Amelie stared into the crumpled face of the hunchback, but still methodically pulled the bolt. With perseverance, with the frenzy of driven into a dead end. For a moment it looked like the door was about to give way.
The hunchback lost his patience - he went down, stepping heavily with huge, big-nosed shoes with thick heels, grabbed his hand:
- Went. There is no time for jokes.
Amelie twitched, trying to free herself, but a huge dry hand tightly wrapped around her wrist. The hunchback dragged her up the stairs with incredible strength, without regret clenching his fingers so that it broke the bone. It seemed that a little more, a tiny push, and the hand would simply break. They returned to the corridor, but at the very living room the hunchback turned onto the stairs and dragged them down to the exit. Amelie desperately clung to the railing, clutched at the balusters:
- Wait. Wait! Let your mother say goodbye.
The hunchback stopped. For a moment it seemed that he would, but he only squeezed his fingers even tighter. Shackles, stocks, prison iron.
You already missed your chance. No goodbyes.
The hunchback went down into the hallway, opened the door, and dragged Amelie out into the chilly night. She trotted along with unexpectedly wide steps, but all the time she looked back at the brightly lit windows, hoping to see the black silhouette of her mother, to see that she was looking after her. But the windows were nothing more than yellow, quivering rectangles covered in tiny lead bindings.
The farther from home, the more cold heart. Still didn't believe it. When the Hunchback turned into an impenetrably black lane, narrow as a stocking, when the house was out of sight, Amelie balked. With all her might, she braced herself with her legs, tried to pull her hand away, but the damned hunchback did not loosen his grip for a moment. He was almost invisible, he turned into a barely distinguishable shadow, palely outlined by moonlight, as if sprinkled with powder. He jerked so sharply and strongly that Amelie collapsed to her knees in the dust of the road. The hunchback leaned over, almost touching her face with his birdlike nose:
“I am not a nanny for quarrelsome girls. I won't beg or complain. And don't even think about shedding tears - it's useless.
Tears flowed in a flood, an unrestrained waterfall. The hunchback suddenly unclenched his fingers, and Amelie immediately covered her wet face with her palms. Then she howled, then sobbed, shaking her whole body. These sounds carried along the empty street like dog whining.
The hunchback stood nearby and waited patiently, tapping his shoe nervously. But he did not suffice, he did not rush. Finally, he leaned over and placed his large hand on his shoulder.
- Enough. What do I need to hear your cries, - it seemed, the voice softened.
Amelie just sobbed, sniffed. Finally, she raised her head.
- Let me go. I ask the creator. Why do you need me?
- Ordered.
“That must be a mistake. I didn't do anything." She shook her head frantically. - I'm the most ordinary girl.
The hunchback grabbed his arm above the elbow and helped him up. With the gesture of a footman, he slapped his palm over the skirt, knocking the dust off the cloth.
Who knows, it might be a mistake. Just understand: I can not disobey. It was ordered to bring you - that means you must be brought. Otherwise, it will hit me. Why - they don’t dedicate me to the affairs of the master. My job is to follow orders.
Amelie took a step back.
“Probably a mistake. Otherwise it can not be.
If it's a mistake, the lord will say so.
- And let him go?
The hunchback nodded.
“Why did you unnecessarily surrender to him?”
It got easier anyway. Of course he will. Because it's a mistake.
There was only one single question left, which beat in my head like a caught fly in a glass jar:
- What did you do with your mother? And with your father? They would never let me go, not for any money. They love me.
The hunchback exhaled noisily - he was tired of this conversation:
“Master personally convinced them. They immediately realized that you can’t joke with Messire. And I stayed waiting for you. Let's go already!
The hunchback seized her by the arm again and strode off into the impenetrable blackness. Amelie doomedly trotted after the damned freak, still hoping to sneak away on the Bridge of Beauty. Chains are pulled at night so that carriages and horsemen cannot pass freely. Footmen - will be stopped by security. If only they stopped - then Amelie will tell everything, and she will be returned home. She walked faster now, hoping to reach the bridge sooner.
