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The
atmosphere
inside
was
still
loud
with
talk
and
heavy
with
smoke
although
the
landlord
was
doing
all
those
things
landlords
do
when
they
think
it
’
s
time
to
close
,
like
turn
some
of
the
lights
out
,
wind
up
the
clock
,
put
a
cloth
over
the
pumps
and
,
just
in
case
,
check
the
whereabouts
of
their
club
with
the
nails
hammered
in
it
.
Not
that
the
customers
were
taking
the
slightest
bit
of
notice
,
of
course
.
To
most
of
the
Drum
’
s
clientele
even
the
nailed
club
would
have
been
considered
a
mere
hint
.
However
,
they
were
sufficiently
observant
to
be
vaguely
worried
by
the
tall
dark
figure
standing
by
the
bar
and
drinking
his
way
through
its
entire
contents
.
Lonely
,
dedicated
drinkers
always
generate
a
mental
field
which
ensures
complete
privacy
,
but
this
particular
one
was
radiating
a
kind
of
fatalistic
gloom
that
was
slowly
emptying
the
bar
.
This
didn
’
t
worry
the
barman
,
because
the
lonely
figure
was
engaged
in
a
very
expensive
experiment
.
Every
drinking
place
throughout
the
multiverse
has
them
–
those
shelves
of
weirdly
-
shaped
,
sticky
bottles
that
not
only
contain
exotically
-
named
liquid
,
which
is
often
blue
or
green
,
but
also
odds
and
ends
that
bottles
of
real
drink
would
never
stoop
to
contain
,
such
as
whole
fruits
,
bits
of
twig
and
,
in
extreme
cases
,
small
drowned
lizards
.
No
-
one
knows
why
barmen
stock
so
many
,
since
they
all
taste
like
treacle
dissolved
in
turpentine
.
It
has
been
speculated
that
they
dream
of
a
day
when
someone
will
walk
in
off
the
street
unbidden
and
ask
for
a
glass
of
Peach
Corniche
with
A
Hint
Of
Mint
and
overnight
the
place
will
become
somewhere
To
Be
Seen
At
.
The
stranger
was
working
his
way
along
the
row
.
WHAT
is
THAT
GREEN
ONE
?
The
landlord
peered
at
the
label
.
’
It
says
it
’
s
Melon
Brandy
,
’
he
said
doubtfully
.
’
It
says
it
’
s
bottled
by
some
monks
to
an
ancient
recipe
,
’
he
added
.
