"John DeChancie - Skyway 2 - Red Limit Freeway" - читать интересную книгу автора (Dechancie John)

I went down the narrow stairs to the lobby, where the gang wax waiting for me. We started for the
Vorpal Blade. There were even more people in the lobby now, trying vainly to get in. Just as we hit the
edge of the crowd, the desk clerk intercepted us.
"We have a table for you and your party, Mr. McGraw. If you'll follow me."
"A table?" I said incredulously. "In there?"
"Yes, sir, right this way."
I turned to my companions, but they weren't at all surprised. So we followed him as he made a swath for
us through the clot of people pressing around the entrance to the bar. He seemed to know just about
everyone he either politely brushed by or summarily shoved out of the way, none too gently, when the
parties concerned weren't immediately cooperative. Hi; size, even when compared to these beefy
loggers, gave hin all the authority he needed, if he didn't own the place to boof
The Vorpal Blade was dark, smoky, and noisy, redolent of spilled beer and cooking grease. A huge bar
took up one sidc of the room. The walls were of barkless log, milled flat on the inside, and the ceiling
joists were squared-off and planed. There were plenty of tables and chairs, but too many damn people
loggers mostly. The decor was apropos-walls hung with odd varieties of saws, axes, cutting tools of
every sort, pairs of spiked climbing boots, ropes, and such. It was a sweaty, mus cular,
pewter-and-leather kind of place, awash with good fellowship and camaraderie. Everybody was singing,
includinj the bartenders, and they were busy.
The clerk actually had a table for us, with room for all against the far wall near the bar and directly
athwart a huge stone fireplace. We all sat, and I thanked the clerk. I asked him his name, silently
wondering if I should tip him. I reachec into my pocket.
"Zack Moore, sir. And save the gratis for the help. Enjoy."
"Thank you, Zack."
On his way out he shooed a buxom barmaid over to usY then waved and left.
"Hello, there! What're you people having today?"
The others started ordering. I was noticing the alien graii of the wood. It was almost geometrical, oddly
shot througl with greens and purples, but the overall color was a dark brown Didn't look as though the
wood had been stained. I knocked a knuckle against the wall. It felt like iron. I turned around sat back,
and listened to the group sing-along. Odd lyrics. A group at a table near the bar sang the verses, the rest
of th crowd taking up the chorus, which went something like:

A lumberjack can't take a wife.
Such a terribly lonely life!
For a logger's best friend is a tree
It's strange, I know, but it's all right by me!
Each verse grew progressively more absurd and off-color Transvestism and other variations were
broadly hinted at. In dividual poetasters stood up and sang their own verses, each more outrageous than
the last. The crowd howled. After the last verse, they'd sing it all over again, adding more verses. I asked
the barmaid where the song had come from. She didn't know, but said in so many words that it was most
likely traditional. She'd been hearing it ever since she came to Talltree as a child (last Tuesday, from the
looks of her-but, hell, maybe I'm just getting old).
We all listened while waiting for our order to come. By the time the beer arrived, Suzie and John were
convulsed, with Darla and Roland smiling, a little unsure. Carl loved it, too. Winnie and Lori were trying
to talk above the din.
The beer was Inglo style, dark, bitter, served at room temperature, but the high alcohol content more
than made up for It. I drained my pewter mug in three gulps and refilled it from the glazed crockery
pitcher.
Only when the food came did I think about Winnie. She certainly couldn't eat this stuff-braised pork ribs,
roast game hen, fried potatoes and vegetables, sliced warm bread with mounds of fresh butter. The
barmaid told us that almost nothing cm the planet was edible without extensive processing. All the fare