Lords of Rainbow by Vera Nazarian Read Free Book Online Page A

reply. “ Orange . To me it has always appealed in several ways. There is, first of all, something warming about it, don’t you think? Nice and cheerful and warm. Unlike the other colors . Seems to be quite appropriate for my sort of establishment. Warmth. Roadside cheer—It’s all up here, you see.”
    And he would point at his temple and smile in that funny baby-toothed way of his. “I suppose you might say that I now have Melixevven , lady of Joy, watching over me and mine. In any case, here’s comfortable superstition for you.”
    And then he’d turn practical, and his teeth would disappear behind the calm line of mouth. “Besides, I don’t know if you’ve heard this, but orange is associated nowadays, by the learned, not so much with traditional joy and all the Tilirr paraphernalia, but—with hunger. Yes, don’t look so surprised, I said, hunger! It’s supposed to awaken a ravenous appetite. Definitely, I’d like to make use of that. My customers would clamor for food, after an hour or so of being in an orange -lit room. And so far, it works. So, there. There’s your explanation. Everything else is nonsense, because I’m not religious, and besides, all monochromes of this level of craftsmanship cost alike.”
    Ultimately, Jirve Lan always came down to the point.
    Jirve was of an average build, middle-aged, with regular features, his skin tone barely silvered from the days spent indoors and away from the sun. He was also kind at times, but in a lukewarm way, and absentminded. However, he made no absentminded mistakes in keeping his inn accounts, nor did he ever overlook anything of the business side. He was quick to anger, quick to sentimental reminiscences; philosophy was his hobby.
    But Jirve Lan, innkeeper of White Roads, did not have the least bit of tact when it came to proper argument.
    The man sitting across from him was oh so different from the innkeeper. Nilmet Vallen was always utterly aware of everything. The finest nuance of his companion’s mood never escaped this one, whom they learned to call “the Philosopher.” He was of scholarly background, true, but his ideas had to have come from somewhere else. Nowhere were they taught, these odd things that he professed, and he had acquired a sage reputation.
    People had that tendency, here in the West Lands, to respect ideas—no matter what kind—and individuals who were brimming with them. Hence, here was Nilmet, the Philosopher, who knew things, and who could listen and give advice. His time and purpose were ripe.
    Dark and tall, awkwardly built, Nilmet had come from farther up west, originally, farther even than the City, and brought with him customs and concepts.
    The innkeeper took him to heart immediately. Or rather, took to heart the opportunity for more philosophical banter. Nilmet was a godsend. He had stayed on here at the inn, at the gracious invitation of the owner, being in no hurry to continue anywhere in particular. He remained, to talk.
    Nilmet had things to impart, new speculations.
    But Nilmet also spoke of the Rainbow.
    In many ways, that made him a disappointment. Only children talked of the Rainbow, and most outgrew that tendency by the age of five. The very expression “the day of the new Rainbow” was used when speaking of things that will never come to pass, and of things that had never been.
    Occasionally, students of some lunatic scholars in the City were assigned to discuss the nature of Rainbow by way of a logic exercise. There was that board game. And occasionally, poets wrote silly verses, since most could never completely abandon its nostalgic charm. In short, it supplied fools with inspiration.
    At this moment it also kept Jirve Lan intellectually entertained.
    “ We were talking about—something, weren’t we?” said the innkeeper, yawning in apathy. Hunger made his thoughts desultory, and him even more careless. And the room was drowning in that unbearable mouthwatering smell of roasted onions.
    “ Yes, I