"Mona.Lisa.Overdrive" - читать интересную книгу автора (3-Mona Lisa OVerdrive)

dealer in European antiques.


This was nothing like Tokyo, where the past, all that remained of it,
was nurtured with a nervous care. History there had become a quantity, a
rare thing, parceled out by government and preserved by law and
corporate funding. Here it seemed the very fabric of things, as if the
city were a single growth of stone and brick, uncounted strata of
message and meaning, age upon age, generated over the centuries to the
dictates of some now-all-but-unreadable DNA of commerce and empire.


Regret Swain couldn't come out to meet you himself, the man called
Petal said. Kumiko had less trouble with his accent than with his manner
of structuring sentences; she initially mistook the apology for a
command. She considered accessing the ghost, then rejected the idea.


Swain, she ventured. Mr. Swain is my host?


Petal's eyes found her in the mirror. Roger Swain. Your father didn't
tell you?


No.


Ah. He nodded. Mr. Kanaka's conscious of security in these matters,
it stands to reason. . . . Man of his stature, et cetera . . . He
sighed loudly. Sorry about the heater. Garage was supposed to have that
taken care of. . . .


Are you one of Mr. Swain's secretaries? Addressing the stubbled rolls
of flesh above the collar of the thick dark coat.


His secretary? He seemed to consider the matter. No, he ventured
finally, I'm not that. He swung them through a roundabout, past
gleaming metallic awnings and the evening surge of pedestrians. Have
you eaten, then? Did they feed you on the flight?


I wasn't hungry. Conscious of her mother's mask.


Well, Swain'll have something for you. Eats a lot of Jap food, Swain.
He made a strange little ticking sound with his tongue. He glanced back
at her.