Wizard of the Pigeons. Megan Lindholm

Чтение книги онлайн.

СКАЧАТЬ flush with the rest of the pane. Surely no one would notice that the cracked window now had new and larger cracks in it. Now the cardboard. It was soft with age and would not stand alone. It needed support. After a moment’s hesitation, Wizard picked up the blanket. Surely it had done him all the harm it could. And he had nothing else to use. The thumbtacks were still wedged through it, save a few rolling on the floor. He got the two upper corners, then the lower ones. It was while he was securing the side tacks that he noticed it.

      He did not remember a closet being there. He did not remember it at all. The rest of the room was his, as it had always been. No item was changed. There were his few books on his crude shelves, his mattress, the two cardboard boxes that held his wardrobe. A sturdier wooden crate held his few food supplies and sundries. High on the walls were the pigeons’ shelves, where they nested and roosted. All of that he remembered, and it was exactly as he recalled it. But he did not recall the closet whose open door now gaped at him. He closed his eyes and tried to picture that section of smooth wall, the painted surface pocked with careless nail holes and scuffed and stained. He was sure of it, until he opened his eyes again and the closet yawned at him laughingly.

      A murky daylight filled his room, seeping in from the next chamber. He tried to remember opening the door to that room, as he did every pre-dawn, to allow his pigeons to exit. He was sure he had not. It should have been closed still, shut tight as he shut it every night before he slept. But it, too, gaped at him, allowing in the light that delineated the horrors of the closet.

      Wizard’s heart felt like it was beating naked on a bed of gravel. A footlocker crouched inside the closet. Its hasp was still in place, but the padlock to secure it was closed on the floor before it. Only two metal buckets kept the footlocker shut. It was finished in dull olive drab paint, scratched and gouged from use and miles of travel. Three letters were stencilled on the front in white paint. Whoever had done it had made a poor job of it. The letters were uneven and a white haze outside their outlines showed where the spray paint had drifted. Wizard stared at them. MIR. Mir. It made no sense, but a far death bell sounded in his brain.

      He swallowed queasily. The footlocker seemed to swell to fill his room, muttering its ugly secrets to itself. He wiped his sweating palms down the front of his longjohns. Dust was heavy on the top of the footlocker. Whatever was inside, it had been sealed in for a very long time. Why should he fear that it could get out now? But such arguments did not comfort him. It seemed to him that the only thing more important than getting away from it was making sure that no one else ever got near it. Just touching the closet door made his flesh crawl. It swung a few inches before it screeched against its warped doorjamb. Push as he might, lift up or press down on the handle, the door would not shut. He had to content himself with wedging it as tightly as its twisted wood permitted.

      The next part was the most dangerous and foolish of all. The sun was half up. He knew that his wisest course would be to lie back on his bed and be still for the day. He could abide his hunger and aching bladder until the sun had left the skies and the darkness cleared the streets. But he wouldn’t. He needed to talk to Cassie. Even more strongly, he yearned to be away from the unclosed closet and the crouching secrets within.

      He dressed hastily. Carrying his shoes, he slipped into the next room. He longed to shut the connecting door to his den, but knew he had to leave it ajar so the pigeons could come and go. The window in this room was intact but heavily streaked with pigeon droppings. It was also jammed open about six inches from the bottom. Through this opening the cats and pigeons came and went. Wizard slid it silently wider to permit his own departure. Fortune finally pitied him on this miserable day. The alley below was clear. He stepped out onto the fire escape, easing the window down to its usual stuck position.

      He padded lightly down the fire escape, moving almost as silently as the cats did. At the bottom, there was a drop. He landed lightly on the old red bricks that paved his alley. As he stepped into his shoes he remembered, too late, that he had brought no change with him. True, his magic prohibited him from carrying more than a dollar’s worth of change at any time, but he could at least have started the day with enough coins for coffee. Once he had found a fifty-dollar bill pinned inside the sleeve of a Goodwill coat. He had not squandered it, but had parcelled it out, fifty-seven or sixty-two cents at a time, for coffee. He only drew from his hoard in gravest need. His battle last night had drained his power to the dregs. He needed coffee and warmth and a washroom with hot water and taps that stayed turned on. He was not ready for this day. Survival would be that much tougher.

      But not impossible. Some days he flowed with his power. Today the current of the magic roared against him, and he was hard pressed to cling to a rock in the rapids. But he would survive, like a one-legged pigeon, by keeping a new balance. This was his city; it would feed him and shelter him and lead him to Cassie. The rock in the current.

