"Zelazny, Roger - Amber Short Story 02 - The Salesman's Tale" - читать интересную книгу автора (Zelazny Roger)

"There is a Trump."
She rose and moved to a small chest of drawers. Opening one, she withdrew a
boxed set of cards.
Slowly, she counted dawn from the top of the deck and removed one.
When she returned she presented me with the card, portrait of a slim man
with hair the color of rust.
"His name is Delwin," she said.
"You think I should just call him and ask whether he still has whatever he
had?"
"State quickly that you are not of Amber," she told me, "but give your
lineage. Ask whether his stewardship of the spikards remains intact. Try to find
out where he is, or to go through and discuss it face to face if you can."
"Right," I said, not wanting to tell her that I had spoken--very
briefly--with him before in seeking allies in my war against Amber. He'd
dismissed me out of hand, but I didn't want to stir Vialle's memories of those
days. So I simply said, "Okay. I'll give it a try."
I decided to fast-talk him at first, to give him time to think, to realize
that I was not alone, and not to let slip anything of our earlier exchange. My
altered appearance should help in this, too.
I reached for contact.
First, the coldness, then a feeling of personality suddenly alert.
"Who is it?" I felt the question even before the likeness took on depth and
life.
"Luke Reynard, otherwise known as Rinaldo," I answered, as the card was
suddenly animated and I felt his scrutiny, "King of Kashfa and B.S. in Business
Management, University of California at Berkeley." Our gazes locked. He seemed
neither belligerent nor friendly. "I wanted to know whether your stewardship of
the spikards remains intact."
"Luke-Rinaldo," he said, "just what is your concern in this, and how did
you come to learn of the matter?"
"While I am not of Amber," I replied, "my father was. I know it is soon to
become a matter of concern in that place because of Merlin--son of
Corwin--apparently being in direct line for the succession to the throne in the
Courts of Chaos."
"I know who Merlin is," Delwin sated. "Who is your father?"
"Prince Brand."
"And your mother?"
"The Lady Jasra, formerly Queen of Kashfa. Now, might we talk about this
matter a little?"
"No," Delwin said. "We may not."
He moved his hand as if to break the contact.
"Wait!" I said. "Do you have a microwave oven?"
He hesitated.
"A what?"
"It's a box-like device that can warm a meal in a matter of minutes. I've
worked out a general spell to allow one to operate in most of Shadow. Wake up in
the middle of the night with a taste for a steaming hot tuna casserole? Take one
out of the freezer, unwrap it, and pop it in. What's a freezer? Glad you asked.
It's another box, with eternal winter inside. Store meals in there, take one out
and zap it in the mike whenever the fancy hits. And yes, I can supply the