“Yeah,” said Jak. “Try that.”
The liquor had an oily sheen to it as Clinkerscales poured it into a shot glass. “Mr. Cawdor?”
“I’ll try the same.”
There wasn’t any kind of rotgut all along the frontier that hadn’t been sampled by Ryan.
He took the glass and lifted it, offering a toast to the barkeep and his friends. “Here’s to blasters fixed good and firm-feelin’ women.” Seeing Krysty opening her mouth to reproach him, he added, “Only joking. Used to be Trader’s favorite toast,” he explained to Clinkerscales.
“Here’s to warm beds, good food and honest friends,” J.B. said.
“Better.” Krysty sipped at her drink. “That’s good.”
Ryan gulped half the contents of the shot glass into his mouth. For a moment this high-proof vodka tasted cold, so fast was it evaporating. Then the heat began to make itself felt and he quickly swallowed it. There was a half second when it didn’t seem any worse than any other gaudy liquor.
“Fireblast!” he spluttered out as the fire scorched down his throat, reaching his stomach in seconds. He blinked away a tear from his good eye. “That’d strip the paint off a war wag’s belly,” he gasped.
He glanced sideways at the albino teenager, who had drained his glass in a single swallow. Jak grinned at him, showing no visible sign of distress. Though Ryan noticed that his eyes, usually pink, seemed nearer to crimson.
“Another,” Jak said.
Ryan finished off the drink, managing to hold it down. “Yeah. Me, too,” he said, his voice sounding higher and thinner than he remembered.
“Don’t get into a tough man’s contest, Ryan,” Krysty warned. “Try this stuff.”
“No. No, thanks. Stick to this vodka.”
The second glass wasn’t any easier, though Jak failed to muffle a cough as his drink burned its way down.
“Prime stuff, ain’t it, friends?” Clinkerscales said. “They knew how to brew hooch in the old predark days.”
“You won’t hear any argument from me on that matter.” Doc placed his glass carefully down on the bar top. “But I think one is sufficient. Mayhaps a second round of imbibing when we come down to dine.”
The barkeep grinned, showing a mouth that seemed overfilled with a jumble of teeth. “What I like to hear, Doc. What I like to hear. Now, let me show you to your rooms.” He patted Ryan on the arm. “After supper, mebbe you could sit with me and tell some tales of Trader and those good old days.”
“Good old days?” Ryan repeated, feeling that someone had replaced his brain with warm gruel and somehow made his tongue swell to twice its normal size.”Good old days? Trader used to tell us that they was just a bunch of people, doing the best they could. That was all the good old days was.”
THE STAIRS WERE STEEP and uneven, and Ryan tripped halfway up, nearly dropping the Steyr off his shoulder. There was a burst of laughter from the locals in the saloon, quickly stifled when the one-eyed man looked angrily around.
Clinkerscales showed them to their rooms, a front double for Ryan and Krysty, identical one across the passage for J.R and Mildred and a bigger family room for Doc, Jak and Dean at the end of the corridor, next to the bathroom.
“Best Green Hill’s got to offer,” the barkeep said. “See y’all later.”
Chapter Eleven
Everyone took advantage of the unusually good bathing facilities, a proper bathroom, with a large tub and endless supplies of piped water, coming, Clinkerscales explained, from local hot springs.
Dean raced to be first, emerging as pink as a peeled prawn, black curly hair pasted flat to his scalp, looking much younger than his eleven years.
Doc insisted on the courtesy due to his age and claimed second place, singing romantically maudlin old parlor songs at the very top of his booming voice. Occasional lines gloated up from the first floor back of the gaudy to the rooms where all of the others were waiting.
“She was poor but she was honest, victim of a village crime.”
After Jak had gone down and knocked several times on the bathroom door, Doc had come out, rosy-cheeked, beaming from ear to ear. “Wonderful!” he exclaimed. “The jug of wine and loaf of bread can take second place to a hot bath any day of the week.” He hesitated a moment. “Though I am rather looking forward to the loaf of bread and jug of wine a little later this evening.”