"Zelazny, Roger - Amber 09 - Knight Of Shadows" - читать интересную книгу автора (Zelazny Roger)

was anything else."
I smiled back.
"I forgot. You're not a fan of his," I said.
"It's not that," she responded. "The man has his uses. It's just" --she
sighed-- "politics," she finished.
Mandor laughed, and we joined him. Too bad I hadn't thought to use that
line about Amber. Too late now.
"I bought a painting awhile back," I said, "by a lady named Polly Jackson.
It's of a red '57 Chevy I like it a lot. It's in storage in San Francisco right
now. Rinaldo liked it, too."
She nodded, stared out the window.
"You two were always stopping in some gallery of other," she said. "Yes, he
dragged me to a lot of them, too. I always thought he had good taste. No talent,
but good taste."
"What do you mean, 'no talent'?"
"He's a very good draftsman, but his own paintings were never that
interesting."
I had raised the subject for a very special reason, and this wasn't it. But
I was fascinated by a side of Luke I'd never known, and I decided to pursue the
matter.
"Paintings? I never knew he painted."
"He's tried any number of times, but he never shows them to anyone because
they're not good enough."
"Then how do you know about them?"
"I'd check out his apartment periodically."
"When he wasn't around?"
"Of course. A mother's privilege."
I shuddered. I thought again of the burning woman down the Rabbit Hole. But
I didn't want to say what I felt and spoil the flow now that I had her talking.
I decided to return to my original trail.
"Was it in connection with any of this that he met Victor Melman?" I asked.
She studied me for a moment through narrowed eyes, then nodded and finished
her soup.
"Yes," she said then, laying her spoon aside. "He took a few lessons from
the man. He'd liked some of his paintings and looked him up. Perhaps he bought
something of his, too. I don't know. But at some point he mentioned his own work
and Victor asked to see it. He told Rinaldo he liked it and said he thought he
could teach him a few things that might be of help."
She raised her goblet and sniffed it, sipped her wine, and stared at the
mountains.
I was about to prompt her, hoping she'd go on, when she began to laugh. I
waited it out.
"A real asshole," she said then. "But talented. Give him that."
"Uh, what do you mean?" I asked.
"After a time he began speaking of the development of personal power, using
all those circumlocutions the half-enlightened love to play with. He wanted
Rinaldo to know he was an occultist with something pretty strong going for him.
Then he began to hint that he might be willing to pass it along to the right
person."
She began laughing again. I chuckled myself, at the thought of that trained