"Keith Laumer - The World Shuffler" - читать интересную книгу автора (Laumer Keith)

"Vanished!" he whispered. "Everything I was complaining about . . ." He stopped to
swallow. "And everything I wasn't complaining about along with it. DaphneтАФour
apartmentтАФthe palaceтАФand it was almost dinnertime . . ."
The thought was accompanied by a sharp pang just below the middle button of the
handsomely cut coat he had donned less than half an hour ago. He shivered. It was cold
now, with night falling fast. He couldn't just perch here beside the dead phone. The first
trick would be to get down to the ground, and then . . .
That was as far as his numbed mind cared to go for the moment. First I'll think about
the immediate problem, he told himself. Then, later, I'll think about what to do next.
He tried putting a foot on the openwork vane beside him; it seemed remarkably
limber, his knees remarkably wobbly. The rough wood rasped his hands. As he started
out, the framework sank slowly under him, with much creaking. He had already worked
up a light sweat, in spite of the chill wind. No doubt about it, the easy living had taken its
toll, condition-wise. Gone were the days when he could rise at dawn, breakfast on
sardines, do a full day's work over a hot drawing board, dine on sardines, and still have
the energy for an evening of plastics experiments and penicillium cultures. As soon as he
got out of thisтАФif he ever got out of this he'd have to give serious thought to reviving his
interest in body-building, long walks, pre-dawn calisthenics, karate, judo, and a high-
protein dieting. . . .
The ring was a light tinkle, almost lost against the open sky. Lafayette froze, hearing
the echo in his mind, wondering if he had imagined it, or if it had been merely the tolling
of a bell down in the village; or possibly the distant ding-dong of a cowbell, if there were
any cows in the vicinity and they wore bells that went ding-dong. ...
At the second ring, Lafayette broke two fingernails in his upward lunge; once his foot
slipped, leaving him dangling momentarily by a one-handed grip, but he hardly noticed.
A short instant later he had grabbed up the receiver, jammed it into his ear upside down.
"Hello?" he gasped. "Hello? Yes? Lafayette O'Leary speaking . . ."He quickly reversed
the phone as a shrill squeaking came from the end near his mouth.
". . . This is Pratwick, Sub-Inspector of Continua," the chirping voice was saying.
"Sorry to break in on your leisure time in this fashion, but an emergency has arisen here
at Central and we're recalling certain key personnel to active duty for the duration. Now,
according to our records, you're on standby status at Locus Alpha Nine-three, Plane V-
87, Fox 22 1-b, otherwise known as Artesia. Is that correct?"
"Yes," Lafayette blurted. "That is, no-not exactly. You see-"
"Now, this situation requires that you abandon your interim identity at once and
commence to operate underground, posing as an inmate of a maximum-security penal
camp, doing ninety-nine years for aggravated mopery. Got it?"
"Look, Mr. Pratwick, you don't quite grasp the situation," O'Leary broke in hastily.
"At the moment, I'm perched in a windmillтАФwhich seems to be all that's left of the royal
palaceтАФ"
"Now, you'll report at once to the Undercover station located at the intersection of the
palace sanitary main and the central municipal outflow, twelve feet under the Royal
sewage-processing plant, two miles north of town. Is that clear? You'll be in disguise, of
course: rags, fleas, that sort of thing. Our man there will smuggle you into the labor
camp, after fitting you out with the necessary artificial calluses, manacles, and simulated
scurvy soresтАФ"
"Hold on!" Lafayette cried. "I can't undertake an undercover assignment in Artesia!"
"Why not?" The voice sounded surprised.
"Because I'm not in Artesia, confound it! I've been trying to tell you! I'm hanging on
for dear life, a hundred feet above a wasteland! I mean, I was just strolling in the garden,