"Charles De Lint - The Little Country" - читать интересную книгу автора (De Lint Charles)

take out his wee whistle and ask quietly, тАЬDo you know this one, then?тАЭ just before he launched into the
version of тАЬJohnny CopeтАЭ that was his party piece.

{Page21}But for once Janey knew sheтАЩd find no solace in the music. Not with the tour still looming and
her without a sideman. She had an advert in a couple of the papers, but sheтАЩd have to go back to JennyтАЩs
flat in London for the auditions.If anyone even bothered to call. Knowing her luck, sheтАЩd end up being
stuck with some three-chord wonder that sheтАЩd have to teach to play his bloody instrument before they
could even start to work on their sets. Because everybody who was decent wasnтАЩt available. Unless she
wanted to go begging Alan to at least finish this one tour with her.

No thanks.

She creaked open the wooden chest and sneezed at the musty odor that rose from its contents. It
appeared to be stacked, from top to bottom, with old journals. She took one out and flipped through the
pages, pausing when she came to a familiar byline. тАЬTom BawcockтАЩs Eve in MouseholeтАЭ by William
Dunthorn. The article was a brief description of the traditional festivities in Mousehole on December
23rd, when the fishermen gathered to eat тАЬStargazy PieтАЭ?тАФa pie made with whole fish, their heads
sticking out through the crust.

She looked through more of the journals and found brief articles by Dunthorn in each one. Most sheтАЩd
already seen?тАФthe Gaffer had kept all of his mateтАЩs writing that he could lay his hands on?тАФbut there
were one or two sheтАЩd never read before, and many of them were in manuscript form as well as
published.

Well, this was a find, wasnтАЩt it just? WouldnтАЩt it be perfect if down by the bottom there were manuscript
pages of some uncompleted novel? Or, better yet, a completed novel, just aching to be read. . . .

Her breath caught in her chest as her scrabbling hands came up with a leather-bound book right at the
bottom of the chest.
Be still my heart, she thought.

There was some mildew on the cover, but it came off when she rubbed it with the sleeve of her shirt,
leaving only a faint smudge. What made her breath catch, however, was the title of the book.

The Little Country.A novel by William Dunthorn.

Fingers trembling, she opened the book. A folded slip of paper fell out onto her lap, but she ignored it as
she flipped quickly through the thick parchment pages.

My God. Itwas a novel. A complete, published Dunthorn novel that sheтАЩd never heard of before.

She turned to the copyright page, not quite taking in the phrase{Page 22}тАЬpublished in an edition of one
copyтАЭ until sheтАЩd read it a number of times.

One copy.

This was the only copy.

What was itdoing here?