"Simon R. Green - Drinking Midnight Wine" - читать интересную книгу автора (Green Simon R)

occasional hidden passage. It was an old building, possibly even Georgian, with many
unexpected draughts, and floors that creaked loudly as you walked on them, despite the thick
carpeting. And everywhere you went, there was the comforting smell of books; of paper and
glue and musky leather bindings, of history and dreams compressed into handy volumes.
Every wall was covered with shelves, packed tightly with books on every subject under the
sun, and a few best not mentioned in polite company. There were standing displays and dump
bins and revolving wire stands, filled with more knowledge, entertainment and general weird
shit than any man could read in one lifetime. Gandalf's prided itself on catering for every taste
and interest, from the latest paperback best-sellers to obscure philosophical discourses bound
in goatskin. From science to mysticism, Gothic romances to celebrity biographies, from
aromatherapy to creative knitting to erotic feng shui, you could be sure of finding something
unexpected in every genre, on any subject.
Gandalf's had books on everything, including a few it shouldn't. The shop's owner was
fearless, and would stock anything he thought people wanted. There'd been a certain amount
of controversial publicity just recently, when the owner refused to stop stocking the new
English translation of the infamous Necronomicon, even though it was officially banned.
Toby didn't care; he'd already survived far greater scandals over selling copies of Spycatcher
and The Satanic Verses. He'd flipped briefly through the Necronomicon, just out of curiosity,
but found the dry prose style unreadable and the illustrations frankly baffling. People were
still paying twenty quid a copy though, proof if proof were needed that you could sell
absolutely anything if people thought they weren't supposed to be reading it. He'd been much
more taken with The Joy of Frogs, a sex manual where all the illustrations recorded
announcement sounded almost apologetic for disturbing the peace.
The station's general elegance and smug solidity was entirely lost on Toby, who tended to
stand on the platform like one of George Romero's zombies, all dull-eyed and listless. Most
mornings he had to be nudged awake to get on the train when it arrived, sometimes on time,
and sometimes not. It all depended on how the train company felt about it. And if you didn't
like it, you were of course free to take your custom to some other train company. Except that
there wasn't another train company.
By the time the train lurched into Bath, the city was already wide awake and bustling with
eager, impatient people hurrying to their jobs, positively radiating motivation and can-do.
Toby tried not to look at them. He found them depressing beyond words. The streets were
crowded, and the roads were packed bumper to bumper with snarling, cursing commuter
traffic. At this time of the day, the air was so thick with pollution that even the pigeons were
coughing, and the noise level was appalling. Head down, shoulders hunched, Toby trudged
through the din, wearing his best get-out-of-my-way-or-I'll-kill-you look.
Toby didn't care for cities. They had far too much personality, like a bully forever
punching you on the arm to get your attention. Toby had spent three years living in the East
End of London, back when he was a student; an area that would have profited greatly from a
heavily armed UN peacekeeping force. Lacking the funds necessary to reach the more
civilised areas of London, Toby endured three very long years to get his BA (English
Literature and Philosophy, Joint Honours) and then ran back to his home town at the first
opportunity. Cities crammed too many people together in too confined a space, and then the
powers that be wondered why people fought each other all the time. Toby thought cities were
like natural disasters; enjoyable only if viewed from a safe distance. Bath, for example, had
interesting places to look at like a dog has fleas, but for the most part Toby couldn't be
bothered to fight his way through the crowds to get to them.
Toby had worked in Bath for over a year, but had never once considered moving there to
live.
By the time he got to Gandalf's, ready for the great unlocking at nine a.m., Toby was