• Пожаловаться

Tiffany Trent: The Unnaturalists

Здесь есть возможность читать онлайн «Tiffany Trent: The Unnaturalists» весь текст электронной книги совершенно бесплатно (целиком полную версию). В некоторых случаях присутствует краткое содержание. год выпуска: 2012, ISBN: 978-1-4424-2208-7, издательство: Simon & Schuster, категория: sf_fantasy_city / на английском языке. Описание произведения, (предисловие) а так же отзывы посетителей доступны на портале. Библиотека «Либ Кат» — LibCat.ru создана для любителей полистать хорошую книжку и предлагает широкий выбор жанров:

любовные романы фантастика и фэнтези приключения детективы и триллеры эротика документальные научные юмористические анекдоты о бизнесе проза детские сказки о религиии новинки православные старинные про компьютеры программирование на английском домоводство поэзия

Выбрав категорию по душе Вы сможете найти действительно стоящие книги и насладиться погружением в мир воображения, прочувствовать переживания героев или узнать для себя что-то новое, совершить внутреннее открытие. Подробная информация для ознакомления по текущему запросу представлена ниже:

Tiffany Trent The Unnaturalists
  • Название:
    The Unnaturalists
  • Автор:
  • Издательство:
    Simon & Schuster
  • Жанр:
  • Год:
    2012
  • Язык:
    Английский
  • ISBN:
    978-1-4424-2208-7
  • Рейтинг книги:
    4 / 5
  • Избранное:
    Добавить книгу в избранное
  • Ваша оценка:
    • 80
    • 1
    • 2
    • 3
    • 4
    • 5

The Unnaturalists: краткое содержание, описание и аннотация

Предлагаем к чтению аннотацию, описание, краткое содержание или предисловие (зависит от того, что написал сам автор книги «The Unnaturalists»). Если вы не нашли необходимую информацию о книге — напишите в комментариях, мы постараемся отыскать её.

In an alternate London where magical creatures are preserved in a museum, two teens find themselves caught in a web of intrigue, deception, and danger. Vespa Nyx wants nothing more than to spend the rest of her life cataloging Unnatural creatures in her father's museum, but as she gets older, the requirement to become a lady and find a husband is looming large. Syrus Reed's Tinker family has always served and revered the Unnaturals from afar, but when his family is captured to be refinery slaves, he finds that his fate may be bound up with Vespa's — and with the Unnaturals.  As the danger grows, Vespa and Syrus find themselves in a tightening web of deception and intrigue. At stake may be the fate of New London — and the world.

Tiffany Trent: другие книги автора


Кто написал The Unnaturalists? Узнайте фамилию, как зовут автора книги и список всех его произведений по сериям.

The Unnaturalists — читать онлайн бесплатно полную книгу (весь текст) целиком

Ниже представлен текст книги, разбитый по страницам. Система сохранения места последней прочитанной страницы, позволяет с удобством читать онлайн бесплатно книгу «The Unnaturalists», без необходимости каждый раз заново искать на чём Вы остановились. Поставьте закладку, и сможете в любой момент перейти на страницу, на которой закончили чтение.

Шрифт:

Сбросить

Интервал:

Закладка:

Сделать

Truffler turned and made a hissing noise to silence him. The hairy little hob alternately walked or crawled over the ground, his giant nostrils flaring like a bellows. Sometimes he resembled a dog or pig, but was never clearly one thing or the other. Often, though, the outline of his big nose was all Syrus could see of him in the dark.

Truffler turned and pointed at the dirt. Syrus dug in with his rusty trowel and thrust the morels Truffler had discovered into his sack, except for a few which he gave to the hob as payment for his work. Syrus also always made sure to leave behind a bit of whatever it was he took. Greed didn’t pay the Gatherer, so Granny said.

The mid-autumn chill stiffened his fingers as they worked their way to the river’s edge. Virulen Forest snaked in a long tentacle between the wreck of Tinkerville, where Syrus and his people lived in the ancient trainyard, and the River Vaunting that slid from under the Western Wall of New London. Beyond the Wall, the City Refinery coughed out streamers of phlegm-colored smoke, and the river that rolled past it was slick and shiny as snot. Syrus never swam here, but it was narrow enough that it would have been easy to cross had it not been so very swift and deep.

Something caught Truffler’s attention on the other bank. “Bad. Things,” he said in his halting, gritty voice. The hob crept back toward the trees.

“Wait,” Syrus said.

Truffler stopped, crouching in the cattails at water’s edge and clapping his hands over his ears.

Syrus heard the song before he saw the singer. A prison carriage bearing a Harpy between iron bars and drawn by iron horses rattled toward a gate in the wall. Like most things from New London, the horses were powered by myth, the mysterious dust that provided the city with heat and light, among other things. The Cityfolk claimed there were mythmines far to the north in the Myth Mountains from which the dust took its name. Raw myth was brought to the Refineries, which then distributed power via steam conduits or delivered blocks of refined myth throughout the city.

Or so they said. Granny Reed said that the story of myth itself was a myth. That somehow the Cityfolk captured the souls of Elementals and bound them to their iron or ground them into dust to power their infernal machines. Syrus couldn’t believe anyone could be so cruel, so blatantly unaware of the sacredness of all life, especially that of the Elementals. And yet he knew that the City Lords still occasionally hunted and ate what Elementals they caught. He knew there were places where Elementals were held as curiosities for the Cityfolk to look upon, as though they were lower than beasts.

