"Baker, Kage - Son Observe the Time" - читать интересную книгу автора (Baker Kage)

"By no means, unless you want some real discomfort. YouТll be all right in a minute or so. As I was about to say, I have some recordings of Jean de Reszke IТll transmit to you, if youТre interested in comparing artists."

"Thanks, IТd like that." Averill ran a hasty self-diagnostic.

"And how is your team faring over at the New Brunswick, by the way? No cases of nerves, no blue devils?"

"Hell no." Averill started to lift his coffee again and then set it down respectfully.

"DoesnТt bother you that the whole place will be ashes in a few daysТ time, and most of your neighbors dead?"

"No. WeТre all okay over there. We figure itТs just a metaphor for the whole business, isnТt it? I mean, sooner or later this whole worldЦ" he made a sweeping gesture, palm outwardЦ "as we know it, is going the same way, right? So whatТs it matter if itТs the earthquake finishes it now or a wrecking ball someplace further on in time, right? Same thing with the people. ItТll all come to the same thing in the end, so thereТs no reason to get personally upset about it, is there? No, sir. Specially since weТll all still be alive."

"A commendable attitude." I had a sip of my coffee. "And your work goes well?"

"Yes sir." He grinned. "You will be so proud of us burglary squad fellows when you get our next list. You wouldnТt believe the stuff weТre finding! All kinds of objets dТart, looks like. One-of-a-kind items, by God. WaitТll you see."

"I look forward to it." I glanced at my Chronometer and drank down the rest of my coffee, having waited for it to descend to a comfortable 59 degrees Celsius. "But, you know, Averill, it really wonТt do to think of yourselves as burglars."

"WellЦthat isЦitТs only a figure of speech, anyhow!" Averill protested, flushing. "A joke!"

"IТm aware of that, but I cannot emphasize enough that we are not stealing anything." I set my coffee cup down, aware that I sounded priggish, and looked sternly at him. "WeТre preserving priceless examples of late Victorian craftsmanship for the edification of future generations."

"I know." Averill looked at me sheepishly, "ButЦaw, hell, do you mean to say not one of those crystal chandeliers will wind up in some Facilitator GeneralТs private HQ somewhere?"

"ThatТs an absurd idea," I told him, though I knew only too well it wasnТt. Still, it doesnТt do to disillusion oneТs subordinates too young. "And now, will you excuse me? I mustnТt be late for work."

"All right. Be seeing you!"

As I left he rejoined the admiring throng about the fellow who was telling Caruso stories. My way lay along the bright tiled hall, steamy and echoing with the clatter of food preparation and busy operatives; then through the dark security vestibule, with its luminous screens displaying the world without; then through the concealed door that shut behind me and left no trace of itself to any eyes but my own. I drew a deep breath. Chill and silent morning air; no glimmer of light, yet, at least not down here in the alley. Half-past-five. This time three days henceЦ

I shivered and found my way out in the direction of the waterfront.

Not long afterward I arrived at the loading area where I had been desultorily employed for the last month. I made my entrance staggering slightly, doing my best to murder "You CanТt Guess Who Flirted With Me" in a gravelly baritone.

The mortal laborers assembled there turned to stare at me. My best friend, an acquaintance IТd cultivated painstakingly these last three weeks, came forward and took me by the arm.

"Jesus, Kelly, youТd better stow that. WhereТve you been?"

I stopped singing and gave him a belligerent stare. "Marching in the Easter Parade, OТNeil."

"O, like enough." He ran his eyes over me in dismay. Francis OТNeil was thirty years old. He looked enough like me to have been taken for my somewhat bulkier, clean-shaven brother. "WhatТre you doing this for, man? You know Herlihy doesnТt like you as it is. You look like youТve not been home to sleep nor bathe since Friday night!"

"So I have not." I dropped my gaze in hungover remorse.

"Come on, you poor stupid bastard, IТve got some coffee in my dinner pail. Sober up. Was it a letter you got from your girl again?"

"It was." I let him steer me to a secluded area behind a mountain of crates and accepted the tin cup he filled for me with lukewarm coffee. "She doesnТt love me, OТNeil. She never did. I can tell."

"Now, then, youТre taking it all the wrong way, IТm sure. I canТt believe sheТs stopped caring, not after all the things youТve told me about her. Just drink that down, now. Mary made it fresh not an hour ago."