[ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]
unlawful pursuits," he began, "so when I tell you something, it is not
guesswork; it is fact! And the fact is that the man in black is not following
us. A more logical explanation would be that he is simply an ordinary sailor
who dabbles in mountain climbing as a hobby who happens to have the same
general final destination as we do. That certainly satisfies me and I hope it
satisfies you. In any case, we cannot take the risk of his seeing us with the
Princess, and therefore one of you must kill him."
"Shall I do it?" the Turk wondered.
The Sicilian shook his head. "No, Fezzik," he said finally. "I need your
strength to carry the girl. Pick her up now and let us hurry along." He turned
to the Spaniard. "We'll be heading directly for the frontier of Guilder. Catch
up as quickly as you can once he's dead."
The Spaniard nodded.
The Sicilian hobbled away.
The Turk hoisted the Princess, began following the humpback. Just before he
lost sight of the Spaniard he turned and hollered, "Catch up quickly."
"Don't I always?" The Spaniard waved. "Farewell, Fezzik."
"Farewell, Inigo," the Turk replied. And then he was gone, and the Spaniard
was alone.
Inigo moved to the cliff edge and knelt with his customary quick grace. Two
hundred and fifty feet below him now, the man in black continued his painful
climb. Inigo lay flat, staring down, trying to pierce the moonlight and find
the climber's secret. For a long while, Inigo did not move. He was a good
learner, but not a particularly fast one, so he had to study. Finally, he
realized that somehow, by some mystery, the man in black was making fists and
jamming them into the rocks, and using them for support. Then he would reach
up
with his other hand, until he found a high split in the rock, and make another
fist and jam it in.
Whenever he could find support for his feet, he would use it, but mostly it
Page 46
ABC Amber Palm Converter, http://www.processtext.com/abcpalm.html
was the jammed fists that made the climbing possible.
Inigo marveled. What a truly extraordinary adventurer this man in black must
be. He was close enough now for Inigo to realize that the man was masked, a
black hood covering all but his features. Another outlaw? Perhaps. Then why
should they have to fight and for what?
Inigo shook his head. It was a shame that such a fellow must die, but he had
his orders, so there it was. Sometimes he did not like the Sicilian's
commands, but what could he do?
Without the brains of the Sicilian, he, Inigo, would never be able to command
jobs of this caliber. The Sicilian was a master planner. Inigo was a creature
of the moment. The Sicilian said "kill him," so why waste sympathy on the man
in black. Someday someone would kill
Inigo, and the world would not stop to mourn.
He stood now, quickly jumping to his feet, his blade-thin body ready. For
action. Only, the man in black was still many feet away.
There was nothing to do but wait for him. Inigo hated waiting. So to make the
time more pleasant, he pulled from the scabbard his great, his only, love:
The six-fingered sword.
How it danced in the moonlight. How glorious and true. Inigo brought it to his
lips and with all the fervor in his great Spanish heart kissed the metal. . .
.
INIGO
In the mountains of Central Spain, set high in the hills above Toledo, was the
village of
Arabella. It was very small and the air was always clear. That was all you
could say that was good about Arabella: terrific air you could see for miles.
But there was no work, the dogs overran the streets and there was never enough
food.
The air, clear enough, was also too hot in daylight, freezing at night. As to
Inigo's personal life, he was always just a trifle hungry, he had no brothers
or sisters, and his mother had died in childbirth.
He was fantastically happy.
Because of his father. Domingo Montoya was funny-looking and crotchety and
impatient and absent-minded and never smiled.
Inigo loved him. Totally. Don't ask why. There really wasn't any one reason
you could put your finger on. Oh, probably Domingo loved him back, but love is
many things, none of them logical.
Domingo Montoya made swords. If you wanted a fabulous sword, did you go to
Domingo Montoya? If you wanted a great balanced piece of work, did you go to
the mountains behind Toledo? If you wanted a masterpiece, a sword for the
ages, was it
Arabella that your footsteps led you to?
Nope.
