(eng) Michael Moorcock - Oswald Bastable 01 by The Warlord of the Air

Author:The Warlord of the Air [Air, The Warlord of the]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Published: 0101-01-01T00:00:00+00:00

CHAPTER V Captain Korzeniowski

DEMPSEY DROVE DOWN to Croydon at some speed but I was forced to admire the way he controlled the old-fashioned Morgan steamer. We reached Croydon in half-an-hour.

The town of Croydon is an airpark town. It owes its existence to the airpark and everywhere you look there are reminders of the fact. Many of the hotels are named after famous airships and the streets are crowded with flyers of every nationality. It is a brash, noisy town compared with most and must be quite similar to some of the old seaports of my own age (perhaps I should use the future tense for all this and say 'will be' and so on, but I find it hard to do, for all these events took place, of course, in my personal past).

Dempsey drove us into the forecourt of a small hotel in one of the Croydon backstreets. The hotel was called The Airman's Rest and had evidently been a coaching inn in earlier days. It was, needless to say, in the old part of the town and contrasted rather markedly with the bright stone and glass towers which dominated most of Croydon.

Dempsey took me through the main parlour full of flyers of the senior generation who plainly preferred the atmosphere of The Airman's Rest to that of the more salubrious hotels. We went up a flight of wooden stairs and along a passage until we came to a door at the end. Dempsey knocked.

"Captain? Are you receiving visitors, sir?"

I was surprised at the genuine tone of respect with which the young man addressed the unseen captain.

"Enter." The voice was harsh and guttural. A foreign voice.

We walked into a comfortable bed-sitting room. A fire blazed in the grate, providing the only illumination. In a deep leather armchair sat a man of about sixty. He had an iron grey beard cut in the Imperial style and hair to match. His eyes were blue-grey and their gaze was steady, penetrating, totally trustworthy. He had a great beak of a nose and a strong mouth. When he stood up he was relatively short but powerfully built. His handshake was dry and firm as Dempsey introduced us.

"Captain Korzeniowski, this is Lieutenant Bastable."

"How do you do, lieutenant." The accent was thick but the words were clear. "Delighted to meet you."

"How do you do, sir. I think you'd better refer to me as plain 'mister'. I resigned from the S.A.P. today. I'm a civilian now."

Korzeniowski smiled and turned towards a heavy oak sideboard. "Would you care for a drink-Mister Bastable?"

"Thank you, sir. A whisky?"

"Good. And you, young Dempsey?"

"A glass of that Chablis I see, if you please, captain."

"Good."

Korzeniowski was dressed in a heavy white roll-neck pullover. His trousers were the midnight blue of a civil flying officer. Over a chair near the desk, against the far wall, I saw his jacket with its captain's rings, and on top of that his rather battered cap.

"I put the proposal to Mr Bastable, sir," said Dempsey as he accepted his glass.

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