"George R. R. Martin - WC 5 - Down and Dirty" - читать интересную книгу автора (Martin George R R)

interpret it as a welcome.
"It's been some time." She looked at him critically. "Long enough for you to
start a beard."
Brennan closed the door and set his bow case against the wall. "I've had
business," he said, his voice soft and deep. "Yes." Her smile continued until
Brennan could no longer ignore the edge in it. "Some of which interfered with
mine." There was no doubt as to what she referred. Several weeks ago, on Wild
Card Day, Brennan had broken up a meeting at the Palace at which Chrysalis was
brokering a very valuable set of books that included Kien's personal diary.
Brennan, hoping that volume had enough evidence in it to nail Kien's damnable
hide to the wall, had eventually gotten it for himself, but it had proven to be
worthless. All the writing in it had been destroyed.
"I'm sorry," he said. "I needed that diary."
"Yes," she repeated. Ghostly muscles bunched, indicating a frown. "And you've


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read it?"
Brennan hesitated a beat. "Yes."
"And you'll not be adverse to sharing the information in it?"
It was more of a demand than a request. It would do no good, Brennan thought, to
tell her the truth. She probably would think he was trying to keep it all to
himself. "Possibly."
"In that case I suppose I coud forgive you," she said in a not-very-forgiving
voice. She gathered her cards together slowly, careful of their age and value,
and set them aside on a spider-legged table that stood next to the couch. She
leaned back languorously, her nipples bobbing on invisible pads of flesh whose
warmth and firm texture Brennan knew well.
"I've brought you something," Brennan said conciliatorily. "It's not information
but something you might like almost as well."
He sat down on the edge of the couch, reached into the pocket of his denim
jacket, and handed Chrysalis a small, clear envelope. When she reached out to
take it, her warm, invisible thigh touched, then rested on, Brennan's own.
"It's a Penny Black," he said, as she held the glassine envelope up to the
light. "The world's first postage stamp. Mint, in perfect condition. Rather rare
in that state, rather valuable. The portrait is an engraving of Queen Victoria."
"Very nice." She smiled her enigmatic smile. "I won't ask you where you got it."
Brennan smiled in response, said nothing. He knew that she knew perfectly well
where he'd gotten it. He'd asked Wraith for it when they were inspecting the
stockbooks full of rare stamps she'd heisted from Kien's safe, the same safe
from which she'd removed his diary during the early hours of Wild Card Day.
Wraith had felt bad that Brennan hadn't gotten what he'd wanted from the
worthless diary and had gladly given him the stamp when he'd asked for it.
"Well, I hope you like it." Brennan stood and stretched as Chrysalis set the
envelope aside on her stack of cards. It had been a long day and he was tired.
He went to the sidetable by Chrysalis's canopied four-poster bed and lifted the
decanter of Irish whiskey that she kept there for him. He looked at it, frowned,
and put it down. He rejoined Chrysalis on the couch.