Wolfe, Gene / Вулф, Джин - Собрание сочинений (222 произведения) [1951-2023, fb2/epub, ENG]

Operation Ares 1970, epub, ISBN: 0-425-01858-X, Berkley Medallion The Fifth Head of Cerberus / Пятая голова Цербера, 1972, fb2, ISBN: 0-684-12830-6, Charles Scribner's Sons; 2011, epub (retail), ISBN: 978-1-4299-6633-7, Orb Peace / Покой, 1975, epub, ISBN: 978-0-575-07376-0, Gollancz / Orion, 2002 The Devil in a Forest 2012, epub (retail), ISBN: 978-1-4668-2827-8, Orb Free Live Free, 1984, fb2; 1986, epub, ISBN: 0-812-55813-8, Tor There Are Doors, 1988, fb2; 2012, epub (retail), ISBN: 978-1-4668-2824-7, Orb Castleview 2011, epub, eISBN: 9781429966689, Orb Pandora by Holly Hollander, 1990, fb2; 2011, epub, eISBN 9781429966795, Tor Pirate Freedom / Пират, 2007, epub, ISBN: 978-1-4299-2522-8, Tor An Evil Guest, 2008, epub, ISBN: 978-0-7653-2133-6, Tor The Sorcerer's House, 2010, ISBN: 9780765324580, Tor Home Fires, 2011, epub, eISBN: 978-1-4299-9158-2, Tor The Land Across, 2013, fb2, ISBN: 978-0-7653-3595-1, Tor; 2013, epub (retail), ISBN: 978-1-4668-2635-9, Tor

The Island of Doctor Death and Other Stories and Other Stories 2011, epub, ISBN: 9781429966801, Orb The Best of Gene Wolfe / Джин Вулф - лучшее 2009, fb2; 2009, epub, ISBN: 978-0-7653-2135-0, Tor Storeys from the Old Hotel 2011, epub, eISBN: 9781429967341, Orb Endangered Species / Вымирающие виды, 2004, fb2, ISBN: 0-765-31033-3, Orb; 2011, epub (retail), ISBN: 978-1-4299-6621-4, Tor Castle of Days 2011, epub (retail), ISBN: 978-1-4299-6624-5, Orb Strange Travelers 2011, epub (retail), ISBN: 978-1-4299-8249-8, Orb Innocents Aboard 2011, epub (retail), ISBN: 9781429915502, Orb Starwater Strains 2011, epub (retail), ISBN: 9781429915557, Orb The Dead Man and Other Horror Stories 2023, epub (retail), ISBN: 978-1-64524-121-8, Subterranean Press

The Case of the Vanishing Ghost 1951, fb2 The Dead Man 1965, fb2 Trip, Trap 1967, fb2 The Changeling / Подменыш 1968, fb2 Paul's Treehouse 1969, fb2 A Method Bit in "B" 1970, fb2 How the Whip Came Back 1970, fb2 Morning-Glory 1970, fb2 Remembrance to Come 1970, fb2 Sonya, Crane Wessleman, and Kittee 1970, fb2 Alien Stones 1972, fb2 Against the Lafayette Escadrille / Против эскадрильи Лафайета 1972, fb2 Continuing Westward 1973, fb2 How I Lost the Second World War and Helped Turn Back the German Invasion 1973, fb2 Melting 1974, fb2 The Rubber Bend 1974, fb2 Many Mansions 1977, fb2 To the Dark Tower Came 1977, fb2 At the Point of Capricorn 1983, fb2 John K. (Kinder) Price 1984, fb2 Mary Beatrice Smoot Friarly, SPV 1984, fb2 The Arimaspian Legacy 1987, fb2 The Ziggurat / Зиккурат 1995, fb2 Counting Cats in Zanzibar 1996, fb2 The Man in the Pepper Mill 1996, fb2 A Traveler in Desert Lands 1999, fb2 A Fish Story 1999, fb2 Copperhead / Медновласая 2001, fb2 Queen 2001, fb2 Viewpoint / Точка зрения 2001, fb2 The Waif 2002, fb2 Under Hill 2002, fb2 Castaway 2003, fb2 Easter Sunday 2003, fb2 (сетевая публикация) Hunter Lake 2003, fb2 Talk of Mandrakes 2003, fb2 Prize Crew 2004, fb2 The Lost Pilgrim 2004, fb2 Comber / Крен 2005, fb2 Sob in the Silence / Плач в темноте 2006, fb2 Bea and Her Bird Brother 2006, fb2 Green Glass 2007, fb2 Memorare / Вспомни 2007, fb2 The Magic Animal / Волшебные животные 2007, fb2 Unrequited Love 2007, fb2 Frostfree 2013, fb2 The Sea of Memory 2013, fb2

