"Roger Zelazny - Amber 01 - Nine Princes In Amber" - читать интересную книгу автора (Zelazny Roger)

"No, but I'm authorized to give you a shot"
"And I refuse it'" I said, "as I've a legal right to do. What's it to
you?"
"You'll have your shot," he said, and be moved around to the left side of
the bed. He had a hypo in one hand which bad been out of sight till then.
It was a very foul blow, about four inches below the belt buckle, I'd say,
and it left him on his knees.
"____ ____!" he said, after a time.
"Come within spitting distance again," I said, "and see what happens."
"We've got ways to deal with patients like you," he gasped.
So I knew the time had come to act.
"Where are my clothes?" I said.
"____ ____!" he repeated.
"Then I guess I'll have to take yours. Give them to me."
It became boring with the third repetition, so I threw the bedclothes over
his head and clobbered him with the metal strut.
Within two minutes, I'd say, I was garbed all in the color of Moby Dick
and vanilla ice cream. Ugly.
I shoved him into the closet and looked out the lattice window. I saw the
Old Moon with the New Moon in her arms, hovering above a row of poplars. The
grass was silvery and sparkled. The night was bargaining weakly with the sun.
Nothing to show, for me, where this place was located. I seemed to be on the
third floor of the building though, and there was a cast square of light off
to my left and low, seeming to indicate a first floor window with someone
awake behind it.
So I left the room and considered the hallway. Off to the left, it ended
against a wall with a latticed window, and there were four more doors, two on
either side. Probably they let upon more doors like my own. I went and looked
out the window and saw more grounds, more trees, more night, nothing new.
Turning, I headed in the other direction.
Doors, doors, doors, no lights from under any of them, the only sounds my
footsteps from the too big borrowed shoes.
Laughing Boy's wristwatch told me it was five forty-four. The metal strut
was inside my belt, under the white orderly jacket, and it rubbed against my
hipbone as I walked. There was a ceiling fixture about every twenty feet,
casting about forty watts of light.
I came to a stairway, off to the right, leading down. I took it. It was
carpeted and quiet.
The second floor looked like my own, rows of rooms, so I continued on.
When I reached the first floor I turned right, looking for the door with
light leaking out from beneath it.
I found it, way up near the end of the corridor, and I didn't bother to
knock.
The guy was sitting there in a garish bathrobe, at a big shiny desk, going
over some sort of ledger. This was no wardroom. He looked up at me with
burning eyes all wide and lips swelling toward a yell they didn't reach,
perhaps because of my determined expression. He stood, quickly.
I shut the door behind me, advanced, and said:
"Good morning. You're in trouble."
People must always be curious as to trouble, because after the three