[ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]
got hold of the key.
Why do these things happen to me?
41
I ached everywhere. I felt like I had done a thousand sit-ups, run ten miles,
then finished with a couple hundred push-ups to cool down. I had bruises and
scratches all over me. I was thinking about finding a new hobby. My favorite
was getting dangerous.
Page 105
ABC Amber Palm Converter, http://www.processtext.com/abcpalm.html
Then once again there was a face in my face. This one was uglier than
original sin. It was the face of a ratman that not even a female of his own
kind could love. I grabbed him by the throat. Ratmen are not real strong. I
held on while I climbed to my feet.
I had been lying on a bed of trash in an alley I did not recognize. The
ratman had been going through my pockets. I relieved him of his ill-gotten
gains. He wanted to whimper and beg, but I didn't give him enough air. I was
in such a bad mood I considered putting him out of my misery.
My headache was back.
Though the world would be better off for his absence, I just slapped him
silly. Then an idea occurred. An experiment to try. I didn't have much to
lose. The gods all had a fair idea where I could be found.
I did a quick stretch job on a bit of my mystic cord, cut that piece off,
tied it around the ratman's tail. He was too groggy to notice.
I got my behind moving. My feet worked hard to keep up.
Maybe the Godoroth would jump on a false trail.
I found myself onFleetwood Place , one of the many short and lightly
trafficked streets that enter the Dream Quarter.Fleetwood Place runs right
through the Arsenal. Even now, with the war gone moribund, the place was going
full blast. I don't know how the workers there put up with all the rattle and
bang.
I darted from cover to cover, confident that a few hundred yards would get me
into the safety of the Dream Quarter. During one pause two huge owls hurtled
overhead, tracking a blur up the far side of the street. I grinned. Had to be
Jorken, going for my fake.
A trickle of golden light leaked over the brick wall back up Fleetwood. That
rustling-paper sound passed overhead. Hundreds of black leaves fluttered in a
minor whirlwind. Wolves howled in the distance. I'd like to say dragons roared
and thunder lizards stomped, but it did not get that dramatic.
I resumed putting one foot in front of the other as briskly as I could. A
remote, foul bit of mind breath reminded me, Nog is inescapable. Nog didn't
have much of a vocabulary.
As I ran I rehearsed what I had done to frame the ratman. Maybe I would work
the stunt again, if I had to. I kept glancing back, expecting Jorken.
A huge boil of dirty brown smoke burst upward back whence I had come.
Lightning ripped through its heart. An owl came flying out, folded up on its
back, following a high ballistic arc. A thunderclap reached me moments later.
And these were not phenomena that only I could see. People ran into the street
to gape.
The Godoroth and Shayir were butting heads. I didn't wait to see if they got
down to it seriously. I kept sucking wind and pounding leather. A wolf, or
maybe a dog the size of a cow, hollered behind me. It was a cry whose tone
said, "I got the trail, boss." I put my head down and went for new records.
I sensed something in front of me, a picket of shadow forming out of nothing,
right in front of the line where I thought I would get safe.
Page 106
ABC Amber Palm Converter, http://www.processtext.com/abcpalm.html
That thing howled behind me. It was gaining fast. I didn't even try to zig,
zag, or stop. I went for the hurdle.
42
There was a face in my face.
"This is getting old," I muttered. I tried to move. The darkness held me
tightly, except for my eyes. I realized that that was all I controlled. My
ability to see. No other sense was working.
The face in my face drifted back. It seemed to be a metal mask, its features
stylized. Nothing but darkness appeared through the mouth, eye, and nose
holes. It dwindled to a point of light.
Countless similar points materialized over what seemed like several minutes.
A few began to drift, loop, swoop toward me, pursuing some pattern I did not
recognize. These few became faces and even figures. Some resembled our
better-known local gods. No two sprang from the same mythology.
Oh boy.
I grew up in Saint Strait's Parish of my mom's peculiar religion, so wouldn't
you know the Strait Man himself would come shining up right center? "Are you
with us, Mr. Garrett?"
"Wouldn't be smart to be against you."
Saint Strait was the patron of seekers after wisdom. And he looked out for
fools, drunks, and little kids, which shows you that divine bureaucracies lump
stuff together as rationally as do the mundane.
Saint Strait didn't get sanctified for his heavenly sense of humor or his
divine tolerance for alternate viewpoints, but he was too preoccupied to
indulge his famous temper. "If you will restrain yourself we can resolve
several questions swiftly." [ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]
zanotowane.pl doc.pisz.pl pdf.pisz.pl karpacz24.htw.pl
got hold of the key.
