"Simon R. Green - Nightside 1 - Drinking Midnight Wine" - читать интересную книгу автора (Green Simon R)

there was no room to stretch your legs, and anyone who felt like swinging a cat would have clubbed
half a dozen people to death before he'd even managed a decent wind-up. It was a hot and sweaty
summer evening, and the interior of the long carriage was like a steam bath. Toby didn't think
he'd mention it to Great Western Railways. They'd just call it a design feature, and charge him
extra for the privilege.
Toby was pretending to read an unauthorised X-Files tie-in edition of dubious veracity and
unconcealed paranoia, while secretly studying the woman with the perfect mouth who sat opposite
him. He didn't have the energy to concentrate on the book anyway. He'd been on his feet all day,
and the constant rocking back and forth of the carriage was almost enough to lull him to sleep,
safe in the arms of the train, but he fought it off. Dozing on a train always left him with a
stiff neck and a dry mouth, and there was always the danger he'd sleep past his stop. And you
couldn't rely on any of this bunch to wake you up. Toby looked briefly around him at the neat men
in their neat suits, with bulging briefcases and tightly knotted ties, no doubt listlessly


file:///G|/Program%20Files/eMule/Incoming/Simo...tside%201%20-%20Drinking%20Midnight%20Wine.txt (1 of 118) [10/16/2004 5:28:20 PM]
 file:///G|/Program%20Files/eMule/Incoming/Simon%20R.%20Green%20-%20Nightside%201%20-%20Drinking%20Midnight%20Wine.txt

considering another endless day of shuffling papers from one pile to another... and sometimes back
again. Deadly dull people leading deadly dull lives... Toby envied all of them because at least
they had some kind of purpose.
Toby worked at Gandalf's bookshop, right in the busy centre of Bath. He was officially in charge
of the Crime & Thrillers section, but really he was just a shop assistant with a few extra duties.
It wasn't a bad place to work. The other assistants were pleasant company, and the shop itself was
full of interesting nooks and crannies and intriguing out-of-print treasures. Gandalf's consisted
of four sprawling floors, connected by old, twisting stairways and the 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 featured cartoon frogs going at it in unusual and inventive ways. Some
customer had ordered the book over the phone, but so far hadn't worked up enough courage to come
in and pick it up. Just as well, really - the shop's staff had pretty much worn the book out