"01 - Armageddon, the Musical (b)" - читать интересную книгу автора (Rankin Robert)

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'I don't like, but continue.'

'I'm driven by a single compulsion. An unquenchable thirst for religious dogma in its each and every form.'

'Then watch the screens,' said the barman, 'there's dogma enough for anyone there, crap it all is.'

'Quite so, but a whisper has reached me that there are others hereabouts of alternative persuasions. Non establishment.' Rex gave the barman a knowing wink.

The barman shook his head. 'I would know nothing of such matters. I merely serve the drinks and kick out the drunks.'

'I'm willing to pay handsomely for such information.'

'Ah,' the barman grinned, fearsomely, 'then you have come to the right place. Comparative religion is my life's work. I run this bar as a sideline.'

'Indeed. Then we understand one another.'

'That remains to be seen.'

Rex leant forward across the counter. 'The Devianti,' he said.

The barman's eye rolled into his head, leaving only the ghastly white. 'I must be off about my business.' Snatch­ing up his bar-cloth, he limped down the bar to serve a dwarf, who was noisily rattling his cup.

'He won't tell you nothing mister,' said a voice at Rex's elbow. 'Scared shitless he is.'

Rex looked down at the wretch, ill-clad and foul smelling. His skin was toned a vile yellow, crudely rouged at the cheeks. 'And who might you be?'

'Josh is the name, mister. Rogan Josh. Your offer still hold good?'

Rex nodded. 'It does, but there is one small matter I feel you should know.'

'Oh yes?'

'I suffer from an unstable mental condition which

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manifests itself in bouts of psychotic violence when I find myself being incorrectly advised.'

The wretch flinched. He had that wasted, haunted look, which wasn't uncommon. Pulling at his single lock of hair, he said, 'I can set you straight, mister. Honest.'

'Then kindly do so.'

'It'll cost you.'

'Say your piece then and I shall endeavour to place an accurate monetary value upon it.'

These Devianti. I know where they hang out.'