Morwenna’s face floated in the single beam of light, lovely and framed in hair dark as my cloak; blood from her neck pattered to the stones. Her lips moved without speech. Instead I saw framed within them (as though I were the Increate, peeping through his rent in Eternity to behold the World of Time) the farm, Stachys her husband tossing in agony upon his bed, little Chad at the pond, bathing his fevered face. Outside, Eusebia, Morwenna’s accuser, howled like a witch. I tried to reach the bars to tell her to be quiet, and at once became lost in the darkness of the cell. When I found light at last, it was the green road stretching from the shadow of the Piteous Gate. Blood gushed from Dorcas’s cheek, and though so many screamed and shouted, I could hear it pattering to the ground. Such a mighty structure was the Wall that it divided the world as the mere line between their covers does two books; before us now stood such a wood as might have been growing since the founding of Urth, trees as high as cliffs, wrapped in pure green. Between them lay the road, grown up in fresh grass, and on it were the bodies of men and women. A burning cariole tainted the clean air with smoke. Five riders sat destriers whose hooked tushes were encrusted with lazulite. The men wore helmets and capes of indanthrene blue and carried lances whose heads ran with blue fire; their faces were more akin than the faces of brothers. On these riders, the tide of travelers broke as a wave on a rock, some turning left, some right. Dorcas was torn from my arms, and I drew Terminus Est to cut down those between us and found I was about to strike Master Malrubius, who stood calmly, my dog Triskele at his side, in the midst of the tumult. Seeing him so, I knew I dreamed, and from that knew, even while I slept, that the visions I had had of him before had not been dreams. I threw the blankets aside. The chiming of the carillon in the Bell Tower was in my ears. It was time to rise, time to run to the kitchen pulling on my clothes, time to stir a pot for Brother Cook and steal a sausage — a sausage bursting, savory, and nearly burned — from the grill. Time to wash, time to serve the journeymen, time to chant lessons to myself before Master Palaemon’s examination. I woke in the apprentices’ dormitory, but everything was in the wrong place: a blank wall where the round port should have been, a square window that should have been a bulkhead. The row of hard, narrow cots was gone, and the ceiling too low. Then I was awake. Country smells — much like the pleasant odors of flower and tree that used to float across the ruined curtain wall from the necropolis, but mixed now with the hot reek of a stable — drifted through the window. The bells began again, ringing in some campanile not far away, calling the few who retained their faith to beseech the coming of the New Sun, though it was very early still, the old sun had hardly dropped Urth’s veil from his face, and save for the bells the village lay silent. As Jonas had discovered the night before, our water-ewer held wine. I used some to rinse my mouth, and its astringency made it better than water; but I still wanted water to splash on my face and smooth my hair. Before sleeping I had folded my cloak, with the Claw at the center, to use for a pillow. I spread it now, and remembering how Agia had once tried to slip her hand into the sabretache on my belt, thrust the Claw into my boot-top. Jonas still slept. In my experience, people asleep look younger than they do awake, but Jonas seemed older — or perhaps only ancient; he had the face, with straight nose and straight forehead, that I have often noted in old pictures. I buried the smoldering fire in its own ashes and left without waking him. By the time I had finished refreshing myself from the bucket of the inn-yard well, the street before the inn was no longer silent, but alive with hooves that splashed through the puddles left by the previous night’s rain, and the clacking of scimitar horns. Each animal was taller than a man, black or piebald, rolling-eyed and half blinded by the coarse hair that fell across its face. Morwenna’s father, I remembered, had been a drover; it was possible this herd was his, though it seemed unlikely. I waited until the last lumbering beast had passed and watched the men ride by. There were three, dusty and common-looking, flourishing iron-tipped goads longer than themselves; and with them, their hard, watchful, low-bred dogs. Inside the inn once more, I ordered breakfast and got bread warm from the oven, newly churned butter, pickled duck’s eggs, and peppered chocolate beaten to a froth. (This last a sure sign, though I did not know it then, that I was among people who drew their customs from the north.) Our hairless gnome of a host, who had no doubt seen me in conversation with the alcalde the night before, hovered over my table wiping his nose on his sleeve, inquiring about the quality of each dish as it was served — though they were all, in truth, very good — promising better food at supper, and condemning the cook, who was his wife. He called me sieur, not because he thought as they sometimes had in Nessus that I was an exultant incognito, but because a torturer here, as the efficient arm of the law, was a great person. Like most peons, he could conceive of no more than one social class higher than his own.

