[ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]
grey and shadowed sameness that was broken only by an occasional man or woman
staggering by.
Jakkin walked very slowly, hoping to be stopped by Golden s messenger, but no
one seemed interested in him at all. Used to the open, clear desert air and
the cleansing action of the wind-whipped sands, he was profoundly depressed by
The Rokk. It was closed in, ugly, fetid, grey.
As he walked on, he saw men and women crouched in alleyways, sipping on
bottles and passing them on to their companions. They didn t speak but rather
signed to one another as if speech-the prerogative of higher animals-had been
denied them.
To slow his progress, Jakkin straggled into a number of the bars along the
street; Pit Stop, Thieves Den, Kelley s were three he remembered. Each time
he ordered a chikkar and drank a sip or two before the close, dark, dingy
quarters made him nervous enough to leave. Then it was back to the streets,
which were even worse.
He kept fuming around, trying to catch someone following him. Once or twice he
thought he saw the furtive movement of a man slipping quickly into an
alleyway. And several times he recognized faces in the stewbars of men he had
seen along the way. But whether it was coincidence or not, he couldn t say.
And if he heard a rebel argument in any of the bars, after hours of listening
to stories of Pit fights, a dozen new
Ferkkin jokes, and the recommendations of a dozen different baggeries, he
couldn t tell. All of a sudden it seemed a strange, solitary, useless odyssey,
and at last he was determined to give it up and make his way to the Hideout
and find Sarkkhan. They d go to Golden s house together, break in if they had
to, and find out what they needed to know. Jakkin had had enough games, enough
waiting. It was time for him to act-act like a man.
He paid for the chikkar with his last coin and, without a backward glance at
the stewbar, went out.
Trying to remember the way back to the Hideout, he recalled Sarkkhan s
instructions to orient himself by the light of the Pit dome. But he must have
made a wrong turning, for he suddenly found himself on a
black street that seemed narrower than the rest, an alley really, without
doors. It was a dead end, and he realized his mistake at once. He was starting
to turn back when he heard a noise behind him. Spinning around quickly and
remembering too late Likkarn s warning about being backed into a wall, he saw
a dark figure coming slowly toward him.
What-what do you want? he asked breathlessly, his hand going to his pocket
for the baling knife he kept there. He had no more money, so he wasn t afraid
of being robbed. And he certainly didn t intend to get beaten up. He d try to
give as good as he got. What do you want?
The alley was suddenly hot and close. Jakkin found he was having trouble
breathing. He had to admit he was scared. Except for goodnatured wrestling
Page 58
ABC Amber Palm Converter, http://www.processtext.com/abcpalm.html
with his bondmates and an occasional slap from Likkarn, he d never really been
in a fight.
The figure hulked closer, a big man walking with a kind of shuffling gait.
From his mouth came a single bubbling word.
Golden.
Oh, Jakkin said, suddenly relaxing, you re the one.
The man began speaking in that same hesitating gurgle. Be careful. The bar,
the rebel hideout. He moved forward, hand outstretched, and then, as
gracelessly as a marionette whose strings are suddenly cut, he fell heavily to
his knees and then onto his face.
Jakkin knelt and turned him over. The man had a strange, surprised expression
on his face. His eyes were open and staring. The lids finally closed once,
then opened again.
Help& for& he said suddenly quite clearly, and touched his bondbag with a
trembling hand. Then, with a hissing sigh, he closed his eyes again, his face
surprisingly peaceful.
Jakkin felt for a pulse, and there was none. He knew, all at once, that the
man was dead, and he moved back, scrambling away crablike from the body. He
felt hot and cold at once; sweat beaded his forehead and the back of his neck.
Flexing his fingers, he felt an irresistible urge to wipe his hands on his
pants, for his fingers felt stained with the unknown man s death. The only
other time he d touched a dead person had been when his father had been killed
by the feral dragon and he d helped his mother bury the body.
For days after he d wakened in the night, crying that his hands hurt. For
months he d washed his hands as often as he could. He had that same soiled,
burning feeling in his hands now.
After jumping up, Jakkin edged around the body and out of the alley. Coming
into the lighter street, he tried to catch his breath. All the giggle juice
seemed to have evaporated, leaving him with an overpowering feeling of
exhaustion. Rubbing his sweaty palms on his shirt, he began to walk, following
the beacon light of the dome down the road.
He knew he had to find someone and report what had happened. And then he
realized, with a sudden revelation, that he didn t really know what this was
all about. Who was the man? Had he been sent by
Golden? If so, then Golden should be informed. But Golden had indicated that
the rebels weren t violent, at least not yet. Dr. Henlcky said that Golden
wasn t to be trusted, that he used people and then threw them away. The man
back there had been used-and now was thrown away in a dark alley, his life
ended with a cryptic message.
Jakkin felt himself reasoning everything out slowly, but nothing was clear. He
stopped walking for a minute and thought about Golden and Henkky. They were
the only two people he knew who lived in The
Rokk, but he didn t know if he trusted either one of them. And he certainly
didn t know how to find
them. The only person to turn to was Sarkkhan, and that meant finding the
Hideout again.
chapter 36
IT TOOK AN hour of careful doubling back. He asked three men, and only one had
known the streets well enough to help him; but at last he found the square
where the stewbar squatted on the west side. The window was still smeared with
Sarkkhan s handprint. The crowds were gone. Jakkin pushed through the heavy
door and stumbled in.
chapter 37
SARKKHAN WAS GONE as well.
