Universe Twister - Keith Laumer [106]
"Now, Swinehild, this is no time to be discouraged," Lafayette jollied her. "True, we're cold and wet and so tired we ache all over; but the worst is over. We got out of an extremely tight spot with no more than a few bruises to my head and your dignity. In a few minutes we'll be tucking our feet under a table for a bowl of hot soup and a little drop of something to cut the chill, and then off to the best hotel in town."
"Sure, it's OK for you to talk. With that slick line o' chatter o' yours, you'll probably land a swell job with the duke, soothsaying or something."
"I don't want a job," Lafayette pointed out. "I just want to get out of Melange and back to the comfortable monotony I was fool enough to complain about a few hours ago."
O'Leary brought the boat smartly about on the starboard tack, closing in on the ever-widening spread of city lights ahead. They passed a bell-buoy dinging lonesomely in the mist, sailed past a shore lined with high-fronted buildings recalling the waterfront at Amsterdam, backed by rising tiers of houses clustered about the base of a massive keep of lead-colored granite, approached a lighted loading dock where a number of nondescript small craft were tied up, bobbing gently on the waves. As they came alongside, Swinehild threw a line to an urchin, who hauled it in and made it fast. Flickering gas lights on the quay above shed a queasy light on wet cobbles well strewn with refuse. A couple of dockside loafers watched incuriously as Lafayette assisted Swinehild from the boat, tossing a nickel to the lad. A stray dog with a down-curled tail slunk away past the darkened fronts of the marine-supply houses across the way as they started across the cobbles.
"Geeze—the big town," Swinehild said reverently, brushing a curl from her eyes. "Port Miasma—and it's even bigger and glamorouser than I expected."
"Um," Lafayette said noncommittally, leading the way toward the lighted entry of a down-at-heels grog shop just visible at an angle halfway up a steep side street, before which a weathered board announced YE GUT BUCKET.
Inside the smoky but warm room, they took a corner table. The sleepy-eyed tavern-keeper silently accepted their order and shuffled away.
"Well, this is more like it," Lafayette said with a sigh. "It's been a strenuous night, but with a hot meal and a good bed to look forward to, we can't complain."
"The big town scares me, Lafe," Swinehild said. "It's so kind of impersonal, all hustle-bustle, no time for them little personal touches that mean so much to a body."
"Hustle-bustle? It's as dead as a foreclosed mortuary," Lafayette muttered.
"Like this place," Swinehild continued. "Open in the middle o' the night. Never seen anything like it."
"It's hardly ten P.M.," Lafayette pointed out. "And—"
"And besides that, I got to go," Swinehild added. "And not a clump o' bushes in sight."
"There's a room for it," O'Leary said hastily. "Over there—where it says LADIES."
"You mean—inside?"
"Of course. You're in town now, Swinehild. You have to start getting used to a few amenities—"
"Never mind; I'll just duck out in the alley—"
"Swinehild! The ladies' room, please!"
"You come with me."
"I can't—it's for ladies only. There's another one for men."
"Well, think o' that!" Swinehild shook her head wonderingly.
"Now hurry along, our soup will be here in a minute."
"Wish me luck." Swinehild rose and moved off hesitantly. Lafayette sighed, turned back the soggy lace from his wrists, used the worn napkin beside his plate to mop the condensed moisture from his face, sniffing the bouquet of chicken and onions drifting in from the kitchen. His mouth watered at the prospect. Except for a chunk of salami, and that plate of dubious pork back at the Beggar's Bole, he hadn't eaten a bite since lunch . . .
Lunch, ten hours and a million years ago: the dainty table set up on the terrace, the snowy linen, the polished silver, the deft sommelier pouring the feather-light wine from the frosted and napkin-wrapped