"Barb & J. C. Hendee - Noble Dead 02 - Thief of Lives" - читать интересную книгу автора (Hendee JC & Barb)

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Prologue



He neither relished nor anticipated the task at hand. It was simply one more step upon the path, and he
had always been capable of doing whatever was necessary.

Street lanterns, lit by the night watch, hung from high posts and building-side iron mounts at more regular
intervals along this street than other places in the kingтАЩs city. Dim light shimmered on wet cobblestone
rather than packed earth, on stone dwellings instead of wattle and daub or timber buildings. This was an
elite district, where gentry, dignitaries, and city officials lived just outside the walls of the castle grounds.
Light, warmth, and an aura of comfort flowed out between half-drawn curtains hanging in windows with
actual glass panes. Here, at night, all was serene.

He watched the street from a side corner, making certain no guard or watchman would pass by anytime
soon, then stepped along the cobblestones at a quiet pace.

Night air was seasoned with the wet scent of the bay on the cityтАЩs west side. The cool breeze carried
some chill, but he did not notice the cold. Still, he shifted the long black wool cloak closer about him. Its
dark color, melting into the night, protected him from errant gazes by any occupant peering out a window
before settling to bed. He tugged his black lambskin gloves, flexing his fingers until the material was
smoothed comfortably in place.

Arriving at the house he sought, he entered the iron yard-gate and walked up the path. His hand rested
gently on a side railing as he climbed the three stone steps to the large front door. Ornate ash wood was
stained in multiple tones to accent detailed doves and vines a patient artisan had carved in its panels. Two
lanterns glowed to either side of the door. He reached up and twisted their knobs, first the right then the
left, until the wicks retreated and their light dimmed just short of going out altogether. Grasping the large
brass knocker ring, he announced his arrival with two raps and no more.

Moments passed. The door cracked open.

A young feminine face peered out. She was small for sixteen, with dark brown ringlets hanging to her
shoulders and a dress of muted lavender with light saffron trim. Her expression was hesitant at first, but
then she smiled with warm recognition.

He knew she would answer. Her father was away this same midweek evening, playing faro with other
gentlemen and nobility. This young one always took pity on their overworked servants, giving them a
secret night off without her fatherтАЩs knowledge. She was alone in her house, in the quietest, most
respectable of neighborhoods.
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