this high-proof vodka tasted cold, so fast was it evaporating. Then the heat
began to make itself felt and he quickly swallowed it.
There was a half second when it didn't seem any worse than any other gaudy
liquor.
"Fireblast!" he spluttered out as the fire scorched down his throat, reaching
his stomach in seconds. He blinked away a tear from his good eye. "That'd
strip the paint off a war wag's belly," he gasped.
He glanced sideways at the albino teenager, who had drained his glass in a
single swallow. Jak grinned at him, showing no visible sign of distress.
Though Ryan noticed that his eyes, usually pink, seemed nearer to crimson.
"Another," Jak said.
Ryan finished off the drink, managing to hold it down. "Yeah. Me, too," he
said, his voice sounding higher and thinner than he remembered.
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"Don't get into a tough man's contest, Ryan," Krysty warned. "Try this stuff."
"No. No, thanks. Stick to this vodka."
The second glass wasn't any easier, though Jak failed to muffle a cough as his
drink burned its way down.
"Prime stuff, ain't it, friends?" Clinkerscales said. "They knew how to brew
hooch in the old predark days."
"You won't hear any argument from me on that matter." Doc placed his glass
carefully down on the bar top. "But I think one is sufficient. Mayhaps a
second round of imbibing when we come down to dine."
The barkeep grinned, showing a mouth that seemed overfilled with a jumble of
teeth. "What I like to hear, Doc. What I like to hear. Now, let me show you to
your rooms." He patted Ryan on the arm. "After supper, mebbe you could sit
with me and tell some tales of Trader and those good old days."
"Good old days?" Ryan repeated, feeling that someone had replaced his brain
with warm gruel and somehow made his tongue swell to twice its normal
size."Good old days? Trader used to tell us that they was just a bunch of
people, doing the best they could. That was all the good old days was."
THE STAIRS WERE STEEP and uneven, and Ryan tripped halfway up, nearly dropping
the Steyr off his shoulder. There was a burst of laughter from the locals in
the saloon, quickly stifled when the one-eyed man looked angrily around.
Clinkerscales showed them to their rooms, a front double for Ryan and Krysty,
identical one across the passage for J.R and Mildred and a bigger family room
for Doc, Jak and Dean at the end of the corridor, next to the bathroom.
"Best Green Hill's got to offer," the barkeep said. "See y'all later."
Chapter Eleven
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Everyone took advantage of the unusually good bathing facilities, a proper
bathroom, with a large tub and endless supplies of piped water, coming,
Clinkerscales explained, from local hot springs.
Dean raced to be first, emerging as pink as a peeled prawn, black curly hair
pasted flat to his scalp, looking much younger than his eleven years.
Doc insisted on the courtesy due to his age and claimed second place, singing
romantically maudlin old parlor songs at the very top of his booming voice.
Occasional lines gloated up from the first floor back of the gaudy to the
rooms where all of the others were waiting.
"She was poor but she was honest, victim of a village crime"
After Jak had gone down and knocked several times on the bathroom door, Doc
had come out, rosy-
cheeked, beaming from ear to ear. "Wonderful!" he exclaimed. "The jug of wine
and loaf of bread can take second place to a hot bath any day of the week." He
hesitated a moment. "Though I am rather looking forward to the loaf of bread
and jug of wine a little later this evening."
MILDRED AND J.B. TOOK fourth and fifth places.
The Armorer, still surrounded by wisps of steam, knocked on Ryan's bedroom
door. He had a towel around his middle, with the Uzi slung over his naked
shoulder, his misted spectacles gripped tightly in his left hand.
"Good," he said, grinning. "Your turn."
"Thanks."
"How's the time?"
Ryan checked the chron on his left wrist. "Just after four in the afternoon." [ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]