Why do these things happen to me?
41
I ached everywhere. I felt like I had done a thousand sit-ups, run ten miles,
then finished with a couple hundred push-ups to cool down. I had bruises and
scratches all over me. I was thinking about finding a new hobby. My favorite
was getting dangerous.
Page 105
ABC Amber Palm Converter, http://www.processtext.com/abcpalm.html
Then once again there was a face in my face. This one was uglier than
original sin. It was the face of a ratman that not even a female of his own
kind could love. I grabbed him by the throat. Ratmen are not real strong. I
held on while I climbed to my feet.
I had been lying on a bed of trash in an alley I did not recognize. The
ratman had been going through my pockets. I relieved him of his ill-gotten
gains. He wanted to whimper and beg, but I didn't give him enough air. I was
in such a bad mood I considered putting him out of my misery.
My headache was back.
Though the world would be better off for his absence, I just slapped him
silly. Then an idea occurred. An experiment to try. I didn't have much to
lose. The gods all had a fair idea where I could be found.
I did a quick stretch job on a bit of my mystic cord, cut that piece off,
tied it around the ratman's tail. He was too groggy to notice.
I got my behind moving. My feet worked hard to keep up.
Maybe the Godoroth would jump on a false trail.
I found myself onFleetwood Place , one of the many short and lightly
trafficked streets that enter the Dream Quarter.Fleetwood Place runs right
through the Arsenal. Even now, with the war gone moribund, the place was going
full blast. I don't know how the workers there put up with all the rattle and
bang.
I darted from cover to cover, confident that a few hundred yards would get me
into the safety of the Dream Quarter. During one pause two huge owls hurtled
overhead, tracking a blur up the far side of the street. I grinned. Had to be
Jorken, going for my fake.
A trickle of golden light leaked over the brick wall back up Fleetwood. That
rustling-paper sound passed overhead. Hundreds of black leaves fluttered in a
minor whirlwind. Wolves howled in the distance. I'd like to say dragons roared
and thunder lizards stomped, but it did not get that dramatic.
I resumed putting one foot in front of the other as briskly as I could. A
remote, foul bit of mind breath reminded me, Nog is inescapable. Nog didn't
have much of a vocabulary.
As I ran I rehearsed what I had done to frame the ratman. Maybe I would work
the stunt again, if I had to. I kept glancing back, expecting Jorken.
A huge boil of dirty brown smoke burst upward back whence I had come.
Lightning ripped through its heart. An owl came flying out, folded up on its
back, following a high ballistic arc. A thunderclap reached me moments later.
And these were not phenomena that only I could see. People ran into the street
to gape.
The Godoroth and Shayir were butting heads. I didn't wait to see if they got
down to it seriously. I kept sucking wind and pounding leather. A wolf, or
maybe a dog the size of a cow, hollered behind me. It was a cry whose tone
said, "I got the trail, boss." I put my head down and went for new records.
I sensed something in front of me, a picket of shadow forming out of nothing,
right in front of the line where I thought I would get safe.
Page 106
ABC Amber Palm Converter, http://www.processtext.com/abcpalm.html
That thing howled behind me. It was gaining fast. I didn't even try to zig,
zag, or stop. I went for the hurdle.
42
There was a face in my face.
"This is getting old," I muttered. I tried to move. The darkness held me
tightly, except for my eyes. I realized that that was all I controlled. My
ability to see. No other sense was working.
The face in my face drifted back. It seemed to be a metal mask, its features
stylized. Nothing but darkness appeared through the mouth, eye, and nose
holes. It dwindled to a point of light.
Countless similar points materialized over what seemed like several minutes.
A few began to drift, loop, swoop toward me, pursuing some pattern I did not
recognize. These few became faces and even figures. Some resembled our
better-known local gods. No two sprang from the same mythology.
Oh boy.
I grew up in Saint Strait's Parish of my mom's peculiar religion, so wouldn't
you know the Strait Man himself would come shining up right center? "Are you
with us, Mr. Garrett?"
"Wouldn't be smart to be against you."
Saint Strait was the patron of seekers after wisdom. And he looked out for
fools, drunks, and little kids, which shows you that divine bureaucracies lump
stuff together as rationally as do the mundane.
Saint Strait didn't get sanctified for his heavenly sense of humor or his
divine tolerance for alternate viewpoints, but he was too preoccupied to
indulge his famous temper. "If you will restrain yourself we can resolve
several questions swiftly." [ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]