"Simon R. Green - Deathstalker Prelude 01 - Mistworld" - читать интересную книгу автора (Green Simon R)

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Mistworld by Simon R. Green
MISTWORLD
Call her Mary. When she sang, she could break your heart or mend it, but that was before the Empire
found and used her. Now she's just another refugee, running for her life. Deep within her, madness stirs.
Her name is Mary. Typhoid Mary. And nobody in Mistport will ever forget her.

CHAPTER ONE
A Ghost in the Night

A low, gusting wind came moaning out of the north, unsettling the snow-flecked mists that filled the
narrow Mistport streets. Lamps and lanterns hung at every door, burning yellow and red and orange
against the endless sea of grey. The mists were always at their thickest in the early hours of the morning,
before the rising of Mistworld's pale sun.

A dim figure padded confidently across a slippery slate roof, his slender frame barely visible amidst the
swirling snow flurries. The pure white of his thermal suit blended harmoniously into the snow and the
mists, whilst its heating elements insulated him from the wind's cutting edge. The man called Cat crouched
down by an outjutting attic window and pushed back his suit's cowl, revealing pale, youthful features
dominated by dark watchful eyes and the pockmarks that tattooed both cheeks. He winced as the
freezing air seared his bare face, and then he slid carefully down the snow-smeared tiles to bump into a
gently smoking chimneystack. He took a firm hold on the uneven brickwork and leaned out from the roof
to stare about him.

From his high vantage point there lay stretched out before him all the tiled and gabled rooftops of
Mistport, his hunting ground and private kingdom. Cat had spent most of his twenty years learning his
trade and refining his craft to become one of the finest burglars Thieves Quarter had ever produced. The
ornately carved and curlicued wood and ironwork of Mistport's buildings were hand- and footholds to
him, the cornices and gables his landmarks and resting places.

Cat was a roof runner.

Light from the huge half-moon shone clearly through the curling mists, reflecting brightly from the
snow-covered roofs and streets and setting out the scene below in eerie starkness. To Cat's left lay the
scattered glow of Thieves Quarter, sprawled in a tangle of shabby streets, where out-leaning timbered
buildings huddled together as though for warmth in the cold night. Its occasional lights shown crimson
against the dark, like rubies set on velvet. To his right lay Tech Quarter, and the starport.
 Sensor spikes blazed in the night, blue stormfire shivering up and down the slender crystal lances. Oil
lamps and torches burned in regular patterns across the starport grounds, marking out the huge landing
pads, each of them half a mile wide. Of all the port's buildings only the steelglass control tower, last
remnant of the Empire's original Base, still boasted bright electric lights. Less than a dozen ships lay on
the landing pads, mostly abandoned hulks stripped down for the high tech they possessed. A handful of
smugglers' ships lay scattered across one pad, five silver needles glowing ruddy from the flickering