"Robert Rankin - The Hollow Chocolate Bunnies of the Apocalypse" - читать интересную книгу автора (Rankin Robert)

'That's fine then,' said the chef. 'How may I help you, sir?'

'I'd like something to eat, if I may,' said Jack. 'And a stable for my horse and directions to where I might
find a room for the night.'

'God's Big Box,' said the barlord. 'It's want want want with you, isn't it? Were you breast-fed as a
baby?'

'I really can't remember,' said Jack.

'Nor me.' The chef shook his head, which appeared to creak as he shook it. 'But then, I never was a
baby. It's funny the things that slip your mind, though, isn't it?'

Jack nodded politely. 'I'm dying from hunger,' he said. 'Please feed me.'

'About half past seven,' said the chef.

'Excuse me?' said Jack.

'Oh, sorry,' said the chef. 'I've got a woodworm in my ear. It crawled in there last Tuesday. I've tried to
entice it out with cheese, but it seems to be happy where it is.'

'Food,' said Jack, pointing to his mouth. 'I've gold, I can pay well.'

'Boody fries, you need.' The barlord smacked his lips noisily together. 'Mambo-munchies,
over-and-unders, a big pot of jumbly and an aftersnack of smudge cake. And if you'll take the advice of
a professional who knows these things, add a pint of Keener's grog to wash the whole lot down with.'

'All this fare is new to me,' said Jack. 'But a double helping of each, if you please.'

'Ido please,' said the chef. 'But the oven's broken down again, so you can't have any of those. Not even
the grog. If I had my time over again, I would never have bought this crummy concession. I'd have
trained to become a gourmet chef for some big swell on Knob Hill. Or I could have gone in with my
brother; he has a specialist restaurant over on the East Side. Serves up smoked haunch of foolish boy,
supplied by some local farmer who breeds them, I suppose.'

Jack took a very deep breath which, when exhaled, became a very deep and heartfelt sigh. He brought
forth his pistol and levelled it at the chef. 'If you do not feed me at once,' he said, 'I will be forced to
shoot you dead and feast uponyour carcass.'

'That's something I'd like to see.' The chef gave his nose a significant tap, the significance of-which was
lost upon Jack. But the sound of this tap drew Jack's attention. It was not the sound of flesh being tapped
upon flesh. Jack stared hard at the shadowy chef and, for the first time, truly took in what there was of
him to be seen. There was something altogether strange about this fellow. Something unworldly. Jack
looked at the chefs hand. It was a false hand. A hand carved from wood. Jack looked now, but furtively,
towards the face of the chef. That nose was also of wood. A wooden nose. Upon... Jack's furtive glance
became a lingering, fearful stare...

... upon... a wooden face!