"I said carefully, "Nothing is ever really lost. You might find that a strongly-worded letter from your lawyers to the courier is enough to work miracles."
Masini smiled humourlessly. "I don't think so. The courier is dead."
Afternoon light filled the room; the window faced east, away from the sun, but the sky itself was dazzling. I suffered a moment of strange clarity, a compelling sense of having just shaken off a lingering drowsiness, as if I'd begun the conversation half asleep and only now fully woken. Masini let the copper orrery on the wall behind me beat twice, each tick a soft, complicated meshing of a thousand tiny gears. Then he said, "She was found in a hotel room in Vienna, three days ago. She'd been shot in the head at close range. And no, she was not meant to take any such detour."
3.5 out of 5
http://www.fictionwise.com/ebooks/b935/Our-Lady-Of-Chernobyl/Greg-Egan/?si=0
Subscribe to:
Post Comments (Atom)
No comments:
Post a Comment