"Dancers At The End Of Time - 03 - The End Of All Songs" - читать интересную книгу автора (Moorcock Michael)

Jherek turned. Tramping through the shallows, apparently oblivious of the water, came a man dressed in a seaman's jersey, a tweed Norfolk jacket, plus-fours, heavy woollen stockings, stout brogues. In one hand he clutched a stick of a peculiarly twisted crystalline nature. Otherwise he appeared to be a contemporary of Mrs. Underwood's. He was smiling. "I say, do you speak English of any kind?" He was bronzed. He had a full moustache and signs of a newly sprouting beard. He beamed at them. He came to a stop, resting his knuckles on his hips. "Well?"

Mrs. Underwood was confused. "We speak English, sir. Indeed we are Ч at least I am Ч English, as you must be."

"Beautiful day, isn't it?" The stranger nodded at the sea. "Nice and calm. Must be the early Devonian, eh? Have you been here long?"

"Long enough, sir."

"We are marooned," Jherek explained. "A malfunction of our time-craft. The paradoxes were too much for it, I suspect."

The stranger nodded gravely. "I've sometimes experienced similar difficulties, though happily without such drastic results. You're from the nineteenth century, I take it."

"Mrs. Underwood is. I hail from the End of Time."

"Aha!" The stranger smiled. "I have just come from there. I was fortunate enough to witness the complete disintegration of the universe Ч briefly, of course. I, too, am originally from the nineteenth century. This would be one of my regular stops, if I were journeying to the past. The peculiar thing is that I was under the impression I was going forward Ч beyond, as it were, the End of Time. My instruments indicate as much. Yet here I am." He scratched his sandy hair, adding, in mild disappointment, "I was hoping for some illumination."

"You are on your way, then, to the future?" Mrs. Underwood asked. "To the nineteenth century?"

"It seems that I must be. When did you leave?"

"1896," Mrs. Underwood told him.

"I am from 1894. I was not aware that anyone else had hit upon my discovery during that periodЕ"

"There!" exclaimed Jherek. "Mr. Wells was right!"

"Our machine was from Mr. Carnelian's period," she said. "Originally, I was abducted to the End of Time, under circumstances which remain mysterious. The motives of my abductor continue to be obscure, moreover. IЕ" She paused apologetically. "This is of no interest to you, of course." She moistened her lips. "You would not, I suppose, have the means of lighting a fire, sir?"

The stranger patted the bulging pockets of his Norfolk jacket. "Somewhere. Some matches. I tend to carry as many necessities as possible about my person. In the event of being stranded Е Here we are." He produced a large box of vestas. "I would give you the whole box, butЕ"

"A few will do. You say you are familiar with the early Devonian."

"As familiar as one can be."

"Your advice, then, would be welcome. The edibility of the molluscs, for instance?"

"I think you'll find the myalina subquadrata the least offensive, and very few are actually poisonous, though a certain amount of indigestion is bound to result. I, myself, am a slave to indigestion."

"And what do these myalina look like?" Jherek asked.

"Oh, like mussels, really. You have to dig for them."

Mrs. Underwood took five matches from the box and handed it back.

"Your time-craft, sir, is functioning properly?" Jherek said.

"Oh, yes, perfectly."

"And you are returning to the nineteenth century?"