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

would be incommensurate with time's apparent lapse
here. And what kind of time did the Pattern really
keep? All of them, I supposed--that is to say, its
own--but I also felt it to be especially keyed to the
mainline of its flow in Amber. In fact, I was almost
sure of it, since that's where the action was. So if I
wanted to be back in action quickly I should just stay
here long enough for my hand to heal.

But really, how badly could the Pattern want me? How
much would I actually matter to it? What was I in its
view? King of a minor Golden Circle realm. Assassin of
one Prince of Amber. Son of the man who had once
sought to destroy it... I winced at that, but
reflected that the Pattern had let me live my entire
life up to now without reprisal for dad's actions. And
my part in the current business had been minimal.
Coral had seemed its main concern, and then Merlin.
Perhaps I was being ultra-cautious. Likely, it had
dismissed me from its main considerations the moment I
had vanished. Still, I wasn't going to step out of
here without that disguise.

I finished eating and sipped at the wine. And when I
did step out? What exactly would I be about then?
Numerous possibilities tumbled through my mind. I also
began yawning and the sleeping bag looked very good.
Lightning flashed, blue wave through the walls. Then
the thunder came, like surf. Tomorrow then. Tomorrow I
would plan... I crawled inside and got comfortable. In
a moment, I was gone.

I've no idea how long I slept. On rising, I made the
rounds to establish a security habit, ran through a
vigorous routine of exercises, cleaned myself up, then ate
a leisurely breakfast. I felt better than I had the day before,
and my hand had already commenced healing. Then I sat and
stared at the wall, probably for hours. What was my best
course of action?

I could rush back to Kashfa and the kingship, I could
hunt after my friends, I could simply go underground,
lie low, and investigate until I learned what was
going on. It was a question of priorities. What was
the most important thing I could do for everybody
concerned? I thought about it till lunchtime and then
I ate again.

Afterwards, I took up my small sketchpad and a pencil
and I began recalling a certain lady, feature by