Amberville - By Tim Davys Page 0,27

around the steering wheel of a Volga Sport GTI, wondering how he would even be able to drive the car. He’d gotten a vehicle with reptile-adapted instrumentation, with automatic transmission, and with the gas and brake pedals within a tail’s-length distance, but he hated twisting around the steering wheel and crawling back and forth in order to turn. He’d always thought that snakes that drove cars made themselves ridiculous. And in addition, he was still bitter about finding himself in this situation, together with his companions from before, and commanded by Eric Bear. His life was so lamentably unstable, he thought, and so impossible to calculate, since chance could never be determined, anyway.

The fortress he had constructed for himself at the Office of Grants had been demolished in a mere moment by a letter from a stupid rhinoceros. And Snake was not even sure Rhinoceros Edda had written the letter; it might just as well have been Eric Bear. This was a lesson, Snake thought with suppressed fury. When this little excursion was over and he returned to the ministry, he must take a look at his situation. He’d gotten too comfortable, he’d forgotten the rules of the game. In order to sit securely as boss, you had to conquer the next position in the hierarchy as well. And the next, and then the next.

Snake had gotten the bear to set out one car and one driver per avenue, and even if they didn’t get a bite this evening, there would be a bite during one of the coming nights. The city’s four great thoroughfares were used by everyone sooner or later, because these were quite simply the fastest alternatives. Mollisan Town was a massive city, and professional drivers soon tired of all the traffic lights and one-way streets, roadwork, and unreliable nighttime wanderers on the smaller streets. The Chauffeurs used the avenues; anything else was unthinkable.

North Avenue divided Tourquai to the west from Lanceheim to the east. In the middle of the lemon-yellow street a magnificent lane of willow trees had been laid out. It ran the entire way from the Star out to the end of the developed part of the city, after which the lane was absorbed into the surrounding forest. Seen from the other direction, it was as though the forest had sent a scout right into the heart of the city via North Avenue.

Snake’s car was parked facing south, in toward the city. Due to the dense foliage of the willow trees, he had a hard time seeing very far, but nonetheless he’d managed to get a parking space which made it possible for him to discern a red pickup on its way north at a reasonably long distance. On the other hand, having time to turn around and follow after didn’t feel equally obvious. A U-turn of that type demanded that he writhe all the way from the right side of the steering wheel to its left, hop down onto the seat, and make the maneuver again. That took time.

He swore to himself, shaking his head.

In addition, it irked Snake Marek’s vanity that the assignment itself wasn’t more complicated. That self-righteous bear hadn’t needed to sabotage his life for this. Any fool whatsoever would have been able to figure out you have to find the Chauffeurs.

“Thus,” Snake Marek had said to his suddenly very anxious companions, “we follow a red pickup until dawn. The Chauffeurs are where the pickup is parked. And where the Chauffeurs are, we’re going to find the list.”

Snake’s need of sleep was minimal, and he had no problem keeping himself alert. A car or two drove past, mostly taxis, the typical, black cabs. He rolled down the window a few centimeters and listened to the restful, verging-on-poetic sound of the willow trees’ hiss as the night breeze passed through their foliage. There was a rhythm in the movement that inspired Marek. Perhaps the night would not yet be wasted?

Snake jumped down from the steering wheel. From the glove compartment he took out a pale-yellow notebook; he’d bought the surplus stock down at the stationery store. The cover was tattered and worn, but there was nothing wrong with the paper inside. He grasped the pencil with his tail and quickly wrote:

a horseshoe, a sickle

a metaphoric tickle

the clever, the obtuse

continue to seduce

He lifted the point from the page and looked down at what he’d written. As usual he was seized by a kind of dizziness. It was so ingenious, so amazingly beautiful,