"John Morressy - When Bertie Met Mary" - читать интересную книгу автора (Morressy John)

Wilby mumbled something about "Off on a bit of a toot," and the Silly Young Man said, "I thought we
were dressing. I mean, after all, I did ask, and you said --"
I silenced him with a curt gesture and sprang to the Time Traveler's side. Seizing the decanter, I splashed
whiskey into a glass and thrust it into his hand. He raised it, sniffed it, and looked at me peevishly.
"I called for brandy."
"Get hold of yourself, old man," I said. "Brandy's for after dinner."
He gripped my forearm and nodded, then emptied the glass in a single gulp. "Thanks. I needed that," he
said, rising. "Now just give me time to clean up and change, and we'll have dinner."
"I suppose everything's cold by now," said the Silly Young Man, and at this observation several of the
company groaned. This was a complication we had not anticipated.
As if he had not noticed, the Time Traveler went on, "After dinner, you shall have your proof. And then
I'll be leaving you."
Dinner was, as the Silly Young Man had predicted, cold. Indeed, it was almost inedible, except for the
trifle, which was quite good. We gathered around the fire in the study afterward, our mood peevish and
dyspeptic. Ignoring our groans and internal rumblings, the Time Traveler launched into his account. I have
set it down here directly as it came from his lips, omitting only the vulgar digestive noises that served as
background.
Accounts of the experiments performed by the brilliant eighteenth-century scientist Victor Frankenstein
had long fascinated me, and I resolved to use the maiden voyage of my time machine to meet him in
person. I knew the period I wished to visit, but was uncertain of the exact location. Eagerness
overcoming my customary prudence, I decided to aim for Central Europe and trust to luck.
The machine came to rest in a dense wood. A thick mist obscured all outlines. Wolves howled in the
distance, and the eerie patter of dripping moisture was everywhere. I suspected that I had arrived in
Transylvania.
As I peered about, seeking my bearings, a faint noise reached my ears. It grew louder, and soon I saw
points of light bobbing in the distance, coming ever closer. Suddenly I found myself in the midst of a
crowd of peasants. I fell in beside a scowling black- bearded man who repeatedly brandished his torch
and cried, "To the castle, men! On to the castle!"
A fat little man just behind us, badly out of breath, panted, "No need to keep shouting, Zoltan. We know
where we're going."
Zoltan turned on him with an irate expression. "I'm the leader. I can shout 'To the castle, men' all I want
to. The leader always gets to do that."
"Hell of a leader you are," the fat man said in disgust. "We've been stumbling around in these woods for
nearly two hours."
Zoltan made a face at him and shouted, "Follow me, men! On to Castle Frankenstein!" at the top of his
lungs.
Rejoicing at my good fortune, I stepped forward and tugged at his sleeve. "Excuse me, sir -- may I join
your mob ?" I inquired. "I'm heading that way."
The peasants stopped and eyed me suspiciously. Those in the background muttered and made disgusting
noises. I later learned that they had been singing a local song of welcome.
At length the fat man, whose name was Imre, said, "Why do you want to storm the castle with us?
You're not from the village. Nobody's carried off your children.'
"Has anyone carried off yours?" I asked.
"No," he said with a sigh. "They're still at home. All seventeen of them. A lazy, good-for-nothing bunch of
burns with appetites like aristocrats."
"Where are you from, tall stranger?" Zoltan demanded. Only when he had repeated his question three
times and hit me on the head did I realize that he was addressing me.
"You must forgive me," I said. "No one has ever addressed me as 'tall stranger' before."
"I was just giving you a little bit of leader-type talk," Zoltan said, swaggering a bit.
"A lousy leader and an even lousier judge of height," Imre muttered.