They turned onto Prison Embankment. Here it blew coolly from the river, smelled of silt and the tart sweetness of rot from the fruit pier. Fruit fell overboard, washed under the stilt houses by the river, where they formed stinking islands. In the intense heat, the smell was almost unbearable. Needless to say, at night it was almost not felt.
In the distance, the outlines of the Beauty Bridge were visible, densely built up with houses. Rare pale light in the windows. But the hunchback headed in the other direction, as if he had guessed her desires, and led her straight to the river, into the sedge. At the rickety wooden gangplank a boat rocked, in which a hunched man was dozing. The hunchback kicked the boat, it shook, the man immediately woke up and readily took up the oars.
Amelie had never seen the city from the river. Now it looked like black appliqué against a deep blue star-studded sky. The dark water of Valora rippled ghostly and gently splashed under the oars around. Amelie was sitting on the very edge of the jar, and the hunchback was still tirelessly squeezing her hand - apparently, he was afraid that he would slip into the water in an attempt to escape. No, that would be a stupid death. Amelie did not know how to swim, and wet skirts will very quickly irretrievably be pulled to the bottom.
All this is a mistake. It sounded like a spell, but Amelie told herself again and again that it was. She will return immediately.
Above the city roofs, the tall clock tower of the town hall appeared. Every day at noon, a small ringing was heard from it, bells sounded, playing the melody of an old song, and a slender figure of the Neurskaya maiden appeared in the window, bowing to the people, and unprecedented flowers immediately bloomed around her in an arc. They say there is no magic here. A whole delegation of elders was detached and bowed at the feet. As if it was impossible to do without these hours.
The tower is depressing. Amelie no longer looked around, only watched the wet oar, as if glass in the moonlight, descend into the water and launch the same glass waves. She could not even imagine what the sorcerer needed from her. And that ignorance scared me the most. Ignorance and morning memories. Again and again the guardsman wielded a hook, again and again a sprawling lifeless body appeared on the shore. Beautiful body. Ideal.
Amelie no longer looked at the water. She turned cold, turned into a frozen ice. Mother always said that Amelie was beautiful. And Ann thought so. Many thought so. Deep inside it always evoked a selfish joy: of course, it is always better to be beautiful than ugly. But now... What does he do with beauties?
The hunchback is lying - they will never let her go. How they did not release those who were fished out of the river.
The boat moored to the right bank, buried its nose in the stone steps. The hunchback deftly jumped over and threw coins to the boatman. They flopped heavily onto the wooden bottom. The hunchback held out his hand to Amélie, but she hesitated. If you contrive, grab the oar and push off ...
Other people's hands were clasped from behind in a vise. Unexpectedly, ugly. The boatman lifted her above the water and literally threw her on the steps, into the hands of a hunchback. He just grabbed his wrist again with renewed force and silently dragged him up the stairs, unlocking the low gate in the stone fence. They walked through the park - Amelie understood this from the rigid geometric cut of the trimmed boxwood bushes. Fine, hard-packed sand crunched underfoot. The castle was silvery in the distance, bristling with sharp spiers of gray lead roofs. The hunchback turned to a one-story pavilion, dragged Amelie through the black inside of the door. For a while they walked along the echoing gallery. Moonlight fell from the windows in pale greenish lined rectangles. Again doors, dark narrow stairs, passages that allow you to see a patch of the night sky through the window.
Finally, the hunchback opened the high, heavy door and dragged Amelie into the spacious lighted living room.
"Why so long, Gastu?"
The hunchback finally let go of Amelie's hand, and crouched in a bow, spun like a snail's house, almost touching the patterned parquet with a bird's nose:
“Unforeseen difficulties, sir,” the voice became cloying, like sugar syrup. The hunchback suddenly presented himself as a vile, miserable insect, a trembling nonentity. The girl was expected.
Amelie looked ahead of her, to where a surprisingly clear deep voice came from. Despite the desperate fear, he fascinated, launched inexplicable vibrations through the body. As in the Cathedral of St. Picard, when harmonious chants ascend to the vaults. It cannot be that this voice belonged to the old man, as everyone believes. She saw only the high carved back of the chair and the white sleeve of the shirt.
“I don’t want to hear anything about complications.” The sorcerer rose impulsively.
Amelie froze, and pressed her fingers to her lips. So it's all true...