Книга только для ознакомления
.
Thorby left.
The ruins of the old amphitheater extend around one third of the periphery of the new. A dozen holes lead down Into the labyrinth which had served the old slave barracks; an unlimited number of routes ran underground from these informal entrances to that part which Baslim had preempted as a home. Thorby and he varied their route in random fashion and avoided being seen entering or leaving.
This time, being in a hurry, Thorby went to the nearest -- and on past; there was a policeman at it. He continued as if his destination had been a tiny greengrocer's booth on the street rimming the ruins. He stopped and spoke to the proprietress. "Howdy, Inga. Got a nice ripe melon you're going to have to throw away?"
"No melons."
He displayed money. "How about that big one? Half price and I won't notice the rotten spot." He leaned closer. "What's burning?"
Her eyes flicked toward the patrolman. "Get lost."
"Raid?"
"Get lost, I said."
Thorby dropped a coin on the counter, picked up a bell-fruit and walked away, sucking the juice. He did not hurry.
A cautious reconnaissance showed him that police were staked out all through the ruins. At one entrance a group of ragged troglodytes huddled sadly under the eye of a patrolman. Baslim had estimated that at least five hundred people lived in the underground ruins. Thorby had not quite believed it, as he had rarely seen anyone else enter or heard them inside
|
