"Katherine Kurtz - Adept 01 - The Adept" - читать интересную книгу автора (Kurtz Katherine)

Mr. Kenneth Fraser of the St. Andrews University Research Library, for his valuable assistance in locating
difficult-to-find research materials;
Dr. William Such, for his help in rendering the Greek terminology used in this book;
Robert Harris, for his help in reviewing the Latin;
Mr. G.H. Forsyth, caretaker at Melrose Abbey, for his useful information on the whereabouts of Michael
Scot's grave;
And finally, the staff of the St. Andrews Tourist Information Bureau, especially Mrs. Maggie Pitkethly and Mr.
Andrew Purvis, for providing a wealth of miscellaneous information not to be found in history books.

prologue

THE autumn night was clear and sharp, with a bite to the still air that promised frost before morning. No moon
eased the darkness, but the starlight cast its own faint luminescence over the Scottish countryside.
Partway up the slope of a wooded hill, a black-clad man waited in the shadow of ancient beech trees,
hugging himself against the cold, now and again flexing black-gloved hands to keep his fingers supple for the
work ahead. Several times in the last half hour, he had peeled back the cuff of his left glove to peer at the face
of a military wristwatch. Now he did so again. The luminous dial read half past two.
The rear windows of Mossiecairn House were blind and dark. Upstairs, the last light had gone out some time
ago. The old caretaker had long ago completed his last rounds, and could be expected not to budge again
from his gate lodge until after daylight. The time would never be better.
Smiling slightly, the man in black zipped his leather jacket closer and pushed a black knitted watch cap up
off his ears for better hearing, flexing his fingers again as he started working his way down the slope. He
covered the distance swiftly, moving with the quiet assurance of a man well-schooled in night maneuvers,
keeping to the shadows. A shallow burn was crossed by leaping lightly across a string of exposed stones.
He paused for a final precautionary survey of the area before darting off across the open lawn, finally gaining
shelter in the shadow of a porch over the kitchen entrance.
Disarming the house's security alarms presented little challenge to the man in black. By American
standards, Mossiecairn's alarm system was woefully unsophisticated. Besides, the man in black had been in
the house earlier in the day as a tourist, making note of everything that was likely to present problems when
he returned.
Now he eased his way carefully across the darkened kitchen, lighting his way with a tiny pocket torch that
cast a pencil-thin beam. He spared not a glance for the shelved candelabra and punch bowls and ice
buckets, or the drawers full of silver flatware, as he passed through the butler's pantry and into the dining
room. Likewise disregarding a valuable tea service displayed on the dining room table, he made his way
swiftly along the inside wall to the double doors at the other end. There a deft twist of a lock pick let him into
the adjoining library, avoiding the outer corridor and the electric eyes guarding the doors into it.
Again he paid little attention to the many valuable items on display as he swept his light around, avoiding the
windows. The portraits were particularly fine, ranging from the Jacobean builder of the house down to the
present owner. The one above the ornate fireplace he had admired earlier in the day: a Cavalier gentleman in
velvets and silks the color of fine port wine, with a froth of lace at his throat and the curls of a long, dark wig
showing under his plumed hat.
Antique weapons and other military accoutrements stud ded the walls between the paintings, and smaller
items were displayed under glass in a series of shallow table cases set along the walls. Rare books occupied
a heavy library table in the center of the room.
The intruder passed them by without a second glance, heading for the cases flanking the fireplace. Most of
the items in the cases were medals and decorations won by previous occupants of the house, or oddments of
domesticity such as watch fobs and ladies' fans and miniatures painted on ivory. A few, however, were bits of
memorabilia associated with notables of Scotland's heroic past: Bonnie Dundee or Mary Queen of Scots or
Bonnie Prince Charlie. Noting one silk-tied lock of hair in passing, cased in a golden locket of breathtaking
workmanship, the man in black wondered how the Stuart pretender had managed to have any hair left at all,