Тень над Иннсмутом

           BeforeIreachedMainStreetIcouldhearafaintandwheezy"Hey,Mister!"behindmeandIpresentlyallowedtheoldmantocatchupandtakecopiouspullsfromthequartbottle.

           Ibeganputtingoutfeelersaswewalkedamidsttheomnipresentdesolationandcrazilytiltedruins,butfoundthattheagedtonguedidnotloosenasquicklyasIhadexpected.AtlengthIsawagrass-grownopeningtowardtheseabetweencrumblingbrickwalls,withtheweedylengthofanearth-and-masonrywharfprojectingbeyond.Pilesofmoss-coveredstonesnearthewaterpromisedtolerableseats,andthescenewasshelteredfromallpossibleviewbyaruinedwarehouseonthenorth.Here,Ithoughtwastheidealplaceforalongsecretcolloquy;soIguidedmycompaniondownthelaneandpickedoutspotstositinamongthemossystones.Theairofdeathanddesertionwasghoulish,andthesmelloffishalmostinsufferable;butIwasresolvedtoletnothingdeterme.

           AboutfourhoursremainedforconversationifIweretocatchtheeighto’clockcoachforArkham,andIbegantodoleoutmoreliquortotheancienttippler;meanwhileeatingmyownfrugallunch.InmydonationsIwascarefulnottoovershootthemark,forIdidnotwishZadok’svinousgarrulousnesstopassintoastupor.Afteranhourhisfurtivetaciturnityshewedsignsofdisappearing,butmuchtomydisappointmenthestillsidetrackedmyquestionsaboutInnsmouthanditsshadow-hauntedpast.