      Конец ознакомительного фрагмента.

      Текст предоставлен ООО «ЛитРес».

      Прочитайте эту книгу целиком, купив полную легальную версию на ЛитРес.

      Безопасно оплатить книгу можно банковской картой Visa, MasterCard, Maestro, со счета мобильного телефона, с платежного терминала, в салоне МТС или Связной, через PayPal, WebMoney, Яндекс.Деньги, QIWI Кошелек, бонусными картами или другим удобным Вам способом.

/9j/4QAYRXhpZgAASUkqAAgAAAAAAAAAAAAAAP/sABFEdWNreQABAAQAAABQAAD/4QRqaHR0cDov L25zLmFkb2JlLmNvbS94YXAvMS4wLwA8P3hwYWNrZXQgYmVnaW49Iu+7vyIgaWQ9Ilc1TTBNcENl aGlIenJlU3pOVGN6a2M5ZCI/PiA8eDp4bXBtZXRhIHhtbG5zOng9ImFkb2JlOm5zOm1ldGEvIiB4 OnhtcHRrPSJBZG9iZSBYTVAgQ29yZSA1LjAtYzA2MSA2NC4xNDA5NDksIDIwMTAvMTIvMDctMTA6 NTc6MDEgICAgICAgICI+IDxyZGY6UkRGIHhtbG5zOnJkZj0iaHR0cDovL3d3dy53My5vcmcvMTk5 OS8wMi8yMi1yZGYtc3ludGF4LW5zIyI+IDxyZGY6RGVzY3JpcHRpb24gcmRmOmFib3V0PSIiIHht bG5zOnhtcE1NPSJodHRwOi8vbnMuYWRvYmUuY29tL3hhcC8xLjAvbW0vIiB4bWxuczpzdFJlZj0i aHR0cDovL25zLmFkb2JlLmNvbS94YXAvMS4wL3NUeXBlL1Jlc291cmNlUmVmIyIgeG1sbnM6eG1w PSJodHRwOi8vbnMuYWRvYmUuY29tL3hhcC8xLjAvIiB4bWxuczpkYz0iaHR0cDovL3B1cmwub3Jn L2RjL2VsZW1lbnRzLzEuMS8iIHhtcE1NOk9yaWdpbmFsRG9jdW1lbnRJRD0ieG1wLmRpZDo3Nzg5 MDgzNy0zNzllLTQ0NmMtYmQxZS00YmU2Y2QxN2FlZDIiIHhtcE1NOkRvY3VtZW50SUQ9InhtcC5k aWQ6MUYxMkY0NTcxQTc5MTFFQThGRkJFMkI2RkU0OTI2Q0YiIHhtcE1NOkluc3RhbmNlSUQ9Inht cC5paWQ6MUYxMkY0NTYxQTc5MTFFQThGRkJFMkI2RkU0OTI2Q0YiIHhtcDpDcmVhdG9yVG9vbD0i QWRvYmUgUGhvdG9zaG9wIENTNS4xIE1hY2ludG9zaCI+IDx4bXBNTTpEZXJpdmVkRnJvbSBzdFJl ZjppbnN0YW5jZUlEPSJ4bXAuaWlkOjJDQjQ4MkExODkyMTY4MTE4NzFGRjBCMTgzN0VCNjYxIiBz dFJlZjpkb2N1bWVudElEPSJhZG9iZTpkb2NpZDpwaG90b3Nob3A6ZWNlYzRjZDMtOTM5MS1mOTQy LTllMzUtZGFiMzY5MzgyNDNjIi8+IDxkYzpjcmVhdG9yPiA8cmRmOlNlcT4gPHJkZjpsaT5mcmVt eHI8L3JkZjpsaT4gPC9yZGY6U2VxPiA8L2RjOmNyZWF0b3I+IDxkYzp0aXRsZT4gPHJkZjpBbHQ+ IDxyZGY6bGkgeG1sOmxhbmc9IngtZGVmYXVsdCI+V2l6YXJkX1BpZ2VvbnNfQ09WRVJfQkYuaW5k ZDwvcmRmOmxpPiA8L3JkZjpBbHQ+IDwvZGM6dGl0bGU+IDwvcmRmOkRlc2NyaXB0aW9uPiA8L3Jk ZjpSREY+I

СКАЧАТЬ