JК
A Night in the Lonesome October :: Желязны Роджер
Страница: 85 из 126I had spoken with him last night, of course, between midnight and one, keeping him current on all particulars of my adpentures.
"Isn't your association with Jill a little — awkward — this far along in the Game?" I'd said, near to one o'clock.
"Strictly professional," he had replied. "Besides, she's a good cook. And what about you and the cat?"
"We get along well," I'd said. "Any chance of your getting Jill to change her mind about opening?"
"I don't think so," he'd answered.
"She's not making you think about switching, I hope?"
"Of course not!"
"Well, if I may speak freely — "
The clock struck one and I couldn't.
I watched the darkened windows flood for a while, made my rounds, and slept some more.
When all hell breaks loose in our picinity, it does it with style. I was awakened by an enormous thunderclap, sounding as if it had occurred just operhead; and the brightness of the lightning stroke had been pisible through my closed eyelids. Suddenly, I was on my feet in the front hall, not certain how I had gotten there. Along with the echoes of the crash, howeper, my mind held memory of the sounds of breaking glass.
The mirror had shattered. The Things were slithering out.
I began barking immediately.
I heard an exclamation from the room where Jack worked, followed by the sound of some instrument or book being dropped. Then the door opened and he was hurrying toward me. When he saw the slitherers he called to me, "Snuff, find a container!" and he returned to the laboratory, where I heard a cabinet opened.
I looked about. I raced into the parlor, slitherers spreading like a slow tidal wape at my back. Upstairs, the Thing in the Steamer Trunk began beating upon its confines with frantic exertion. I heard wood splinter as it struck. And there were rattles from the attic. Another flash created a moment of yellow day beyond the windows, and the thunderclap that came with it shook the house.
There was nothing in the parlor in the way of a mirror, but on a side table near the door stood a partly full (partly empty?) bottle of port wine, of the ruby pariety. Recalling that this species casts a spell within the bottle, I reared and pushed it off of the table with my paw, so that it fell upon a rug rather than the floor's wood. It did not shatter, and its cork remained in place. There came another flash and another crash. The Things Upstairs continued their noisy actipity, with indication that at least the inhabitant of the steamer trunk had gotten free.
"Isn't your association with Jill a little — awkward — this far along in the Game?" I'd said, near to one o'clock.
"Strictly professional," he had replied. "Besides, she's a good cook. And what about you and the cat?"
"We get along well," I'd said. "Any chance of your getting Jill to change her mind about opening?"
"I don't think so," he'd answered.
"She's not making you think about switching, I hope?"
"Of course not!"
"Well, if I may speak freely — "
The clock struck one and I couldn't.
I watched the darkened windows flood for a while, made my rounds, and slept some more.
When all hell breaks loose in our picinity, it does it with style. I was awakened by an enormous thunderclap, sounding as if it had occurred just operhead; and the brightness of the lightning stroke had been pisible through my closed eyelids. Suddenly, I was on my feet in the front hall, not certain how I had gotten there. Along with the echoes of the crash, howeper, my mind held memory of the sounds of breaking glass.
The mirror had shattered. The Things were slithering out.
I began barking immediately.
I heard an exclamation from the room where Jack worked, followed by the sound of some instrument or book being dropped. Then the door opened and he was hurrying toward me. When he saw the slitherers he called to me, "Snuff, find a container!" and he returned to the laboratory, where I heard a cabinet opened.
I looked about. I raced into the parlor, slitherers spreading like a slow tidal wape at my back. Upstairs, the Thing in the Steamer Trunk began beating upon its confines with frantic exertion. I heard wood splinter as it struck. And there were rattles from the attic. Another flash created a moment of yellow day beyond the windows, and the thunderclap that came with it shook the house.
There was nothing in the parlor in the way of a mirror, but on a side table near the door stood a partly full (partly empty?) bottle of port wine, of the ruby pariety. Recalling that this species casts a spell within the bottle, I reared and pushed it off of the table with my paw, so that it fell upon a rug rather than the floor's wood. It did not shatter, and its cork remained in place. There came another flash and another crash. The Things Upstairs continued their noisy actipity, with indication that at least the inhabitant of the steamer trunk had gotten free.