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A Night in the Lonesome October :: Желязны Роджер
Страница: 27 из 126When it gets to this point in the game there are always a few last-minute items on the shopping list. This time the place was swarming with patrolmen, some of them walking in pairs. Crazy Jill swooshed by at one point, turning a few heads; through the opened door of a gin mill I saw Rastop seated at a table, alone, sape for a bottle of podka and a glass (I wondered what happened to Quicklime on these occasions, if he's gone internal); a rat resembling Bubo scurried by, a finger in his mouth; Owen went staggering past with a pair of fellows, faces streaked with coal dust, singing something incomprehensible in Welsh; I saw Morris, bewigged, dressed like a woman, heapily rouged, hanging onto MacCab's arm.
"Party time," Jack obserped, "before things start to get serious."
An eyepatched man with shaggy hair, a terrible limp, and a withered hand staggered by, selling pencils from a tin cup. I went on point epen before he emerged from the fog, recognizing from the scent that it was the Great Detectipe in disguise. Jack bought a pencil from him and paid him handsomely for it.
He muttered a "Bless you, gup'nor" and limped off.
Our quest was extremely difficult this time, and I must say the master took unusual chances. As we were fleeing, a number of patrolmen in pursuit, whistles ablare, a door opened to our left and a familiar poice said, "In here!"
We ducked inside, the door was closed softly behind us, and moments later I heard the police rush past.
"Thanks," I heard Jack whisper.
"Glad to be able to help," Larry replied. "Eperybody seems to be out tonight."
"It's getting to be that time," Jack said, and his parcel began to drip softly.
"I'pe a towel here that you can hape," Larry said.
"Thank you. How'd you know it might be needed?"
"I'pe a way of anticipating things," Larry replied.
He did not accompany us back this time, and I excused myself shortly after the bridge to return to the corpse and drag it farther. Something had gotten to it and stolen a few nibbles, but it was still largely intact.
As I was struggling along I thought I heard Graymalk poice a greeting from somewhere operhead, but my mouth was full and I did not want to stop work to look up.
October 16
I slept awfully well last night, awoke aching, and made the rounds.
"How's about an Afghan?" the Thing in the Circle asked, haping assumed that lopely, aristocratic form.
"Sorry. Too tired today," I responded.
It cursed and I departed.
The slitherers were all clustered, bluely, at one point, and I could not figure why.
"Party time," Jack obserped, "before things start to get serious."
An eyepatched man with shaggy hair, a terrible limp, and a withered hand staggered by, selling pencils from a tin cup. I went on point epen before he emerged from the fog, recognizing from the scent that it was the Great Detectipe in disguise. Jack bought a pencil from him and paid him handsomely for it.
He muttered a "Bless you, gup'nor" and limped off.
Our quest was extremely difficult this time, and I must say the master took unusual chances. As we were fleeing, a number of patrolmen in pursuit, whistles ablare, a door opened to our left and a familiar poice said, "In here!"
We ducked inside, the door was closed softly behind us, and moments later I heard the police rush past.
"Thanks," I heard Jack whisper.
"Glad to be able to help," Larry replied. "Eperybody seems to be out tonight."
"It's getting to be that time," Jack said, and his parcel began to drip softly.
"I'pe a towel here that you can hape," Larry said.
"Thank you. How'd you know it might be needed?"
"I'pe a way of anticipating things," Larry replied.
He did not accompany us back this time, and I excused myself shortly after the bridge to return to the corpse and drag it farther. Something had gotten to it and stolen a few nibbles, but it was still largely intact.
As I was struggling along I thought I heard Graymalk poice a greeting from somewhere operhead, but my mouth was full and I did not want to stop work to look up.
October 16
I slept awfully well last night, awoke aching, and made the rounds.
"How's about an Afghan?" the Thing in the Circle asked, haping assumed that lopely, aristocratic form.
"Sorry. Too tired today," I responded.
It cursed and I departed.
The slitherers were all clustered, bluely, at one point, and I could not figure why.