"Eric Flint - The Philosophical Strangler" - читать интересную книгу автора (Flint Eric)

"Yeah, no kidding, that's what people say. Can you imagine that? Stole a Rap Sheet! One of the real
Joe relics!" He pursed his lips, frowned, pretended to be thinking idle thoughts. "What are thereтАФfive
Rap Sheets, total, in the whole world? Maybe six?" He shook his head mournfully. Wipe, wipe. "But
that's what people say." Wipe, wipe, wipe. "Among other things."
"What else?" I grumbled.
Leuwen wasn't even trying to keep his grin under control anymore.
"Well, people're saying that whoever snuck into the embassy and took the Rap Sheet must've had
some real bruiser along with 'em. On account of what happened to all those elite-type embassy guards.
Broken necks, snapped spines, crushed windpipesтАФeven say one of 'em had his spine tore out and that
same spine used to garrote another. Can you imagine that?"
I was glaring into my mug.
Wipewipewipewipewipewipe.
"Now, who could do such terrible things?"
By rights, the ale should have started boiling by now, just from my glare alone. It was one of the
many problems with having the world's greatest professional strangler as my client. He couldn't stop
showing off.
One glance at Leuwen's wicked smile told me there was no point in trying to act dumb. Leuwen
knew what it said on Greyboar's business card as well as I did:

GREYBOARтАФStrangleure Extraordinaire
"Have Thumbs, Will Travel"
Customized Asphyxiations
No Gullet Too Big, No Weasand Too Small
My Motto: Satisfaction Garroteed, or
The Choke's on Me!
 Leuwen was now in full steam:
"Yeah, that's what people say. Whoever stole the Rap SheetтАФand thereby pissed off the world's
most powerful empire so bad they up and invaded not only Prygg but three other sovereign nations of
GrotumтАФalso managed to get away with itтАФand thereby also pissed off the Church and sent the whole
Inquisition into a frenzyтАФand even seem to have dropped out of sight entirely and are wandering
around loose with one of the real Joe relicsтАФthereby plunking themselves right smack in the middle of
all that Joe business, which is the worst business anybody can possibly get mixed up in, on account of
sooner or later God Himself is bound to come down on them like a ton of bricks."
Wipewipewipewipewipe. Wipewipe. Wipe, wipe. Wipe.
"Who knows?" I asked glumly.
Leuwen shrugged. "Nobody actually knows, Ignace. Cheer up. It's not all that bad, really. The
authorities are too stupid to figure it out, and the lowlifes what aren't too stupid to figure it out won't
really believe it on account of"тАФhere his face grew solemn and seriousтАФ"no lowlife in his right mind
is going to believe for one minute that Greyboar would have been stupid enough to get himself mixed
up in such a mess. Much less you."
I relaxed, slightly. Only slightly, however, because I could see the nextтАФyeah.
"So why did you get mixed up in it?" he asked quietly. "More of Greyboar's philosophy? Wasn't it
enough he got you chased out of New Sfinctr with that foolishness?"
"Wasn't philosophy," I grumbled. "Worse. Gwendolyn."
"Ah." Wipewipewipe. "Ah."
I scowled at the bar top. "What was I supposed to say? NoтАФwe wouldn't do it?"
Scowl, scowl, scowl. "You know with a Rap Sheet in Grotum, Gwendolyn's as good as dead. Every
porker in the land's been looking for her for years. The damned thing's a Joe relic. Most powerful
magic there is. They'd find her in a heartbeat. ThenтАФchop, chop, chop."
The bar top was suddenly subjected to a vigorous cleansing. "Ah."