-
Главная
-
- Книги
-
- Авторы
-
- Анджей Сапковский
-
- Ведьмак: Кровь эльфов
-
- Стр. 20/356
Для того чтобы воспользоваться озвучкой предложений, необходимо
Войти или зарегистрироваться
Озвучка предложений доступна при наличии PRO-доступа
Купить PRO-доступ
"
Now
listen
,
you
scoundrel
.
"
Dandilion
stood
up
and
pretended
to
pull
a
threatening
face
.
"
I
loathe
violence
and
force
,
but
I
'm
going
to
call
Mama
Lantieri
in
a
minute
and
she
will
call
a
certain
Gruzila
who
fulfils
the
honourable
and
responsible
role
of
bouncer
in
this
establishment
.
He
is
a
true
artist
in
his
field
.
He
'll
kick
your
arse
so
hard
you
'll
soar
over
the
town
roofs
with
such
magnificence
that
the
few
people
passing
by
at
this
hour
will
take
you
for
a
Pegasus
.
"
Rience
made
an
abrupt
gesture
and
something
glistened
in
his
hand
.
"
Are
you
sure
,
"
he
asked
,
"
you
'll
have
time
to
call
her
?
"
Dandilion
had
no
intention
of
checking
if
he
would
have
time
.
Nor
did
he
intend
to
wait
.
Before
the
stiletto
had
locked
in
Rience
's
hand
Dandilion
had
taken
a
long
leap
to
the
corner
of
the
room
,
dived
under
the
nymph
tapestry
,
kicked
open
a
secret
door
and
rushed
headlong
down
the
winding
stairs
,
nimbly
steering
himself
with
the
aid
of
the
well-worn
banisters
.
Rience
darted
after
him
,
but
the
poet
was
sure
of
himself
--
he
knew
the
secret
passage
like
the
back
of
his
hand
,
having
used
it
numerous
times
to
flee
creditors
,
jealous
husbands
and
furious
rivals
from
whom
he
had
,
from
time
to
time
,
stolen
rhymes
and
tunes
.
He
knew
that
after
the
third
turning
he
would
be
able
to
grope
for
a
revolving
door
,
behind
which
there
was
a
ladder
leading
down
to
the
cellar
.
He
was
sure
that
his
persecutor
would
be
unable
to
stop
in
time
,
would
run
on
and
step
on
a
trapdoor
through
which
he
would
fall
and
land
in
the
pigsty
.
He
was
equally
sure
that
--
bruised
,
covered
in
shit
and
mauled
by
the
pigs
--
his
persecutor
would
give
up
the
chase
.
Dandilion
was
mistaken
,
as
was
usually
the
case
whenever
he
was
too
confident
.
Something
flashed
a
sudden
blue
behind
his
back
and
the
poet
felt
his
limbs
grow
numb
,
lifeless
and
stiff
.
He
could
n't
slow
down
for
the
revolving
door
,
his
legs
would
n't
obey
him
.
He
yelled
and
rolled
down
the
stairs
,
bumping
against
the
walls
of
the
little
corridor
.
The
trapdoor
opened
beneath
him
with
a
dry
crack
and
the
troubadour
tumbled
down
into
the
darkness
and
stench
.
Before
thumping
his
head
on
the
dirt
floor
and
losing
consciousness
,
he
remembered
Mama
Lantieri
saying
something
about
the
pigsty
being
repaired
.
The
pain
in
his
constricted
wrists
and
shoulders
,
cruelly
twisted
in
their
joints
,
brought
him
back
to
his
senses
.
He
wanted
to
scream
but
could
n't
;
it
felt
as
though
his
mouth
had
been
stuck
up
with
clay
.
He
was
kneeling
on
the
dirt
floor
with
a
creaking
rope
hauling
him
up
by
his
wrists
.
He
tried
to
stand
,
wanting
to
ease
the
pressure
on
his
shoulders
,
but
his
legs
,
too
,
were
tied
together
.
Choking
and
suffocating
he
somehow
struggled
to
his
feet
,
helped
considerably
by
the
rope
which
tugged
mercilessly
at
him
.
Rience
was
standing
in
front
of
him
and
his
evil
eyes
glinted
in
the
light
of
a
lantern
held
aloft
by
an
unshaven
ruffian
who
stood
over
six
feet
tall
.
Another
ruffian
,
probably
no
shorter
,
stood
behind
him
.
Dandilion
could
hear
his
breathing
and
caught
a
whiff
of
stale
sweat
.
It
was
the
reeking
man
who
tugged
on
the
rope
looped
over
a
roof
beam
and
fastened
to
the
poet
's
wrists
.
Dandilion
's
feet
tore
off
the
dirt
floor
.
The
poet
whistled
through
his
nose
,
unable
to
do
anything
more
.
"
Enough
,
"
Rience
snapped
at
last
--
he
spoke
almost
immediately
,
yet
it
had
seemed
an
age
to
Dandilion
.
The
bard
's
feet
touched
the
ground
but
,
despite
his
most
heart-felt
desire
,
he
could
not
kneel
again
--
the
tight
drawn
rope
was
still
holding
him
as
taut
as
a
string
.
