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- Нил Гейман
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- Стр. 39/82
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A
gruff
voice
some
distance
away
shouted
,
"
You
’
re
not
wanted
here
,
de
Carabas
.
Get
away
.
Clear
off
.
"
"
Old
Bailey
,
"
he
heard
de
Carabas
say
.
"
You
’
re
looking
wonderfully
healthy
.
"
And
then
footsteps
,
shuffled
toward
him
,
and
a
finger
prodded
him
gently
in
the
ribs
.
"
You
all
right
,
laddie
?
I
’
ve
got
some
stew
cookin
’
back
there
.
You
want
some
?
It
’
s
starling
.
"
Richard
opened
his
eyes
.
"
No
thank
you
,
"
he
said
.
He
saw
the
feathers
,
first
.
He
wasn
’
t
sure
if
it
was
a
coat
,
or
a
cape
,
or
some
kind
of
strange
covering
that
had
no
name
,
but
whatever
kind
of
outer
garment
it
was
,
it
was
covered
thickly
and
entirely
in
feathers
.
A
face
,
kind
and
creased
,
with
grey
muttonchop
whiskers
,
peered
out
from
the
top
of
the
feathers
.
The
body
beneath
the
face
,
where
it
was
not
covered
with
feathers
,
was
wound
round
and
about
with
ropes
.
Richard
found
himself
remembering
a
theatrical
performance
of
Robinson
Crusoe
he
had
been
taken
to
as
a
child
:
this
was
what
Robinson
Crusoe
might
have
looked
like
,
if
he
had
been
shipwrecked
on
a
rooftop
instead
of
a
desert
island
.
"
They
call
me
Old
Bailey
,
lad
,
"
said
the
man
.
He
fumbled
at
a
battered
pair
of
glasses
,
on
a
string
around
his
neck
,
and
pulled
them
on
,
staring
through
them
at
Richard
.
"
I
don
’
t
recognize
ye
.
What
barony
do
you
give
fealty
to
?
What
’
s
your
name
?
"
Richard
pulled
himself
into
a
sitting
position
.
They
were
on
the
roof
of
an
old
building
,
built
of
brown
stone
,
with
a
tower
above
them
.
Weathered
gargoyles
,
missing
wings
and
limbs
and
,
in
a
couple
of
cases
,
even
heads
,
jutted
sadly
from
the
corners
of
the
tower
.
From
far
below
he
could
hear
the
wail
of
a
police
siren
,
and
the
muted
roar
of
traffic
.
Across
the
rooftop
,
in
the
shadow
of
the
tower
,
was
something
that
looked
like
a
tent
;
an
old
brown
tent
,
much
mended
,
spackled
white
with
bird
shit
.
He
opened
his
mouth
to
tell
the
old
man
his
name
.
"
You
.
Shut
up
,
"
said
the
marquis
de
Carabas
.
"
Don
’
t
say
another
word
.
"
Then
he
turned
to
Old
Bailey
.
"
People
who
put
their
noses
where
they
aren
’
t
wanted
sometimes
"
—
he
snapped
his
fingers
,
loudly
,
beneath
the
old
man
’
s
nose
,
making
him
jump
—
"
lose
them
.
Now
.
You
’
ve
owed
me
a
favor
for
twenty
years
,
Old
Bailey
.
A
big
favor
.
And
I
’
m
calling
it
in
.
"
The
old
man
blinked
.
"
I
was
a
fool
,
"
he
said
quietly
.
"
No
fool
like
an
old
fool
,
"
agreed
the
marquis
.
He
reached
a
hand
into
an
inside
pocket
of
his
coat
and
pulled
out
a
silver
box
,
larger
than
a
snuffbox
,
smaller
than
a
cigar
box
,
and
a
good
deal
more
ornate
than
either
.
"
Do
you
know
what
this
is
?
"