The Elementals his people served could be dangerous—the Manticore who ruled this Forest was a case in point—but they were the lifeblood of the land. And if you knew the proper forms for dealing with them, there generally were no problems. His people had been visiting here for as far back as they could recall; the Elementals referred to them, in fact, as the Guest People. It was only when the City suddenly appeared by the river, slamming shut the doors between this and the World Before, that the real troubles began.

Syrus still couldn’t believe what Granny said was true, though. How could the Cityfolk treat the Elementals as if they were little more than livestock? Why did the Elementals allow it? Surely they could defend themselves if they truly wished.

And yet the mythwork horses drew the Harpy onward, their eyes pulsing with mythlight.

At first, he saw only the Harpy’s talons gleaming as they reached through the bars of her cage. They gripped and retracted; the bars must be nevered to counteract her magic. But the bars couldn’t stop the Harpy from singing. Her voice fell through the night, a descant of loss and abandonment intertwined with the whisper of river reeds. She told of the lonely mountain crags where she and her kind soared. Of sunlight on dark wings, of snow falling between her talons and the ground. Of flight and freedom and the eternity of wind across the peaks.

And then Syrus understood why mythwork horses drew the carriage. Real horses would have been driven mad by the Harpy’s song. It took every ounce of his strength to stand still. The clear rapture of her voice pierced him to the core. Her song confirmed what the Manticore had told his people long ago. When the Greater Elementals were killed, the land and all the creatures they had once protected would be consumed by the Creeping Waste.

Syrus knew what had to be done. The Harpy must be freed.

Syrus moved toward the river. A long, hairy arm grabbed the edge of his patched coat. The boy looked down and saw Truffler trying to cover both his ears with his free arm. The hob shook his head.

The door in the wall opened. A crowd of sexless people in hooded cloaks and goggles emerged, escorted by floating everlights. They were Refiners, the engineers who kept the City Refinery running day and night. A strange machine rolled out with them, its black dome mounted over a nest of hoses and wiring. They also carried thunderbusses—long guns that shot a blast of energy at any Elemental—or human, for that matter—who defied them.

All of this should have frightened Syrus enough to send him skittering back to Tinkerville, but the Harpy’s song sheared him to the bone. Somehow he had to get her free before anything happened to her.

“No. No,” Truffler said, grasping at his coat. The hob hated water with a passion and he groaned as Syrus stepped into the river. Then the hob’s hairy weight nearly pushed Syrus under as the creature clutched him around the crown of his head, trying to keep from getting wet. The River Vaunting was freezing and swift, and it occurred to Syrus only now that perhaps something might be living here, another Elemental that would happily suck him down to the bottom and devour him.

Luckily, there was nothing but the current to fight against. He pushed hard until he managed the other side without drowning or dunking the terrified hob. When Syrus emerged, he was covered with the gooey, cold sludge that rode the rapids. He gasped at the awful smell—like burned bone.

Truffler made soft clucking noises and shook his head as Syrus crept toward the cage.

“Foolish. Foolish,” he whispered.

Syrus was close enough that he could see the Harpy’s sad eyes through the cage. She had the feathered feet, body, and wings of a giant owl, but the head and shoulders of a beautiful woman with straggling, dark hair. Power radiated from her in waves so strong it lifted his hair off his neck. He had never been so close to an Elder Elemental—serving the Manticore had always meant that his people kept a respectful distance from her den.

The Harpy watched him. Her song trickled to a melodious, insistent hum.

The time was now, but Syrus wasn’t sure what to do. The Harpy might very well eat him when she was free. She might scoop him up with her talons and carry him off to her mountains, break his body on the crags, and pick his bones. He didn’t care, though, and not just because she’d enspelled him with her song. The world would be sadder and smaller without her. What was his life compared to that?

Pick the lock, the Harpy hummed.

Truffler put his hairy hands over his eyes and peered between his fingers.

The cage was between Syrus and the group of Refiners, and he was able to sneak close to it without being seen. He could feel the dark magic infusing the bars and the lock. He had half-hoped he could sing a charm of opening, but if the Harpy couldn’t open it, he knew he couldn’t. He’d have to do things the old-fashioned way. He didn’t have his lockpicking tools with him, but he drew a thin, sharp bone out of his sleeve, which had a number of potential uses. His hair fell in his eyes and he pushed it away with fingers clammy with green Refinery-slime.

Читать дальше

Шрифт:

Сбросить

Интервал:

Закладка:

Сделать

Похожие книги на «The Unnaturalists»

Представляем Вашему вниманию похожие книги на «The Unnaturalists» списком для выбора. Мы отобрали схожую по названию и смыслу литературу в надежде предоставить читателям больше вариантов отыскать новые, интересные, ещё не прочитанные произведения.


Stephanie Laurens: A Lady of Expectations
A Lady of Expectations
Stephanie Laurens
Eileen Wilks: Mortal Danger
Mortal Danger
Eileen Wilks
Teri Brown: Born of Deception
Born of Deception
Teri Brown
Mary Nichols: The Kirilov Star
The Kirilov Star
Mary Nichols
Morgan Rice: A Fate of Dragons
A Fate of Dragons
Morgan Rice
Sidney Sheldon: Chasing Tomorrow
Chasing Tomorrow
Sidney Sheldon
Отзывы о книге «The Unnaturalists»

Обсуждение, отзывы о книге «The Unnaturalists» и просто собственные мнения читателей. Оставьте ваши комментарии, напишите, что Вы думаете о произведении, его смысле или главных героях. Укажите что конкретно понравилось, а что нет, и почему Вы так считаете.