The first thing she did upon arising was count her money. The sun itself was barely up, the morning cool with the threatening freshness peculiar to the tropics, the freshness, she thought, that says, "Breathe deep of me while you can." Three thousand and eighty-seven U.N. dollars left. It was all there. She pulled on the hot-pink underpants that had been the only ones she could find to fit her in Kota Kinabalu and hid the money as she had the day before. The same skirt and blouse as yesterday; there would be no chance to do more than rinse, wring out, and hang dry before they made land. And precious little then, she thought; but that was wrong. With this much money she would have been able to board with an upper-class family and have her laundry micropored, rest, and enjoy a dozen good meals before she booked passage to Zamboanga. Or Darwin. Clipping her shoes, she went out on deck. He joined her so promptly that she wondered whether he had been listening, his ears attuned to the rattle and squeak of her cabin door. She said, "Good morning." And he, "The dawn comes up like thunder out of China across the bay. That's the only quote I've been able to think of. Now you're safe for the rest of the trip." "But you're not," she told him, and nearly added Doctor Johnson's observation that to be on a ship is to be in prison, with the added danger of drowning. He came to stand beside her, leaning as she did against the rickety railing. "Things talk to you, you said that last night. What kind of things?" She smiled. "Machines. Animals, too. The wind and the rain." "Do they ever give you quotations?" He was big and looked thirty-five or a little past it, with a wide Irish mouth that smiled easily and eyes that never smiled at all. "I'd have to think. Not often, but perhaps one has." He was silent for a time, a time during which she watched the dim shadow that was a shark glide under the hull and back out again. No shark's ever talked to me, she thought, except him. In another minute or two he'll want to know the time for breakfast. "I looked at a map once." He squinted at the sun, now half over the horizon. "It doesn't come up out of China when you're in Mandelay." "Kipling never said it did. He said that happened on the road there. The soldier in his poem might have gone there from India. Or anywhere. Mapmakers colored the British Empire pink two hundred years ago, and two hundred years ago half Earth was pink." He glanced at her. "You're not British, are you?" "No, Dutch." "You talk like an American." "I've lived in the United States, and in England, too; and I can be more English than the British when I want to. I have heerd how many ord'nary veman one vidder's equal to, in pint 'o comin' over you. I think it's five-and-twenty, but I don't rightly know verther it a'n't more." This time he grinned. "The real English don't talk like that." "They did in Dickens's day, some of them." "I still think you're American. Can you speak Dutch?" "Gewiss, Narr!" "Okay, and you could show me a Dutch passport. There are probably a lot of places where you can buy one good enough to pass almost anywhere. I still think you're American." "That was German," she muttered, and heard the thrum of the ancient diesel-electric: "Dontrustim-don-trustim-dontrustim." "But you're not German." "Actually, I am." He grunted. "I never thought you gave me your right name last night. What time's breakfast?" She was looking out across the Sulu Sea. Some unknown island waited just below the horizon, its presence betrayed by the white dot of cloud forming above it. "I never thought you were really so anxious to go that you'd pay me five thousand to arrange this." "There was a strike at the airport. You heard about it. Nobody could land or take off." Aft, a blackened spoon beat a frying pan with no pretense of rhythm.

