Odnośniki
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- LE Modesitt Eschbach 03 Ghost of the White Nights (v1.0)
- Jonasz Roman ByśÂem KsićÂdzem
- Moje sekretne życie
- Carroll Jonathan Glos Naszego Cienia
- Stephens Susan Najbogatszy Hiszpan
- Tunel strachu
- Annie.Proulx. .Kroniki.portowe
- Weis & Hickman Deathgate Cycle 07 The Seventh Gate
- Clarke Arthur C. Odyseja kosmiczna 3001
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was suicidal, not to mention foolish, ill-considered, and just plain stupid.
But the problem he faced was that turning Jynckia into an example of the Lord
for perpetuating slaughter wouldn't have the impact he needed if it didn't
happen in the Temple itself. And he couldn't "disappear" in the streets the
way he could behind a flash of light in the Temple.
His other problem was that he didn't know how open the Temple's net really
was. Still . . .
He splashed his face again, trying to cool his flushed skin. He could just try
to enter the Temple, not too obviously, and feel out the systems. If his
efforts didn't work, he could just slip away and try something else. No one
knew him, not really.
He took a deep breath and used a towel to blot away the water.
Why nightmares? He didn't recall having had many nightmares until the last few
years. He hadn't even had nightmares when he'd been on the Maran perimeter.
He'd only had nightmares when he'd started to think about the war, really
think, and to understand that he could die, that - he could be killed. Was
that why those who ran societies liked their soldiers young? So they didn't
have the age or the experience to think about the stupidities of the wars they
fought-or might fight? He tried to laugh, but couldn't.
His face still damp, he began to walk around the room in the darkness,
breathing deeply. The burning that ran in lines throughout his body slowly
faded, but did not quite disappear, continuing to tingle through all his
nerves.
After taking another drink of water, and breathing deeply for several minutes
longer, he ran through a short set of stretching exercises, trying to work out
the muscular knots created by the nightmare.
Then he washed his face again, turned off the lights, and climbed into bed.
But he lay for a long time, looking into the darkness.
65
After completing another drive around central Wystuh, and the Temple area,
Trystin slipped the car into the space in front of his room. All the spaces
near the ends of the building-and the staircases- were taken. He stepped from
the coolness of the car into the heat, but did not wipe his forehead as he
walked toward the room.
Once inside, he checked the space, visually, and with implant-enhanced senses,
but he could find no trace that anyone had been there, not that he was any
expert. The walls that had been carefully painted and repainted looked the
same, as did the well-scrubbed carpet that was beginning to fray near the
door.
He washed his hands and face, blotted some smudges off the white coat, and
stepped back into the late-afternoon heat. He walked by the office, and the
sister who had checked him into the room lifted a hand and waved. He smiled
and waved back.
Only a handful of tables were taken in the small restaurant adjoining the
Promise Inn. "One, Brother?" asked the gray-haired hostess. "Please." Trystin
followed her to a small table for two along the wall. A pale green cloth
covered the table, and the two napkins also appeared to be of real cotton or
linen.
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"The special is beefalo stew with noodles and greens. That comes with dessert,
and a drink, and it's seven and a quarter." "Thank you."
"A pleasure. Brother." The hostess smiled and left Trystin.
His stomach rumbled, and he glanced quickly at the menu. Although the food was
heavy, the Revenants did serve good cooking-everywhere he had eaten so far.
"Have you decided, ser?" The waitress was also an older sister, wearing rings
and braided hair, and not a checked dress, but a gold-colored tunic and long
matching trousers.
"I'll have the stew special, with limeade." He wished he could get tea, but
real tea and cafe were forbidden on the Revenant worlds, and anise tea tasted
like weak liquid candy.
"I'll bring the limeade right away." A single older man sat at the table by
the door, hands cupped around a glass, eyes staring into space. The corner
table held four women, all wearing what seemed to be matching dresses and
conversing animatedly. ". . . Heber's Farewell-that was something . . ." ". .
. going to be a pilot, not just a plain missionary . . ." ". . . missionary's
a missionary - . . equal in the sight of the Lord . . ." "You ask me . . .
doesn't matter . . ." "Sarah's daughter . . . her Farewell . . ." ". . .
doesn't seem right, her wanting to be an Angel . . -such a sweet child she was
. . ."
". . . strong-willed, though . . . that's what Becki told
me. . ."
Trystin nodded to himself. He had the feeling that overtly strong-willed women
got a lot of mission calls. "Here you are."
"Thank you." Trystin ignored the growling in his stomach and took a sip of the
limeade, waiting for his beefalo stew to arrive.
"Brother Hyriss!" Carson Orr walked straight across the room toward Trystin's
table with a broad smile.
"Brother Orr." Trystin stood. Orr's appearance wasn't exactly coincidence.
"What a coincidence."
"Would you mind if I joined you for a moment? Just for some lemonade. I'll
have to be going shortly." "Of course not."
The older waitress, silvered golden hair braided neatly, stopped. "Will you be
having dinner. Brother?"
"No. I'd like some lemonade, though." When she left, Orr turned his pale blue
eyes on Trystin. "How are you Finding Wystuh?"
"In some ways, it's as I thought it would be. In others, different." Trystin
took a small sip of limeade.
"I can imagine that. No place you haven't been is the way you expect." Orr
smiled. "How are you finding the people?"
"Like most places . . . friendly. Sometimes, very friendly." "The unmarried
sisters?"
Trystin blushed. He had been more than careful to avoid them.
"Young returnee like you, you ought to be thinking about settling down. You
think you have all the time in the world, but life's not always like that."
"I've already discovered that. The Lord has His own plans for us, not exactly
what we might have intended." That was certainly true enough, reflected
Trystin, and he might as well keep building the background for his plan and
his escape.
Orr gave Trystin the faintest of quizzical looks. Trystin waited calmly. [ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]