"Doorsways in the Sand 05" - читать интересную книгу автора (Varley John)

"Doesn't it?"
"To the Queen!"
A shuffling of feet. A single clink.
"God save 'er!"
They reseated themselves after that and grew silent once again. I stood there for perhaps a quarter of an hour, but nothing more was said.
So I edged my way to the corner rack, found some money I had left behind still in its place in the boot, removed it, pocketed it, removed myself back to the ledge.
I closed the window as carefully as I had opened it, retreated to the roof, cut across the path of a black cat who arched his back and spat-doubtless superstitious, not that I blamed him-and made my way away.
After scouting Hal's building for loiterers other than myself and not spotting any, I rang his place from the booth on the corner. I was somewhat surprised to have my call answered in a matter of seconds.
"Yeah?"
"Hal?"
"Yeah. Who's this?"
"Your old buddy who climbs things."
"Hoo boy! What kind of trouble are you in, anyway?"
"If I knew that I'd have something for my pains. Can you tell me anything about it?"
"Probably nothing important. But there are some small things that might-"
"Listen, may I come over?"
"Sure, why not?"
"Now, I mean. I hate to be a bother, but-"
"No trouble. C'mon up."
"Are you all right?"
"Matter of fact, no. Mary and I had a little difference of opinion and she's spending the weekend at her mother's. I'm half stoned, which leaves me half sober. Which is enough. You tell me your troubles and I'll tell you mine."
"It's a deal. I'll be there in half a minute."
"Great. See you then."
So I cradled it, walked over, went in, buzzed his number and got admitted. Moments later I was knocking on his door.
"Prompt, oh prompt," he said, swinging it wide and stepping aside. "Enter, pray."
"In which order?"
"Oh, bless this house, by all means, first. It could use a little grace."
"Bless," I said, stepping in. "Sorry to hear you got troubles."
"They'll pass. It started out with a burnt dinner and being late for a show, that's all. Stupid thing. I thought it was her when the phone rang. I guess I'll have to do my apologizing tomorrow. The hangover should make me sound exceptionally repentant. What're you drinking?"
"I don't really . . . Oh, what the hell! Whatever you've got there."
"A drop of soda in a sea of Scotch."
"Make it the other way around," I said, moving on into the living room and settling in a big, soft, tilled chair.
Moments later Hal came in, handed me a tall glass from which I took a healthy slug, sat down across from me, tasted his own, then said, "Have you committed any especially monstrous acts lately?"
I shook my head.
"Always the victim, never the victor. What have you heard?"
"Nothing, really. It's all been implication and inference. People have been asking me a lot about you but not telling me much."
"People? Who?"
"Well, your adviser Dennis Wexroth was one-"
"What did be want?"
"More information about your individual project in Australia."
"Like, for instance?"
"Like where. He wanted to know exactly where you were digging around."
"What did you tell him?"
"That I didn't know, which was reasonably true. This was over the phone. Then he stopped by in person, and he had a man along with him-a Mister Nadler. The guy had an I.D. card saying he was an employee of the State Department. He acted as if they were concerned about the possibility of your removing artifacts from over there and creating an incident."
I said something vulgar.
"Yeah, that's what I thought, too," he said. "He pressed me to rack my memory for anything you might have said concerning your itinerary. I was tempted to misremember, say, Tasmania. Got scared, though. Didn't know what they could do. So I just kept insisting you hadn't told me anything of your plans."
"Good. When did this happen?"
"Oh, you'd been gone for over a week. I'd gotten your postcard from Tokyo."
"I see. That's it, then?"
"Hell, no. That was just the beginning."