Читать книгу Fain The Sorcerer - Steve Aylett - Страница 8

In which Fain swims through human soup

It was a low-domed chamber filled with murky fluid and a hand-picked assortment of gibbering wretches. In the soup up to their necks, they wore hats in a variety of styles. ‘Welcome, newly hopeless,’ said the nearest grey man, who seemed relatively cheerful. ‘And here are your knitting and sewing materials.’

‘What for?’

‘For making hats, of course. One must keep up appearances.’

Fain took the sewing kit. ‘Thank you, kind sir—I hope to outshine every bonnet here. But is not escape the more urgent matter? There must be an entrance to this cell.’

‘Perhaps, but it is not above the soup. And who would want to submerge and see the terrible state our bodies must be in? I have seen occasional matters floating on the surface which I have made an effort not to recognise.’

‘The place has stained his wits,’ thought Fain, and asked aloud, ‘Don’t you find this stinking place unpleasant?’

‘Yes, it’s quite limited. Hackler Thorn is one who has, on balance, lived a fortunate life, and so believes that a so-called “living hell” is a punishment different from the life of an average man. We howl here, occasionally, so as not to make him wonder. But otherwise it is an acceptable domicile. I served Hackler Thorn.’

‘You were in his army?’

‘Not me,’ said the grey man. ‘I spent a short time pouring candles—a very short time, as I was a bartender and my little trick and its solid aftermath were not appreciated. I made the mistake of handing one such undrinkable clot to a thirsty stranger who turned out to be Thorn. Why was a candlemaker working in an alehouse? I had fallen hard because of an artistic enterprise, an innovation whereby I painted portraits in wax so that over time they would become jowled and wrinkled like their subjects. Oh I’m baffled now by my actions—who wants to see such stuff? And so, here I am.’

‘The sooner I accept local custom,’ thought Fain, ‘the longer I shall remain. Not every contract is sealed by waking consent.’

Diving beneath the broth, he swam between the prisoners, many mere stands of bone loosely adrift with pale and soggy meat. Breathing easy as a merman in the murk, Fain saw the inner side of the entry valve, the size of a barrel lid. Grabbing the rim, he pulled himself headfirst toward it.