After walking up to the bar, Jakkin set his hand on the top, feeling the group [ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]
zanotowane.pl doc.pisz.pl pdf.pisz.pl freetocraft.keep.pl
grey and shadowed sameness that was broken only by an occasional man or woman
staggering by.
Jakkin walked very slowly, hoping to be stopped by Golden s messenger, but no
one seemed interested in him at all. Used to the open, clear desert air and
the cleansing action of the wind-whipped sands, he was profoundly depressed by
The Rokk. It was closed in, ugly, fetid, grey.
As he walked on, he saw men and women crouched in alleyways, sipping on
bottles and passing them on to their companions. They didn t speak but rather
signed to one another as if speech-the prerogative of higher animals-had been
denied them.
To slow his progress, Jakkin straggled into a number of the bars along the
street; Pit Stop, Thieves Den, Kelley s were three he remembered. Each time
he ordered a chikkar and drank a sip or two before the close, dark, dingy
quarters made him nervous enough to leave. Then it was back to the streets,
which were even worse.
He kept fuming around, trying to catch someone following him. Once or twice he
thought he saw the furtive movement of a man slipping quickly into an
alleyway. And several times he recognized faces in the stewbars of men he had
seen along the way. But whether it was coincidence or not, he couldn t say.
And if he heard a rebel argument in any of the bars, after hours of listening
to stories of Pit fights, a dozen new
Ferkkin jokes, and the recommendations of a dozen different baggeries, he
couldn t tell. All of a sudden it seemed a strange, solitary, useless odyssey,
and at last he was determined to give it up and make his way to the Hideout
and find Sarkkhan. They d go to Golden s house together, break in if they had
to, and find out what they needed to know. Jakkin had had enough games, enough
waiting. It was time for him to act-act like a man.
He paid for the chikkar with his last coin and, without a backward glance at
the stewbar, went out.
Trying to remember the way back to the Hideout, he recalled Sarkkhan s
instructions to orient himself by the light of the Pit dome. But he must have
made a wrong turning, for he suddenly found himself on a
black street that seemed narrower than the rest, an alley really, without
doors. It was a dead end, and he realized his mistake at once. He was starting
to turn back when he heard a noise behind him. Spinning around quickly and
remembering too late Likkarn s warning about being backed into a wall, he saw
a dark figure coming slowly toward him.
What-what do you want? he asked breathlessly, his hand going to his pocket
for the baling knife he kept there. He had no more money, so he wasn t afraid
of being robbed. And he certainly didn t intend to get beaten up. He d try to
give as good as he got. What do you want?
The alley was suddenly hot and close. Jakkin found he was having trouble
breathing. He had to admit he was scared. Except for goodnatured wrestling
Page 58
ABC Amber Palm Converter, http://www.processtext.com/abcpalm.html
with his bondmates and an occasional slap from Likkarn, he d never really been
in a fight.
The figure hulked closer, a big man walking with a kind of shuffling gait.
From his mouth came a single bubbling word.
Golden.
Oh, Jakkin said, suddenly relaxing, you re the one.
The man began speaking in that same hesitating gurgle. Be careful. The bar,
the rebel hideout. He moved forward, hand outstretched, and then, as
gracelessly as a marionette whose strings are suddenly cut, he fell heavily to
his knees and then onto his face.
Jakkin knelt and turned him over. The man had a strange, surprised expression
on his face. His eyes were open and staring. The lids finally closed once,
then opened again.
Help& for& he said suddenly quite clearly, and touched his bondbag with a
trembling hand. Then, with a hissing sigh, he closed his eyes again, his face
surprisingly peaceful.
Jakkin felt for a pulse, and there was none. He knew, all at once, that the
man was dead, and he moved back, scrambling away crablike from the body. He
felt hot and cold at once; sweat beaded his forehead and the back of his neck.
Flexing his fingers, he felt an irresistible urge to wipe his hands on his
pants, for his fingers felt stained with the unknown man s death. The only
other time he d touched a dead person had been when his father had been killed
by the feral dragon and he d helped his mother bury the body.
For days after he d wakened in the night, crying that his hands hurt. For
months he d washed his hands as often as he could. He had that same soiled,
burning feeling in his hands now.
After jumping up, Jakkin edged around the body and out of the alley. Coming
into the lighter street, he tried to catch his breath. All the giggle juice
seemed to have evaporated, leaving him with an overpowering feeling of
exhaustion. Rubbing his sweaty palms on his shirt, he began to walk, following
the beacon light of the dome down the road.
He knew he had to find someone and report what had happened. And then he
realized, with a sudden revelation, that he didn t really know what this was
all about. Who was the man? Had he been sent by
Golden? If so, then Golden should be informed. But Golden had indicated that
the rebels weren t violent, at least not yet. Dr. Henlcky said that Golden
wasn t to be trusted, that he used people and then threw them away. The man
back there had been used-and now was thrown away in a dark alley, his life
ended with a cryptic message.
Jakkin felt himself reasoning everything out slowly, but nothing was clear. He
stopped walking for a minute and thought about Golden and Henkky. They were
the only two people he knew who lived in The
Rokk, but he didn t know if he trusted either one of them. And he certainly
didn t know how to find
them. The only person to turn to was Sarkkhan, and that meant finding the
Hideout again.
chapter 36
IT TOOK AN hour of careful doubling back. He asked three men, and only one had
known the streets well enough to help him; but at last he found the square
where the stewbar squatted on the west side. The window was still smeared with
Sarkkhan s handprint. The crowds were gone. Jakkin pushed through the heavy
door and stumbled in.
chapter 37
SARKKHAN WAS GONE as well.
After walking up to the bar, Jakkin set his hand on the top, feeling the group [ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]