Читать книгу The Reject - Edyth Bulbring - Страница 11

Captain Gollum’s log

Drudge fought her pain like a Scavvie. Her language was fierce and rude, a credit to any slagget in the Posh City pleasure clubs. I won’t record her words; I don’t know how to spell them. Master Reader never taught me.

The pain came at her, wave after wave, hour upon hour, until I thought she was drowned. But she kept her head up.

Me and Master Reader knelt at her side as she lay on that plush white carpet. She held my hands and with each wave she wrenched my fingers back, making me feel her pain. When her screams came too loud, I shoved my fist in her mouth and she bit down, drew blood.

The whitecoats stood back. She wouldn’t let them near her. And Shepherd told them to hold their horses. That meant they must leave us alone.

When she started pushing, Shepherd called the whitecoats. I tried to fight them but Shepherd summoned the Locusts. (They call them Peacemakers, but I know these brutes.) As the whitecoats slid on their gloves and armed their instruments, the Locusts ganged us and dragged me and Master Reader away. They held their guns on us outside the door. But we could still hear Drudge’s screams. Like the curfew call in Slum City – that loud. She screeched like a banshee!

At last there was silence, thank The Machine. Then the squalling of a baby. I know the sound, from working down the river. A horrible noise. Sand in the nose usually made it stop.

The wailing ended. Silence. More wailing. A chorus of wailing. And laughter. The excited clapping of palms.

My hand is sore from Drudge’s fangs. I’m not laughing or clapping. I can barely wri te this entry.