"C. S. Friedman - Coldfire 1 - Black Sun Rising" - читать интересную книгу автора (Friedman C. S)

cause. Or say that some notable from another district comes to town, he wants
his potential read in everything that he might wear. I consult on everything,
Damien because everything involves the fae, in one way or another. Now . . . do
you want this outfit, or not?”
He regarded his reflection with renewed interest, if not with aesthetic
enthusiasm. “What will it do for me?”
She folded her arms across her chest in mock severity. “I do usually get paid
for this.”
“I’ll treat you to dinner.”
“Ah. Such generosity.”
“At an expensive restaurant.”
“You were going to do that anyway.”
He raised an eyebrow. “I thought you couldn’t read the future?”
“I didn’t. It was obvious.”
He sighed melodramatically. “Two dinners, then. Mercenary lady.”
“My middle name, you know.” She came up to where he stood and studied
him casually. He tried to discover some hint of a Working in her demeanor - a
whispered word, a subtle gesture, perhaps eyes tracking some visualized symbol
used for a key, even some indication that she was concentrating - but there was
nothing. If he hadn’t seen her Work before, he would have thought she was
tricking him.
Reading: not the future, but the present. Not fate, but tendency. A true
Divining was impossible, as there was no certain future, but the seeds of all
possible futures existed in the present moment. If one had skill enough, one
could read them.
“You’ll stand out in a crowd,” she assured him.
He laughed softly.
 “Among strangers, men will be put off. Women will find you . . . intriguing.”
“I can live with that.”
“Among those who know you . . . there aren’t that many in Jaggonath, are
there?” Her brown eyes twinkled. “I think you look charming. Your students will
be even more terrified of you than they are now - no major change there. I read
at least one barmaid who will find you unutterably attractive.”
“That’s appealing.”
Her eyes narrowed. “She’s married.”
“Too bad.”
“As for your superiors . . .” She hesitated. “Superior? Is there only one?”
He felt himself tense at the thought of the man. Easy, Damien. You’ve got
months to go, here. Get a hold of yourself. “Only one that matters.”
She checked him out from head to foot, then did the same again. “In this
outfit,” she proclaimed at last, “will irritate the hell out of him.”
He stared at her for a minute, then broke into a grin. And turned to face the
proprietor, who was nervously twisting a red silk scarf between his fingers.
“I’ll take it,” he declared.
The street outside was gray upon gray, chill autumn sunlight slowly giving
way to the shadows of Jaggonath’s dusk. Dark shapes shivered about the
corners of an alleyway, the cavernous mouth of an open doorway, the scurrying
feet of a dozen chilled pedestrians. Was it lamp shadows, tricking the eye? Or
some force that genuinely desired life, and might seek it out in sunlight’s
absence?