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

torches. Beacons suddenly flared into life around the largest pad, like corpsefires on a newly built cairn,
and Cat realised with a thrill of excitement that there was a ship coming in. Ships of any kind were
growing rare these days, and any new arrival was good news. Cat turned reluctantly away, and looked
down at the streets below him.

Nobody moved in the empty alleyways, and the pale blanket of freshly fallen snow remained unbroken.
Only thieves and spies braved the bitter cold of Mistport's night, and they never left tracks.

Cat pulled his cowl back up to shield his face, and releasing his hold on the chimneystack, he slipped
carefully over the roofs edge. He took a firm grip on the narrow drainpipe and slowly eased himself
headfirst over the edge until he was hanging upside down, his feet hooked firmly under the gutter. The
rusty ironwork groaned under his weight, but held firm as he thoughtfully studied the small steel-latticed
window before him. The window was less than two feet square, and the grille was cast from stainless
steel.How very unhospitable , thought Cat.Anyone would think they were afraid of being burgled .
He looked more closely at the window frame, and smiled complacently as he spotted two slender wires
attached to the upper right-hand corner of the grille, which disappeared into the brickwork to no
apparent purpose. Obviously an alarm of some kind. Cat drew a pair of miniature cutters from inside his
left boot, reached out to cut the wires, and then hesitated. The wires were too obvious. He checked
again, and grinned wryly as he discovered a small electronic sensor fitted flush into the grille's ironwood
frame. Touch the grille or the frame, and the sensor would set off an alarm. Cat slipped the cutters into
his glove, and drawing a slender steel probe from his right boot, he delicately shorted out the sensor with
the casual skill of long practice. He slipped the probe back into his boot, and then took the cutters and
carefully snipped both of the wires, just in case. He put the cutters back in his left boot, took out a small
screwdriver, and calmly set about undoing the four simple screws that held the grille in place.

Blood pounded in his head from being upside down so long, but he ignored it as best he could and
refused to be hurried. He dropped three of the screws one by one into the white leather pouch at his belt,
and then put away the screwdriver and tugged cautiously at the steel grille. It came easily away in his
hands, and hung loosely by the one remaining screw. Cat grinned. So far, everything was going as
planned. He pushed aside the grille and slipped an arm through the window. His head followed, and then
he breathed gently as his chest and back scraped against the unyielding ironwood frame. He took a firm
grip on the inner frame with his hand, and then, taking a deep breath, he worked his feet loose from
under the gutter. His body jerked violently in the window frame as his legs fell free, but the jolt wasn't
enough to pull him back out the window. He waited a moment while his breathing steadied, and then
released his grip on the inner frame. Inch by inch he worked his upper torso through the narrow gap, and
then his waist and hips followed easily. Only someone as wiry and limber as he could have managed it.
Which was one of the reasons why even Cat's rivals acknowledged him as the finest roof runner in
Mistport.

He swung lithely down from the window, and crouched motionless in the shadows while his eyes
adjusted to the gloom. A narrow hallway stretched away before him, with a stairway to his left and two
closed doors to his right. Moonlight spilled through the open window behind him, but even Cat's
experienced eyes were hard put to make out details in the darkness beyond the shimmering light. He
took off his gloves and tucked them into his belt, and flexed his long, slender fingers through a quick
series of exercises. To a good burglar, the hands were just as important as the tools they used. Cat
always looked after his hands. He gingerly pressed the tips of his fingers against the floor, and then closed
his eyes, concentrating on the feel of the polished wood. Faint vibrations tingled under his fingertips, and
Cat frowned thoughtfully. There were sensor panels hidden in the floor, no doubt designed to set off all
kinds of alarms if a man's weight triggered them. Still without opening his eyes, Cat leant slowly forward
and swept his fingers back and forth across the floor in a series of widening arcs, judging by the rise and