"Ian Watson - The FireWorm" - читать интересную книгу автора (Watson Ian)

 Chapter Three
Jack was in between books at present, so he was hungry for a new theme to get his teeth into between
six and nine of an evening. Though he had lent a hand withJingling GeordieтАЩs Hole I felt duty bound to
deny him any further joy with the material. That bore the seal of the confessional.

Jack didnтАЩt agree. WeтАЩd had a bit of a set-to about this in our upstairs study the evening before.

JACK: тАЬAfter youтАЩve solved TonyтАЩs problem and dug out the root cause, maybe you could ask his
consent?тАЭ

JOHN: тАЬThat would mean revealing your identity.тАЭ

JACK: тАЬYouтАЩre so damn middle-aged, John. So sedate, so neutral. Why donтАЩt you let your hair down?
Take a risk! Kick your heels. You did let me go to that Fantasy Fayre.тАЭ

JOHN: тАЬIn disguise, Jack. In disguise.тАЭ

Hmm. He was referring to the previous Autumn. Jack Cannon rented a post office box at the Central
Post Office beside St NicholasтАЩ Cathedral for all dealings with his publisher, Mandarin Books. (No agent
was involved.) Mandarin hadnтАЩt known a bean about Jack beyond the fact that he lived somewhere in
Newcastle upon Tyne. He had never supplied any bio or photo and always politely declined invitations to
lunch in London dangled by his editor, Sally Butterworth.

Anyway, forwarded through Mandarin came an invitation to be guest of honour at the annual Fantasy
Fayre held in Birmingham. JackтАЩs five books to date had earned him a name. Damn it but I decided to let
Jack attend.

I drove down in our Volvo to Lichfield, where IтАЩd booked a hotel room for the night. Arriving by
mid-afternoon I had time to visit Dr JohnsonтАЩs house and the Cathedral. Then I retired to my room and
put on the disguise which IтАЩd already practised. I dyed my hair a more vigorous black. I slipped out my
contact lenses and put on the old bifocals with dark brown frames which IтАЩd kept. I pasted on a rather
convincing black moustache. Folding JohnтАЩs sober suit away, Jack dressed in denims.

By then the night staff were on duty, so nobody was surprised to see Jack Cannon head out for a few
pints and an Indian meal.

I had paid for the room on arrival. Skipping breakfast, Jack slipped away early next morning unseen,
simply leaving the room key on the desk.

For the first time, Jack enjoyed a spot of public celebrity. He met other fantasy and horror authors,
illustrators, editors, fans. Drank with them in the bars of the Midland Hotel, noting how many pick-ups
still seemed to be going on in spite of AIDS: businessmen and girls from off the street. You canтАЩt teach
every old dog and young bitch new tricks. Durex machines must have been humming.

He ate hickory-smoked seafood with his new-found тАЬcolleaguesтАЭ at the American Food Factory along
New Street.

He gave a well-received speech on the theme that horror transfigured the ordinary, the ugly, the banal,
and rendered contemporary life luminous with significance; and answered questions, even personal ones,
which he fielded with a smile.