"Aldridge, Ray - The Spine DiversV1" - читать интересную книгу автора (Aldridge Ray)

The next night I came home a little drunk, to find Mirella lying asleep on my bed. She wore her barbarian costume. Beside the bed was a bowl of whelks, cooked in an aromatic broth.

I stood over her for a minute, wobbly from drink and surprise. She slept like a child, without any of the guarded quality most adults display even in their sleep. Her mouth was open a little, and she sighed as she breathed. Sooty eyelashes flickered against her cheek; did she dream? I could for just an instant see the daughter Odorini mourned.

I sat dow in the high-backed chair, making a small sound, and she woke. She didn't seem at all startled, she simply opened her eyes and looked at me. "So the carouser returns early," she said, in the tone of a resumed conversation.

I signaled the exterior camera to move back, so that it recorded a view over my shoulder, looking down at the half-clothed woman in my bed. I glanced at my monitor to verify the framing; it was excellent.

"Very odd," she said. "What is it like. . .to live always in the camera?"

"I'm used to it," I said.

"I suppose you can get used to anything."

I shrugged. I didn't know why I was so reluctant to be civil. Perhaps I was still angry; no one likes to be called a coward, especially when it's true.

She sighed and sat up. "Well, my father sends you some of his favorite food." She lifted the bowl. "Will you try one?"

"I guess so," I said, a little dubiously. "The true adventurer is rarely intimidated by strange food."

She smiled crookedly -- perhaps the result of the injury that scarred her jaw. "Perhaps you'll be disappointed; this is not so adventurous a dish."

The flavor was rich and savory, with a hint of smoke, a tingle of hot pepper. "It's very good," I said.

"The best ones come from the tidal caverns. I try to bring a few back for Odorini, whenever I don't kill."

She's still bringing gifts to her father, I thought, and somehow Odorini's forever-lost little girl came to life for me. Her tragedy seemed a bit more real, a bit more personal. We finished the dish in silence.

When we were done, she leaned back against the bed's iron headboard. Her naked legs seemed to reach most of the way to the foot of the bed. "You seem much less fearful tonight. Would you like to talk, now?"

No, I thought, I would like to do the other thing you suggested when first we met. But I nodded.

"Ask me what you like," she said. "I'll be more patient, this time."

"Why would that be?"

She smiled. "I'm calmer. Tomorrow night I swim the tide again. I've been a rockhopper for much too long. . .but I can wait a night and a day. And Odorini says you'll distract me."

"I'll do my best to be distracting," I said, attempting a gallantry. But she seemed not to notice.

"So, how may I satisfy your curiosity?" She spoke in a relaxed voice, without mockery.

I considered. What did I want to know? Ordinarily she'd be an excellent source of information -- beautiful, exotic, vivid. But the situation wasn't ideal. . . usually I liked to happen upon my characters in colorful bars or other public places, so as to stimulate the sort of chance encounter that any of my fans night expect to have while traveling. This meeting was somehow tainted by a sense of contrivance. Unless, of course, I was actually trying to make a different kind of recording, unless I was actually going to deal with Odorini and his daughter as central elements. This might then work to my advantage.

"Would you be willing to wear a recorder while we talk?" I asked.

She raised her eyebrows. "Aren't you afraid to see yourself as I see you?" She was clearly no fool, for all she'd chosen a foolhardy career.

"No, I'm used to that sort of thing," I said, not very truthfully. "And perhaps you'll be kind."