You went to Madrid; because Madrid was where lived the famous Yeste, and if
you had the money and he had the time, you got your weapon. Yeste was fat and
jovial and one of the richest and most honored men in the city. And he should [ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]
zanotowane.pl doc.pisz.pl pdf.pisz.pl exclamation.htw.pl
unlawful pursuits," he began, "so when I tell you something, it is not
guesswork; it is fact! And the fact is that the man in black is not following
us. A more logical explanation would be that he is simply an ordinary sailor
who dabbles in mountain climbing as a hobby who happens to have the same
general final destination as we do. That certainly satisfies me and I hope it
satisfies you. In any case, we cannot take the risk of his seeing us with the
Princess, and therefore one of you must kill him."
"Shall I do it?" the Turk wondered.
The Sicilian shook his head. "No, Fezzik," he said finally. "I need your
strength to carry the girl. Pick her up now and let us hurry along." He turned
to the Spaniard. "We'll be heading directly for the frontier of Guilder. Catch
up as quickly as you can once he's dead."
The Spaniard nodded.
The Sicilian hobbled away.
The Turk hoisted the Princess, began following the humpback. Just before he
lost sight of the Spaniard he turned and hollered, "Catch up quickly."
"Don't I always?" The Spaniard waved. "Farewell, Fezzik."
"Farewell, Inigo," the Turk replied. And then he was gone, and the Spaniard
was alone.
Inigo moved to the cliff edge and knelt with his customary quick grace. Two
hundred and fifty feet below him now, the man in black continued his painful
climb. Inigo lay flat, staring down, trying to pierce the moonlight and find
the climber's secret. For a long while, Inigo did not move. He was a good
learner, but not a particularly fast one, so he had to study. Finally, he
realized that somehow, by some mystery, the man in black was making fists and
jamming them into the rocks, and using them for support. Then he would reach
up
with his other hand, until he found a high split in the rock, and make another
fist and jam it in.
Whenever he could find support for his feet, he would use it, but mostly it
Page 46
ABC Amber Palm Converter, http://www.processtext.com/abcpalm.html
was the jammed fists that made the climbing possible.
Inigo marveled. What a truly extraordinary adventurer this man in black must
be. He was close enough now for Inigo to realize that the man was masked, a
black hood covering all but his features. Another outlaw? Perhaps. Then why
should they have to fight and for what?
Inigo shook his head. It was a shame that such a fellow must die, but he had
his orders, so there it was. Sometimes he did not like the Sicilian's
commands, but what could he do?
Without the brains of the Sicilian, he, Inigo, would never be able to command
jobs of this caliber. The Sicilian was a master planner. Inigo was a creature
of the moment. The Sicilian said "kill him," so why waste sympathy on the man
in black. Someday someone would kill
Inigo, and the world would not stop to mourn.
He stood now, quickly jumping to his feet, his blade-thin body ready. For
action. Only, the man in black was still many feet away.
There was nothing to do but wait for him. Inigo hated waiting. So to make the
time more pleasant, he pulled from the scabbard his great, his only, love:
The six-fingered sword.
How it danced in the moonlight. How glorious and true. Inigo brought it to his
lips and with all the fervor in his great Spanish heart kissed the metal. . .
.
INIGO
In the mountains of Central Spain, set high in the hills above Toledo, was the
village of
Arabella. It was very small and the air was always clear. That was all you
could say that was good about Arabella: terrific air you could see for miles.
But there was no work, the dogs overran the streets and there was never enough
food.
The air, clear enough, was also too hot in daylight, freezing at night. As to
Inigo's personal life, he was always just a trifle hungry, he had no brothers
or sisters, and his mother had died in childbirth.
He was fantastically happy.
Because of his father. Domingo Montoya was funny-looking and crotchety and
impatient and absent-minded and never smiled.
Inigo loved him. Totally. Don't ask why. There really wasn't any one reason
you could put your finger on. Oh, probably Domingo loved him back, but love is
many things, none of them logical.
Domingo Montoya made swords. If you wanted a fabulous sword, did you go to
Domingo Montoya? If you wanted a great balanced piece of work, did you go to
the mountains behind Toledo? If you wanted a masterpiece, a sword for the
ages, was it
Arabella that your footsteps led you to?
Nope.
You went to Madrid; because Madrid was where lived the famous Yeste, and if
you had the money and he had the time, you got your weapon. Yeste was fat and
jovial and one of the richest and most honored men in the city. And he should [ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]