"Simon Hawke - Wizard 4 - The Wizard of Rue Morgue" - читать интересную книгу автора (Hawke Simon)

murder of Joelle Muset."
Renaud started quickly making notes. "May I ask what this is all about,
mademoiselle?" he said. "How are you involved in this?"
"Never mind that for now," she said. "First I want you to be absolutely certain that
I'm telling you the truth. We'll discuss it further after you've verified the information."
"You may rest assured that I will do so, mademoiselle," he said. He glanced at
her, puzzled. It occurred to him that she might have been involved in the crime
somehow. "I assume that you will stand Max Siegal's bail?" he said, watching her for a
reaction.
"No," she said. "Right now, jail is the best possible place for him."
"You believe that he is in some danger?" said Renaud.
"No, I don't think so, but I believe that this is only the beginning. There will be
other killings of this sort, Renaud, I'm certain of it, and if Max is in jail when they
occur, then you'll know he couldn't possibly have been responsible."
"You seem to know more about this than you're telling me, mademoiselle,"
Renaud said. "I really think it would be best if youтАФ"
"I know you are suspicious of me, Renaud," she said, "and under the
circumstances, I can hardly blame you. But you will soon think differently. I'll speak to
you again after you've made those calls. Right now, I have to make some calls of my
own. If I'm right, then what's happening here is too much for the police to handle
alone."
"If what you're saying is true," Renaud said, "then it is my duty to call in the
I.T.C."
She got up. "Do whatever you think you must," she said. "But at least speak to
Blood and Farrell first, so you can satisfy yourself that I am telling you the truth. Then
use your own best judgment. I can't tell you what to do. But I promise you that Max
Siegal is completely innocent of this crime. I fear that this is only the beginning. It
seems there is a necromancer loose in Paris."

He cried out as the sword bit deeply, cutting through his armor and slicing into his
shoulder. He dropped his own sword, unable to hold on to it, and sank to his knees,
raising his shield in a vain effort to ward off the punishing blows that kept raining
down on him as Uthur smashed away relentlessly, chopping at his shield with repeated,
powerful, two-handed strokes. He felt his strength draining away with his blood and he
knew that he was finished. Merlin had cloaked Uthur in warding spells and with the
fury of his attack, there was no opportunity to summon up an enchantment powerful
enough to break through Uthur's magical protection. With a sinking feeling, he realized
that he was going to die.
That it should end like this, that after all these years, he should die at the hands of
a mere mortal, aided by the spells of his own abandoned son. ... He thought briefly of
his wife, Igraine, who would now be at Uthur's mercy, his to seize as chattel, his to use


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in whatever way he pleased. He thought of his three daughters, Elaine, Morganna and
Morgause, whose fate would also be in Uther's hands, and he was filled with
unutterable grief. He collapsed beneath the savage onslaught, his shield reduced to a
battered lump of shapeless metal, and with the next stroke, his arm went numb and he
could hold on to it no longer. There was one chance remaining, only one, but he did not
know if he had the time or strength to take it. He concentrated with all the power left in