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Isle Of The Dead :: Zelazny Roger
Страница: 91 из 110I paddled and we slipped through the night, and soon the isle lay to starboard, mysterious lights flecking its face. From ahead, the light that glowed atop the cone crossed our path, dappling the waters, casting a faint red glow upon the cliffs.
We passed the isle then and moved toward it from the north. Through the night, I saw the northern face as in daylight. Memory mapped its scars and ridges, and my fingertips tingled with the texture of its stone.
We drew near, and I touched the sheer, black face with my oar. We held that position while I stared upward, then said, "East."
Several hundred yards later, we came to the place where I had hidden the "trail." A cleft slanted within the rock--forty feet of chimney--where the pressure of back and feet allowed ascent to a narrow ledge, along which a man might edge his way for sixty feet, to encounter a series of hand- and foot-holds leading up.
I told this to Green Green, and he stabilized the raft while I went on ahead. Then he followed, uncomplaining, though his shoulder must have been bothering him.
When I reached the top of the chimney, I looked down and was unable to spot the raft. I mentioned this, and Green Green grunted. I waited until he made it to the top, and helped him out of the cleft. Then we began inching our way along the cleft, eastward.
It took us about fifteen minutes to reach the upward trail. Again, I went first, after explaining that we had a five-hundred-foot climb before we reached another ledge. The Pei'an grunted again and followed me.
Soon my arms were sore, and when we made the ledge I sprawled and lit a cigarette. After ten minutes, we moved again. By midnight, we had made it to the top without mishap.
We walked, for about ten minutes. Then we saw him.
He was a wandering figure, doubtless narcotized up to the ears. Maybe not, though. You can never be too sure.
So I approached him, placed my hand upon his shoulder, stood before him, said, "Courtcour, how have you been?"
He looked up at me through heavy-lidded eyes. He weighed about three hundred fifty pounds, wore white garments (Green Green's idea, I guess), was blue-eyed, light-complexioned and soft-spoken. He lisped a bit when he answered me.
"I think I have all the data," he said.
"Good," I answered. "You know that I came here to meet this man--Green Green--in a combat of sorts. We have become allies recently, against Mike Shandon ...?"
"Give me a moment," he replied.
Then, "Yes," he said. "You lose."
"What do you mean?"
"Shandon kills you in three hours and ten minutes."
"No," I said. "He can't.
We passed the isle then and moved toward it from the north. Through the night, I saw the northern face as in daylight. Memory mapped its scars and ridges, and my fingertips tingled with the texture of its stone.
We drew near, and I touched the sheer, black face with my oar. We held that position while I stared upward, then said, "East."
Several hundred yards later, we came to the place where I had hidden the "trail." A cleft slanted within the rock--forty feet of chimney--where the pressure of back and feet allowed ascent to a narrow ledge, along which a man might edge his way for sixty feet, to encounter a series of hand- and foot-holds leading up.
I told this to Green Green, and he stabilized the raft while I went on ahead. Then he followed, uncomplaining, though his shoulder must have been bothering him.
When I reached the top of the chimney, I looked down and was unable to spot the raft. I mentioned this, and Green Green grunted. I waited until he made it to the top, and helped him out of the cleft. Then we began inching our way along the cleft, eastward.
It took us about fifteen minutes to reach the upward trail. Again, I went first, after explaining that we had a five-hundred-foot climb before we reached another ledge. The Pei'an grunted again and followed me.
Soon my arms were sore, and when we made the ledge I sprawled and lit a cigarette. After ten minutes, we moved again. By midnight, we had made it to the top without mishap.
We walked, for about ten minutes. Then we saw him.
He was a wandering figure, doubtless narcotized up to the ears. Maybe not, though. You can never be too sure.
So I approached him, placed my hand upon his shoulder, stood before him, said, "Courtcour, how have you been?"
He looked up at me through heavy-lidded eyes. He weighed about three hundred fifty pounds, wore white garments (Green Green's idea, I guess), was blue-eyed, light-complexioned and soft-spoken. He lisped a bit when he answered me.
"I think I have all the data," he said.
"Good," I answered. "You know that I came here to meet this man--Green Green--in a combat of sorts. We have become allies recently, against Mike Shandon ...?"
"Give me a moment," he replied.
Then, "Yes," he said. "You lose."
"What do you mean?"
"Shandon kills you in three hours and ten minutes."
"No," I said. "He can't.