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

remembered where he was, and thought in amazement, What must that mean
for her, to have such awareness, living in the shadow of such a great Darkness .
..
“And are you the resident loremaster, as well?”
She bowed her head. “I have that honor.”
“Meaning . . . an archivist?”
“Meaning, I research, collect, Know, and disseminate information. As it is
said our ancestors once used machines to do, before the Great Sacrifice. For a
modest consultation fee, of course.”
“Of course.”
“Meaning also that my position is one of absolute neutrality, regarding the
uses to which such data is put.” Her eyes sparkled mischievously, and she
added, “Discretion assured.”
“That’s necessary, I assume.”
“Oh, yes. We learned that the hard way. Too many so-called Datalords were
killed in the early days, by sorcerers seeking vengeance for one indiscretion or
another. We learned not to take sides. And the populace learned to respect our
neutrality, in order to benefit from our continued presence. Is there something I
can show you? Or some service we can offer?”
He wondered just how deep within him her Knowing had searched. And
watched her closely as he said, “I need a local fae-map. Do you carry them?”
Her eyes sparkled with amusement, reflecting the amber of the lamplight. “I
think we may,” she answered simply. Not rising to the bait. “Current or
historical?”
“Current.”
“Then I’m sure we do.” She stepped back to search through one of the book-
strewn shelves, and after a few minutes chose and pulled forth a heavy vellum
sheet. She laid it out on the counter before him and pinned its corners down
with several unlabeled objects that had been lying about, allowing him to study
it.
He whistled softly. Currents of fae flowed through the city in half a dozen
directions, each carefully labeled as to its tenor and tidal discrepancies. North of
the city, beyond the sheltered ports of Kale and Seth and across the twisted
straits that separated two continents, a spiral of wild currents swirled to a focal
point so thick with notes and measurements that he could hardly make out its
position. The Forest? he wondered, seeking out the region’s name from among
the myriad notes. Yes, the Forest. And smack dab in the middle of it was the
wildest fae on any human continent, and by far the most dangerous. So close!
“Will it do?” she asked. In a tone of voice that said plainly that she knew it
made the fae-maps of his home look like mere road maps of a few simple
country paths. He had never seen, nor even imagined, anything like this.
“How much?”
“Fifty local, or its western equivalent. Or barter,” she added.
Intrigued, he looked up at her.
“We have very few visitors from your region, and fewer still who brave the
Dividers. Your news and experience are worth quite a bit to me - professionally
speaking, of course. I might be willing to trade to you what you want, in return
for what you know.”
“Over dinner?” he asked smoothly.
She looked him over, from his mud-caked boots to his rough woolen shirt;