Chase the Morning полностью

Wait a minute. I’d read a lot about Port-au-Prince, hadn’t I? A year or so back, when I’d been briefing one of Barry’s pet clients on Caribbean trade conditions. All that stuff in the Department of Trade reports about how up-to-date the place was compared with most thirds-world capitals. Almost offensively so, given the state the rest of the country was in. Offices, hotels, neoned nightclubs, glaring casinos; docks that could take small cruise liners – where were they? Broad boulevards, tall towers of concrete and glass, a skyline that should have taken the sun like a forest of mirrors – where the hell were they hiding? Not a sign, however carefully I scanned the scene. Once or twice there seemed to be a glassy glitter in the air at the edge of sight. But always when I looked again, shading my eyes, it resolved into a tall white church spire, a row of white thatches on the hill, or just some fleeting trick of the light. There was nothing more.

And these forested hills … The island had a terrible deforestation problem. I’d read that too. It didn’t look like it from here; still less like it from the sea.

For a moment I had the panicky idea that it was some trick of the Wolves, some disguise of the kind they’d used to spirit Clare away. They could even be moored near us now, hidden by it. But Le Stryge would surely have sussed that out.

The true explanation crept over me by slow degrees, like a chill coming on. And with about the same feeling.

Shadows. I was seeing shadows. Shadows in broad daylight, shadows at high noon. Shadows of the city, of the eighteenth or nineteenth centuries, maybe, or a blend of both; the same shadows that lay behind Canal Street in New Orleans, behind Danube Street back home. Long images of their past, their spirit, cast deep into the timeless world beyond the Core. But these shadows were strong, not images in darkness but stronger than the daylight. The whole island must be haunted by them, not lurking at the edges of the night but right beneath the living day, ready to show through. Strong enough even at high noon to swamp what had taken their place – at least for those who moved in shadows already. Even for those who didn’t, they must be a tangible, almost oppressive presence – a ghost forever at their heels, behind every step they took. Their bright modern world must seem like nothing more than a shimmer of light upon dark waters. From the right angle you could look straight through, into the fathomless deeps below.

As I’d done; as I was doing even now. I shivered. It was noon now; but night would fall. If they were so strong even in the light, those shadows, what dominion must darkness bring them?

Suddenly I was very damn glad I hadn’t gone ashore.

When the others came trooping back on board, dusty and footsore, they agreed; they had good reason to. They’d found a spell of fear upon the whole dockside quarter, and few willing to answer aloud what they asked; for the Chorazin had indeed come in, only hours before the dawn, riding before a storm that seemed to crack the heavens, only to set sail again before light. And it was whispered that strange shapes had come stalking through the streets to meet it, and that those who crossed their paths had not returned.

‘Half of the folk still squatting in their shacks shaking!’ said Jyp grimly, sipping gratefully at the goblet of cool sherry Pierce’s steward handed him. ‘Or rushing to their houngansfor exorcisms and traitements. But the houngans are just as jumpy; hell, you can hear the drums from here!’

‘Aye, and the singing!’ Mall had added, no less sombre. ‘But it’s whispered that there’s some of the heathen priests – those they think are secret bocors, that they guess serve with both hands, as t’were, the bright powers and the dark – that went a’purpose to meet the black ship. That all their gear’s gone from their shrines, all, as if packed for some great festival elsewhere –’

Even she jumped; we all did. Pierce’s crystal goblet shattered in his great paw. The door of the great cabin flew open with a crash and Le Stryge in all his squalor came storming in, more or less dragging the girl-creature along by her wrist.

‘Mists!’ snarled the old man. ‘Vapours! Think they’ll pull those over my eyes, do they? Tien, they may think again!’

‘What?’ roared Pierce, licking sherry off his fingers. ‘You have them, sirrah? Upon which heading?’

‘South – east – they follow the coast – you have but to do likewise! Go, follow while you can! That veil grows thicker as they near its source! I had to resort to desperate measures.’ He wheezed exhaustedly and sank down among Pierce’s silken cushions. ‘Or would you stand about arguing while they pick the bones of the precious, the expensive Clare?’