Eros Descending: Book 3 of Tales of the Velvet Comet Read Online Free PDF

ignoring them, you might strike up a conversation or two. Who knows? You might make some converts.”
    “I'll choose my own converts, thank you,” said Gold.
    The two faeries joined the growing crowd in the grandstand, and Gold turned his attention back to them.
    “Do they have wings?” he asked at last.
    “Who?” asked the Steel Butterfly.
    “The faeries.”
    “No. Why?”
    He shrugged. “They look like they should.”
    Suddenly there was a brief commotion at the far end of the Mall, and then a trumpeted call to the post was piped in over the sound system.
    “Ladies and gentlemen,” said an unseen announcer, “if you will direct your attention toward the starting gate, you will see the first of the two contestants coming onto the track.”
    Gold looked off to his right.
    “I can't see a thing,” he said.
    “Here,” said the Steel Butterfly, handing him a tiny pair of binoculars. “Use these.”
    He held them up to his eyes and focused on the large, sleek chestnut colt which was just emerging from an unseen lift and stepping onto the dirt surface.
    “Welcome to the first running of the Velvet Comet Challenge Cup,” continued the announcer.
    A gray-haired woman suddenly approached the crowded grandstand, and a number of Vainmill executives immediately moved over to make room for her.
    “Interesting,” commented Gold softly, as she climbed up into the grandstand.
    “What is?” asked the Steel Butterfly.
    “That's Fiona Bradley, the head of the Resource and Development Division.”
    “What's so interesting about her?”
    “She was late for the prayer breakfast this morning, and nobody even stood up when she entered the room,” said Gold. “Now they suddenly part before her like the Red Sea.”
    “Do you draw some conclusion from this?” she asked him.
    “No,” he replied. “But it is interesting.”
    He put the binoculars back up to his eyes and looked down the track at the chestnut colt.
    “This year's Challenge Cup, which will be presented to the winner by Doctor Thomas Gold,” said the announcer, emphasizing the name, “features two of the great horses of the late twentieth century. Currently on the track, wearing the blue-and-gold silks of the Quantos Corporation, is Secretariat. Like his rival, he will carry one hundred and twenty-six pounds today.”
    He droned on and on, listing the accomplishments of the original Secretariat, the two previous laboratory-created duplicates, and the present version. “This Secretariat is currently three years and eight months old.”
    “Isn't that awfully young?” asked Gold, curious in spite of himself.
    “Actually, I gather that he's already nearing the end of his career,” said the Steel Butterfly. “Isn't he beautiful?”
    “Very.” Gold paused. “Where's the other one?”
    “I imagine he'll be along any moment,” she said.
    He looked down the track and saw a dark, muscular colt prance onto the dirt, his powerful body lathered with sweat, his groom frantically holding on to his bridle in an attempt to stop him from running off.
    “It's not going to be much of a race,” remarked Plaga. “That animal is having a nervous breakdown.”
    The dark horse shook his head, failed to dislodge the groom, then spun in a tight circle, lifting the groom completely off the ground while the jockey clung helplessly to his neck.
    The announcer spoke up again. “Stepping onto the track in the cerise and white diamonds of the Seballa Cartel is Seattle Slew.” He went on to recite the colt's record, pointing out that due to a record-keeping error he had merely been named Seattle during his two most recent incarnations. The current version, he informed the crowd, had just turned four years old the previous week. The experts, he concluded, still hadn't decided whether he was officially black or dark brown, the distinction having something to do with the color of the hairs on his nostrils.
    Suddenly Gold was aware of Titania standing in front of him, whistling