The Dark Lady Read Online Free PDF

knowledge of current art market values,” I said, and I could feel my color registering the Hue of Absolute Honesty.
    “That's more like it,” said Rayburn with a chuckle. “He thinks even less of you.”
    “Get to the point, Hector,” said Tai Chong irritably.
    “The point, Madame Chong,” said Rayburn, “is that Malcolm Abercrombie just offered the Claiborne Galleries our choice: an early Sabai ink sketch or fifty thousand credits.”
    “In exchange for what?” she demanded.
    Rayburn grinned in amusement.
    “A week of Leonardo's time.”

3.
    I sat, alone and uneasy, in Malcolm Abercrombie's study.
    I had arrived almost ten minutes early for my appointment with him and remained in the busy, bustling street for almost nine minutes, studying the bold structure of his enormous home, the mathematical precision of his formal gardens, the grace and beauty of the two large stone fountains that fronted the east and west wings of the house.
    Finally, when I was certain that I could cause no possible disturbance by appearing before the appointed time, I stepped onto the automatic walkway, prepared to be instantly transported to the front door— and nothing happened.
    I began to feel a sense of impending panic. The house was set back almost five hundred feet from the street, and given my physical structure and the somewhat heavy gravity of Far London, I could not possibly traverse the distance in the one minute remaining to me. I had been given three days’ notice in which to prepare for our meeting, and I would nonetheless be late.
    I had no choice but to begin walking— and the moment I did so, a mechanical voice asked me whether I desired to approach the front door, the servants’ door, the service entrance, or the door to the guest wing.
    “The front door, if you please,” I said with an enormous feeling of relief.
    “I am sorry,” said the voice passionlessly, “but my programming will not permit me to transport members of any non-human race to the front door. Will you please make another selection?”
    “I have an appointment with Mr. Abercrombie,” I said. “I do not yet know if I am to be a guest or a servant.”
    “My programming will not permit me to transport members of any non-human race to the guest-wing door. Do you wish to go to the servants’ door?”
    “Yes,” I said. “And please hurry. I must be there in thirty seconds.”
    “I am programmed to move at only one speed. Please prepare yourself; I shall begin in ten seconds.”
    I sighed and braced my feet, and shortly the walkway began moving slowly and smoothly toward the house.
    “You may not exit here,” it announced as we passed the front door, and it repeated the order a moment later as we circled the east wing of the house. Finally it came to a stop in front of a less ornate door, and instructed me to get off and enter the house.
    I did so, and a sleek, shining robot rolled up to me. It was only the third robot I had seen on Far London.
    “Are you Leonardo?” it asked.
    “Yes,” I replied.
    “You are expected. Please follow me.”
    It spun around and wheeled off down a paneled corridor, then paused and waited for me to catch up with it.
    “If you will enter this study,” it said, opening a door for me, “Mr. Abercrombie will join you shortly.”
    I walked into the study, so relieved that my tardiness would go relatively unnoticed that I was hardly aware of the instinctive uneasiness that overtook me once the door closed and I was alone and isolated again. I began examining my surroundings and prepared to be joined momentarily by Malcolm Abercrombie.
    That had been forty-five minutes ago, and I was now feeling very naked and alone.
    The study itself mirrored my impression of the man: cold, monied, aloof. It was a large room, too large really, with a number of doors, and its walls were remarkably empty of paintings and holograms. There was a polished hardwood desk facing the doorway through which I had entered, but other than