"Charles Stross - Trunk and Disorderly" - читать интересную книгу автора (Stross Charles)

I was lying on the bottom of the swimming pool in the conservatory at
the back of Chateau Pookie, breathing alcohol-infused air through a hose
and feeling sorry for myself, when the new butler found me. At least, I think
thatтАЩs what I was doing. I was pretty far-gone, conflicted between the need
to practice my hypersonic p-waggling before the drop and the urge to drink
LauraтАЩs absence out of my system. All I remember is a vague rippling blue
curtain of sunlight on scrolled ironworkтАФthe ceilingтАФand then a huge stark
shadow looming over me, talking in the voice of polite authority.

тАЬGood afternoon, Sir. According to the diary, Sir is supposed to be
receiving his sisterтАЩs mammoth in the front parlor in approximately twenty
minutes. Would Sir care to be sober for the occasion? And what suit should
Sir like to wear?тАЭ

This was about four more sirs than I could take lying down. тАЬNnngk
gurgle,тАЭ I said, sitting up unsteadily. The breather tube wasnтАЩt designed for
speech. Choking, I spat it out. тАЬMтАЩgosh and please excuse me, but who the
hell are you?тАЭ

тАЬAlison Feng.тАЭ She bowed stiffly, from the waist. тАЬThe agency sent
me, to replace your last, ah, man.тАЭ She was dressed in the stark black and
white of a butler, and she did indeed have the voiceтАФsome very expensive
training, not to mention discreet laryngeal engineering, went into producing
that accent of polite condescension, the steering graces that could direct
even the richest and most irritable employer in directions less conducive to
their social embarrassment. ButтАФ

тАЬYouтАЩre my new butler?тАЭ I managed to choke out.

тАЬI believe so.тАЭ One chiseled eyebrow signaled her skepticism.

тАЬOh, oh jolly good, then, that squishie.тАЭ A thought, marinating in my
sozzled subconscious, floated to the surface. тАЬYou, um, know why my last
butler quit?тАЭ

тАЬNo, sir.тАЭ Her expression didnтАЩt change. тАЬIn my experience it is best to
approach oneтАЩs prospective employers with an open mind.тАЭ

тАЬIt was my sisterтАЩs mammothтАЩs fault,тАЭ I managed to say before a fit of
coughing overcame me. тАЬListen, just take the bloody thing and see itтАЩs
locked in the number three guest dungeon, the one thatтАЩs fitted out for
clankie doms. It can tryтАЩn destroy anything it bally likes in there, it wonтАЩt get
very far anтАЩ we can fix it later. Hic. Glue the door shut, or weld it or
somethingтАФone of her boyfriends trained the thing to pick locks with its
trunk. Got a sober-up?тАЭ

тАЬOf course, sir.тАЭ She snapped her fingers, and blow me if there wasnтАЩt
one of those devilish red capsules balanced between her white-gloved
digits.