"Dusty Monk - The Cloak & The Dagger" - читать интересную книгу автора (Monk Dusty)

in without preamble. A quick jaunt through the kitchen, where he helped himself to a slice of ham, a
creep behind the bar, and a quick trot up the stairs had gotten him to the inn's upstairs rooms without
being spotted by a sole. Still, Devon knew to be wary. Secretive and deceitful, sorcerers could make a
rock look like a chest, and a thief could waste hours carefully trying to open a lump of granite.

The hallway went straight ahead for several dozen feet before ending. There were three guest doors on
the right, and two on the left. First thing to do was to figure out which was the sorcerer's. He went to the
first door on the right, and examined the lock. Unlocked. Not a chance. He moved to the second and
examined it. Also unlocked. Extremely trusting people, he thought to himself. He moved to the third door
on the right. Locked. He bent down, and peered at the lock more closely. It was locked, but it didn't
appear to be anything too difficult. Just the standard lock the innkeep placed on all the doors. This wasn't
the sorcerer's door -- just someone with sense. He moved back down the hall, to the first door on the
left. This one was also locked. He took a closer look. Skull Eyes!

There were intricate quill lines in a complex pattern around the knob and the lock. He sat down and
studied the lines for a few minutes, letting the sigils drift through his head, looking for a pattern. It took a
few moments, and then it clicked. The spell was a derivation of an alarm spell. "Huh," he grunted. Big
surprise there. He couldn't tell if setting off the trap would cause a loud noise or not, but it really didn't
matter. The sorcerer would be alerted immediately. Disarming the trap would be tricky -- but not
impossible. He sat for a few more moments, just looking at the lock. Something didn't feel right. He
couldn't place his finger on it, but it just seemed -- somehow -- wrong. He stood up and went down to
the last door on the left. Also unlocked. This has to be it, he thought to himself as he returned to the
trapped door. You're just nervous about disarming a sorcerer's trap. Quit stalling and get to work. He
walked back to the top of the stairs, and took another look. The taproom was still empty. He reached
into his pack and pulled out several handfuls of little sharp pieces of metal, which he scattered about the
floor at the top of the stairs. Cattrips. Certainly not lethal, but annoying enough to give him warning if
someone came up the stairs. He returned to the trapped door, and sat down in front of it, cross-legged.
Rummaging though his pack, he produced a small pouch, containing various picks, brushes, and quills.
He selected a quill, and bent close to the lock. Once you knew what you were looking for, it wasn't too
difficult to see. He reached up, and was just about to touch the first line when it hit him like a bucket of
ice water. The sigils aren't that hard to see! He froze. This is a sorcerer's trap! Sweet Asu! A sorcerer's
trap would never be this easy to find! He put down his quill, stood up, and walked back to the last door
on the right -- the only other door that had been locked. He peered at it. Nothing.

"Yeah right," he said to himself. He went over to his pack and retrieved a small pouch, filled with fine
gray sand. Returning to the door, he began to sprinkle the sand around the door's jam and lock. If his
theory was correct.. some of the sand should.. there! As the sand fell around the door lock, some of it
stuck in place, forming little lines and patterns -- like iron shavings to a magnet. Within minutes, he could
clearly discern another trap -- one far more complex than the last one. "There you are sweetheart," he
breathed. Devon returned to the first trapped door to retrieve his pack. As he did so, he looked again at
the false trap. No -- not false, just not the right one. He shook his head in disbelief. The alarm trap was
totally real. The man actually took the time to trap two doors every morning -- one real, the other a fake.
Devon shook his head in disgust as he returned to the real trap. Sorcerers!

Devon sat before the new trap -- the real one, and studied it. The lines and sigils were of a pattern he
didn't recognize. He retrieved a small leather-bound book from his pack. Opening it, he thumbed through
the pages, comparing the notes and pictures on the pages against the sigils before him. There. He tapped
the page with his index finger. This was it.

"Acid spray," he said aloud. "Marvelous." He put the book down, rifled through his tool set, and selected