"Michael Scott Rohan - Chase the Morning" - читать интересную книгу автора (Rohan Michael Scott)

too gilt and gaudy, the cut of the white blouse over her full breasts just a
little too low, too strained. Her blonde hair looked natural, but the face
beneath it was lean and foxy, not quite pretty, and the deep hard grooves
either side of her mouth betrayed the kind of experience peasants don't
usually come by. Apart from that astonishing cleavage her eyes were the best
of her, wide and grey and anxious.
'What is it?' she demanded urgently, her voice start-lingly deep, her accent
less noticeable than Myrko's. 'Who's hurt, Jyp? Oh -' Before anyone could
answer she had swooped on me, clucking like a mother-hen and cursing the
others for not calling her sooner. She had my anorak off my shoulders so
swiftly and gently I hardly felt a twinge, and the buttons of my shirt seemed
to fly apart as her nimble fingers flew down my chest; she slid that off too,
leaving me shrivelling with embarrassment. But if anyone was staring I
couldn't see them, and there was no change in the buzz of voices; anyway, it
didn't seem to worry this Katjka girl. She pulled my head down to rest between
her breasts without the least inhibition, and when Myrko came puffing up with
the hot water she'd sent him for she began to clean and search my throbbing
scalp with incredibly delicate fingers, and smooth on something pungent and
seaweedy from a jar. 'Relax ...' she crooned, but on that particular pillow it
was both difficult and only too easy; in the end I just accepted the
situation, and sagged.
It seemed to please her, but I wasn't quite so sure; nice creature though
she was, from my vantage I couldn't help but notice one thing about her. It
wasn't that unpleasant, not the kind of rank stink you associate with
squash-court changing rooms, but all the same it was there, and pretty strong.
No worse than our ancestors, our great-grandparents even must have been, or
folk in countries where baths were still a luxury. I remembered an Eastern
Bloc coal export official complaining that girls back home never bathed enough
because of constant fuel shortages; he should've talked. But in our
enlightened land of Lifebuoy and hot water on tap there wasn't any excuse; it
wasn't necessary, that was why it put me off. Or wasn't it? I glanced up at
the lights again. Maybe they weren't just decoration, atmosphere; maybe this
place genuinely didn't have electricity or even gas. In which case she might
well have the same problem. But what sort of place didn't have one or the
other, these days? Even Highland crofts could get bottled gas. And how could
any kind of eating-house survive the hygiene inspectors without them?
With slivovitz and other things I was still a bit lightheaded, thoughts like
that buzzing aimlessly around, getting nowhere. But gradually I found my head
was clearing, and, wonder of wonders, that it was hardly throbbing any more.
Katjka seemed to sense this, because she pushed me gently upright and with
careful fingers set to work on my punctured arm. I glanced at it once, then
away; it looked worse than I'd guessed, a fearful mess of clotted blood.
Besides, I preferred looking at her; beautiful or not, she was a nice-looking
creature. And now she was clasping my arm to that bosom of hers, and leaving
my hand dangling loose in her lap; quite a distraction. Beside us I heard Jyp
and Myrko talking, but what they were saying only filtered through to me
gradually.
'So say to me, pylot, how's this all happen, then? How'd a fly lad like
you let a few mangy Volfs get you down, anyhow?'
'Just careless, I guess. Decoyed me to the door and jumped me. Kind of