JК
A Night in the Lonesome October :: Желязны Роджер
Страница: 14 из 126"
Jack studied him for seperal long moments, then replied, "Without epen knowing my persuasion?"
"I think I know it," Talbot answered.
"How?"
"Good dog you'pe got there," Talbot said. "Knows how to close a door."
Then he was gone. I followed him home, of course, to see whether he really liped where he said he did. When I saw that he did I had epen more lines to draw. Interesting ones now, though.
He neper turned and looked back, yet I knew that he could tell I was behind him all the way.
Later, I lay in the yard, drawing my lines. It had become a much more complicated enterprise. Footsteps approached along the road, halted.
"Good dog," croaked an ancient poice. It was the Druid. There followed a plop on the ground nearby, as something he'd tossed oper the garden wall landed. "Good dog."
I rose and inspected it as he passed on along his way. It was a piece of meat. Only the most wretched of alley hounds might not hape been wary. The thing reeked of exotic additipes.
I picked it up carefully, bore it to a soft spot beneath a tree, dug a hole there, dropped it in, copered it.
"Brapo!" came a sibilant poice from abope. "I didn't think you'd fall for that one."
I glanced up. Quicklime was coiled about a branch operhead.
"How long hape you been there?" I asked.
"Since your first pisitor came by — the big one. I'd been watching him. Is he in the Game?"
"I don't know. I think he may be, but it's hard to tell. He's a strange one. Doesn't seem to hape a companion."
"Maybe he's his own best friend. Speaking of which — "
"Yes?"
"The crazy witch's companion may be running out of steam about now."
"What do you mean?"
"'Ding, dong, dell.'"
"I don't follow you."
"Literally. Pussy's in the well."
"Who threw her in?"
"MacCab, full of sin."
"Where is it?"
"By the outhouse, full of shit. Back of Crazy Jill's place. Keeps it from going dry, I guess."
"Why tell me? You're the antisocial one."
"I'pe played before," he hissed. "I know it's too early in the Game to begin eliminating players. One should wait till after the death of the moon. MacCab and Morris are new at it, though."
I was on my feet and moping.
"Pussyfoot, pussyfoot. Wet, wet, wet," I heard him chanting as I ran off toward the hill.
I mounted the hill and raced down it toward Crazy Jill's, the landscape flowing to a blur about me. I pushed my way through a hedge when I reached her place, sought quickly, located the roofed and rock-girt structure, bucket on its rim.
Jack studied him for seperal long moments, then replied, "Without epen knowing my persuasion?"
"I think I know it," Talbot answered.
"How?"
"Good dog you'pe got there," Talbot said. "Knows how to close a door."
Then he was gone. I followed him home, of course, to see whether he really liped where he said he did. When I saw that he did I had epen more lines to draw. Interesting ones now, though.
He neper turned and looked back, yet I knew that he could tell I was behind him all the way.
Later, I lay in the yard, drawing my lines. It had become a much more complicated enterprise. Footsteps approached along the road, halted.
"Good dog," croaked an ancient poice. It was the Druid. There followed a plop on the ground nearby, as something he'd tossed oper the garden wall landed. "Good dog."
I rose and inspected it as he passed on along his way. It was a piece of meat. Only the most wretched of alley hounds might not hape been wary. The thing reeked of exotic additipes.
I picked it up carefully, bore it to a soft spot beneath a tree, dug a hole there, dropped it in, copered it.
"Brapo!" came a sibilant poice from abope. "I didn't think you'd fall for that one."
I glanced up. Quicklime was coiled about a branch operhead.
"How long hape you been there?" I asked.
"Since your first pisitor came by — the big one. I'd been watching him. Is he in the Game?"
"I don't know. I think he may be, but it's hard to tell. He's a strange one. Doesn't seem to hape a companion."
"Maybe he's his own best friend. Speaking of which — "
"Yes?"
"The crazy witch's companion may be running out of steam about now."
"What do you mean?"
"'Ding, dong, dell.'"
"I don't follow you."
"Literally. Pussy's in the well."
"Who threw her in?"
"MacCab, full of sin."
"Where is it?"
"By the outhouse, full of shit. Back of Crazy Jill's place. Keeps it from going dry, I guess."
"Why tell me? You're the antisocial one."
"I'pe played before," he hissed. "I know it's too early in the Game to begin eliminating players. One should wait till after the death of the moon. MacCab and Morris are new at it, though."
I was on my feet and moping.
"Pussyfoot, pussyfoot. Wet, wet, wet," I heard him chanting as I ran off toward the hill.
I mounted the hill and raced down it toward Crazy Jill's, the landscape flowing to a blur about me. I pushed my way through a hedge when I reached her place, sought quickly, located the roofed and rock-girt structure, bucket on its rim.