"S. M. Stirling - Dies the Fire 01 - Dies the Fire" - читать интересную книгу автора (Stirling S. M)

Barleycorn,"
"The Witch of the Westmoreland," "Dance in the Circle," and "Ladyes Bring Your
Flowers Fair," which can be-and should be,-ordered at www.heatherlands.com.
Run, do not walk, to do so.

Far-called our navies melt away On dune and headland sinks the fire,- Lo, all
our pomp of yesterday Is one with Nineveh and Tyre!

-Rudyard Kipling, "Recessional"
Boise Municipal Airport, Idaho

Tuesday, March 17th, 1998 6:15 P.M., RMT-Change minus one hour

Michael Havel pulled his battered four-by-four into the employees' parking
lot, locked up and swung his just-in-case gear out of the back, the strap of
the pack over one shoulder and the gun case on the other. It was a raw
early-spring Idaho afternoon, with the temperature in the low fifties,- the
light had a cool, bleakly clear quality, as if you could cut yourself on the
blue of the sky.
He walked quickly across to the door marked "Steelhead Air Taxi" and opened it
with three fingers and an elbow, whistling a Kevin Welch tune under his
breath.
Inside he set the gear down on a couple of chairs-the all-up weight was nearly
eighty pounds-and opened his heavy sheepskin jacket, stuffing his knit cap
into one pocket.

That left his black hair ruffled the way it always did, and he smoothed it
down with the palms of both hands. The air here smelled a bit of burned fuel
and oil, which couldn't be helped around an airport.

"You said the bossman had something for me, Mellie?" he asked the secretary as
he went to the pot on the table in the corner and poured himself a cup.

The coffee was Steelhead Air Taxi standard: oily, bitter and burnt, with
iridescent patches of God-knew-what floating on the surface. He poured
halfandhalf in with a lavish hand until it looked pale brown. This was an
informal outfit, family-run: Dan and Gerta Fogarty had flown themselves until
a few years ago,- there was Mellie Jones, who was Gerta's aunt,- and six
pilots, one Mike Havel being the youngest at twenty-eight, and the most recent
hire.

"Yup," the white-haired woman behind the desk said. "Wants you to hop some
passengers to a ranch field in the Bitterroot Valley, north of Victor. The
Larssons, they're visiting their holiday place."

Havel's eyebrows went up,- it was a damned odd time of year to be taking a
vacation there. Tail end of the season for winter sports, but still plenty
cold, and the weather would be lousy. Then he shrugged, if the client wanted
to go, it was the firm's job to take him. Steelhead Air did a little of
everything: flying tourists, fishermen and whitewater rafters into wilderness