"Simon R. Green - Nightside 1 - Drinking Midnight Wine" - читать интересную книгу автора (Green Simon R)

the night air with dirty smoke and flying cinder flecks, pulling old-fashioned carriages that bear
names from companies long since vanished into the mists of history. The heavy black iron of the
train's body is scored all over with runes and sigils and names of power. The great wheels are
solid silver, striking singing sparks from the steel tracks. The smoke billowing from the tall
black stack smells of brimstone, and the whistle is the cry of a damned soul. The train plunges
headlong through the night, faster than any train has a right to go, ancient or modern. The
carriages shake and sway, rattling along behind, the windows illuminated with the eerie blue glow
of underwater grottos. The Reality Express is coming into town, right on time.
Eager faces press against the shimmering glass of the carriage windows, desperate for a first


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glance of their destination, excited and fearful at the same time. Not all the faces are human.
They have paid for their tickets with everything they had, or might have been, and it is far too
late now to change their minds. They are refugees from the magical world of Mysterie, seeking
asylum and safe harbour in the cold sanity of Veritie. The Reality Express is a one-way trip, and
only the desperate and the truly needy apply.

The great iron beast hammers down the tracks, as fast as misfortune and as implacable as destiny,
sounding its awful whistle as the town of Bradford-on-Avon draws near. And standing quiet and calm
in the shadows of the chimney stack on the station's waiting-room roof is Jimmy Thunder, God For
Hire, with his great hammer in its holster on his hip. The only private eye in the magical realms
raises his head and smiles as he hears the terrible cry of the dark old train, and looks up the
track, curious as to what the night will bring. The product of gods and mortals, Jimmy Thunder has
a foot in each world and a home in neither - a dangerous man to both.
And somewhere in the dark, waiting for the train's arrival, two figures stand, scarier than the
Reality Express or a God For Hire could ever hope to be.
Jimmy Thunder stood on the sloping tiled roof of the station's waiting room, leaning casually
against the disused chimney stack. There was a cold wind blowing, but he didn't feel it. He'd
chosen the roof for his stake-out because in his experience, people rarely look up, even when
they're expecting unwanted interest. And the shadows were so very deep and comforting tonight,
almost as if they knew something. Jimmy pricked up his ears as he caught the exact moment the
Reality Express dropped out of Mysterie and into Veritie, its awful cry of the damned dopplering
down into nothing more than the rush of escaping steam. The train would be here soon, disgorging
its cargo of the lost and the wretched, and then he would see what he would see.
Jimmy Thunder was a great bull of a man, with long red hair and a jutting red beard. He had a
chest like a barrel, muscled arms the size of most men's thighs, and shoulders so broad he often
had to turn sideways to pass through doors. He had legs that could run for miles, and feet that
never complained, despite all the standing around his job entailed. He wore black leathers adorned
with brightly gleaming chains and studs, and looked every inch what every biker wants to be when
he grows up. His eyes were as blue as the sea, and twice as deadly, though he had a charming
smile, when he could be bothered. Descended, at many, many removes, from the Norse god Thor, Jimmy
was fast and strong and disturbingly powerful - when he put his mind to it. Long-lived, though by
no means immortal, he was a god by chance and a private eye by choice. His godliness was diluted
by a hell of a lot of generations of mortals, but the power of storms, of thunderclap and
lightning strike, was still his. Not many people worshipped him any more, for which he was quietly
grateful. He'd always found it rather embarrassing.
Also his was the ancient mystical hammer Mjolnir, a (mostly) unstoppable force that (sometimes)