Like most countries it is accessible by road or railroad, air or sea. Even though all those are possible, they are all tough. Visitors who try to drive get into a tangle of unmarked mountain roads, roads with zits and potholes and lots of landslides. Most drivers who make it through (I talked about it with two of them in New York and another one in London) get turned back at the border. There is something wrong with their passports, or their cars, or their luggage. They have not got visas, which everybody told them they would not need. Some are arrested and their cars impounded. A few of the ones who are arrested never get out. Or anyhow, that is how it seems. It just made me more determined than ever. There are no travel books about the land across the mountains. NONE! Not in any language I could find. I was going to be the first, and maybe I still will be. Only this book you are holding comes before my travel book. You would not believe how long I have been writing and rewriting this one in my head, especially when I was a prisoner of the Legion of the Light and when I was in prison, sitting around in a cell with Russ Rathaus. I was lucky, I cannot even tell you how lucky, that I was never taken prisoner by the Unholy Way. Thank God for that! At first I tried to get in by air. Lufthansa has service, but there are only two flights a week. I booked twice and had both canceled. The third did not land at the capital, saying bad weather. It went straight on to Ankara. I decided to go by train and flew to Vienna, a real knockout city where there are lots of first-rate clubs. (See my first book, Dreaming on the Danube.) After some swell evenings dancing in the clubs and okay nights at the good old Hotel Sacher, I caught the Orient Express headed for Slovakia. For the rest of the day our train wound its way through hills and woods. A lot of Americans think all of Europe is like Rouen or Cologne, crawling with people. It is not really like that. There is a whole lot more wilderness in Europe than foreigners like us imagine, and there is more and more as you go east. I hardly ever saw a house among the hills I saw from the Orient Express. Where there were a few, they were half-timbered and had those high sharp roofs you get where there is lots of snow. A porter who would not talk to me made the bed in my compartment. When he had gone, I stripped and washed the way I generally do on trains, with a washcloth I dunked in a hand basin of water. Now it seems to me that I must have been asleep a long time before I got into bed. * * *

Добавлено: Wolfe Gene - Storeys from the Old Hotel - 2011.epub

Добавлено: Wolfe Gene - Soldier of the Mist (Latro 01) - 2012.epub (к имеющемуся fb2) Wolfe Gene - Castleview - 2011.epub Wolfe Gene - Pandora by Holly Hollander - 2011.epub (к имеющемуся fb2) Заменено: Wolfe Gene - Soldier of Arete (Latro 02) - 1989.epub на Wolfe Gene - Soldier of Arete (Latro 02) - 2012.epub (OCR на eBook)

Добавлено: Wolfe Gene - The Island of Doctor Death and Other Stories and Other Stories - 2011.epub

Добавлено: Wolfe Gene - A Traveler in Desert Lands - 1999.fb2 (рассказ) Wolfe Gene - Sob in the Silence - 2006.fb2 (рассказ) Wolfe Gene - Innocent - 2010.fb2 (рассказ) Wolfe Gene - Strange Travelers - 2011.epub (сборник) Wolfe Gene - Castle of Days - 2011.epub (сборник) Wolfe Gene - The Devil in a Forest - 2012.epub (роман) Wolfe Gene - Frostfree - 2013.fb2 (рассказ) Wolfe Gene - The Sea of Memory - 2013.fb2 (рассказ)

Wolfe Gene - The Best of Gene Wolfe - 2009.epub (epub к имеющемуся fb2) Wolfe Gene - Endangered Species - 2011.epub (retail epub к имеющемуся fb2) Wolfe Gene - The Fifth Head of Cerberus - 2011.epub (retail epub к имеющемуся fb2) Wolfe Gene - The Knight (The Wizard Knight 01) - 2012.epub (retail epub к имеющемуся fb2) Wolfe Gene - There Are Doors - 2012.epub (retail epub к имеющемуся fb2) Wolfe Gene - The Land Across - 2013.epub (retail epub к имеющемуся fb2) Wolfe Gene - The Complete Book of the New Sun (Book of The New Sun 01-05) - 2017.epub (retail, весь цикл в одном файле)

Замены: Wolfe Gene - The Wizard (The Wizard Knight 02) - 2005.epub на Wolfe Gene - The Wizard (The Wizard Knight 02) - 2004.epub (файл лучшего качества)

Добавлено: Wolfe Gene - Innocents Aboard - 2011.epub (сборник) Wolfe Gene - Starwater Strains - 2011.epub (сборник)

Реорганизация: Новый цикл: A Borrowed Man Файл Wolfe Gene - A Borrowed Man - 2015.epub переименован в 01 Wolfe Gene - A Borrowed Man (A Borrowed Man) - 2015.epub (наименование цикла внесено в метаданные - размер изменился) Добавлен файл 02 Wolfe Gene - Interlibrary Loan (A Borrowed Man) - 2020.epub (написан в 2019)

Добавлено: Wolfe Gene - Operation Ares - 1970.epub

Добавлено: Wolfe Gene - The Dead Man and Other Horror Stories - 2023.epub