"Theodora Goss - The Rose in Twelve Petals" - читать интересную книгу автора (Goss Theodora)

and the skin on his nose is already red and peeling.
Two acres, and he'll knock off for some beer and that liver
and onion sandwich Madge made him this morning, whose
grease, together with the juice of a large gherkin, is soaking
its way through a brown paper wrapper and will soon stain
the leather of his satchel. He leans back, looks at the tangle
of briars that form the undergrowth in this part of the forest,
and chews on the knuckle of his thumb.
Two acres in the middle of the forest, enough for some
barley and a still. Hell of a good idea, he thinks, already
imagining the bottles on their way to Amsterdam, already
imagining his pals Mike and Steve watching football on a color
telly. Linoleum on the kitchen floor, like Madge always
wanted, and cigarettes from America. тАЬNot that damn
rationed stuff,тАЭ he says out loud, then looks around startled.
What kind of fool idiot talks to himself? He chews on the
knuckle of his thumb again. Twenty pounds to make the
Police Commissioner look the other way. Damn lucky Madge
could lend them the money. The bulldozer starts up again
with a roar and the smell of diesel.
26 The Rose in Twelve Petals
by Theodora Goss
You don't like where this is going. What sort of Prince is
this, with his liver and onion sandwich, his gherkin and beer?
Forgive me. I give you the only Prince I can find, a direct
descendant of the Count of Edinburgh, himself descended
from the Tudors, albeit in the female line. Of course, all such
titles have been abolished. This is, after all, the Socialist
Union of Britannia. If Harry knows he is a Prince, he certainly
isn't telling Mike or Steve, who might sell him out for a pack
of American cigarettes. Even Madge can't be trusted, though
they've been sharing a flat in the commune's apartment
building for three years. Hell, she made a big enough fuss
about the distillery business.
The bulldozer's roar grows louder, then turns into a whine.
The front wheel is stuck in a ditch. Harry climbs down and
looks at the wheel. Damn, he'll have to get Mike and Steve.
He kicks the wheel, kicks a tree trunk and almost gets his
foot caught in a briar, kicks the wheel again.
Something flashes in the forest. Now what the hell is that?
(You and I know it is sunlight flashing from the faceted upper
window of the tower.) Harry opens his beer and swallows a
mouthful of its warm bitterness. Some damn poacher, walking
around on his land. (You and I remember that it belongs to
the Socialist Union of Britannia.) He takes a bite of his liver
and onion sandwich. Madge shouldn't frown so much, he
thinks, remembering her in her housecoat, standing by the
kitchen sink. She's getting wrinkles on her forehead. Should
he fetch Mike and Steve? But the beer in his stomach, warm,
bitter, tells him that he doesn't need Mike and Steve, because