"Ron Goulart - A Whiff of Madness" - читать интересную книгу автора (Goulart Ron)

"She's an even larger bimbo, too," said his tired-looldng editor. "Well, let's see if I can give you
your new assignment before the choirboys get back."
"Choirboys?"
"We get 'em every hour on the hour; supposed to be uplifting. A hundred of the little buggers,
made by a Swiss watchmaker on Murdstone, and every damn one of 'em is towheaded and freckled."
Flowers jabbed at his gaunt cheeks to indicate where some of the freckles appeared. "I want you to go
out to Peregrine, Jack."
"That looks like Coult himself in that stained glass window there," observed Summer, pointing
with a thumb, "sitting at the right hand of God,"
"It is; the bimbo with the halo is the current wife of the enormous Coult publishing empire."
"Don't much like women with their hair down over one eye like that"
"She has a very interesting backside, so I'm told," said Flowers. "Now about this assignment on
the planet Peregrine."
"Yeah, she does have a nice ass, now you mention it. Something you don't often see in stained
glass window figures." Summer returned his attention to his editor. "What do you want me to write about
on Peregrine, the civil war?"
"Everybody knows civil wars are corrupt. Muckrake's readers are tired of that sort of expose,"
said the weary Flowers, slumping farther down in his pew, "What I want you to dig into for me is a little
scandal concerning King Waldo the second."
"He's the ruler of Laranja East, isn't he? Laranja East and Laranja West are the territories having
the civil war."
"Yep," replied Flowers. "Our stringer out there sent us word King Waldo is killing people."
"Is that newsworthy? Kings and presidents are alwaysтАФ"
"This guy is putting on a slouch hat, a black cloak, and gray gloves, Jack, to strangle little old
ladies. Our stringerтАФ"
"You mean King Waldo is the Phantom of the Fog?"
"Looks very possible. Seems heтАФ "
Bong!
The cathedral vibrated as an unseen bell tower struck the half hour.
"Oh, that nitwit bimbo and her interesting backside." Flowers grimaced. "Anyway, Jack, there
appears to be a strong likelihood the good king is the phantom strangler. Lots of rumors to that effect are
floating around the territory."
"Has the palace had anything to say about the charges?"
"The king's press secretary maintains it's a media plot to smear the monarch."
Summer toyed with the prayerwheel dangling from a hook on the back of the pew in front of him.
"Whether or not Waldo's the killer, he's not going to take kindly to my walking into his territory to nose
around."
"Yep, the king's very touchy about the rumors that he's a crazed pattern murderer. At his last
press conference he threatened to horsewhip the newsman whoтАФ"
"That's right, they have horses out there," said Summer. "Okay, so I'm going to need a cover
story, a plausible reason for being there."
From a wrinkled pocket in his rumpled tunic the editor withdrew a photo of a plump,
shaggy-feathered birdman. Holding the photo out to Summer, he said, "This lad claims to be Mulligan
Starbuck."
 "So?"
"Mulligan was lost at sea at the tender age of nine, twenty-two long years ago," Flowers dropped
the picture on Summer's lap. "Five weeks ago, according to our Peregrine stringer, this fellow in the
photo appeared on the doorstep of the Starbuck estate in the Laranja East countryside. He swears he's
the missing Mulligan, the long-lost heir come home to roost." I've heard of the Starbucks. Lot of money."
"Right, the Starbucks are one of the richest families on the planet. They're in railroads, oil, steel,