“So, how are things in Chaos?” she asked.

“At the moment, chaotic,” Mandor replied, “not to be facetious.” He thought a moment, then sighed and added, “Politics.”

She nodded slowly, as if considering asking him for the details he did not seem to care to divulge, then deciding against it. She turned toward me.

“Unfortunately, I’d no opportunity to sight-see while I was in Amber,” she said. “From what you told me, though, life seems a bit chaotic there also.”

I nodded.

“It’s good that Dalt’s gone,” I said, “if that’s what you mean. But he was never a real threat, just a nuisance. Speaking of whom —”

“Let’s not,” she interrupted, smiling sweetly. “What I really had in mind was anything else.”

I smiled back.

“I forgot. You’re not a fan of his,” I said.

“It’s not that,” she responded. “The man has his uses. It’s just — she sighed — ‘politics’,” she finished.

Mandor laughed, and we joined him. Too bad I hadn’t thought to use that line about Amber. Too late now.

“I bought a painting awhile back,” I said, “by a lady named Polly Jackson. It’s of a red ’57 Chevy, I like it a lot. It’s in storage in San Francisco right now. Rinaldo liked it, too.”

She nodded, stared out the window.

“You two were always stopping in some gallery of other,” she said. “Yes, he dragged me to a lot of them, too. I always thought he had good taste. No talent, but good taste.”

“What do you mean, ‘no talent’?”

“He’s a very good draftsman, but his own paintings were never that interesting.”

I had raised the subject for a very special reason, and this wasn’t it. But I was fascinated by a side of Luke I’d never known, and I decided to pursue the matter.

“Paintings? I never knew he painted.”

“He’s tried any number of times, but he never shows them to anyone because they’re not good enough.”