bad enough when you start feeling sorry for yourself. Worse all
around if others start pitying you. That what you want? Pity?"
"You know it's not."
"Good," she said gently. "What's happened is rough. If it stays that way it'll be bad, but we can pull [ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]
