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

several quills and a thin brush. The trick with magical traps was to rearrange the symbols in such a way
so that they thought they were still connected, when if fact they weren't. He would have to create a new
set of sigils to serve as the receptacle of the trap, and then painstakingly route each symbol from the lock
to the new set of sigils. It was slow, tedious, and deadly work. One missed quill stroke -- one botched
mark, and Devon knew he'd be getting a nice bath of highly corrosive acid. Carefully, he made the first
stroke.
An hour later he was finished. He selected a pick from his tool set, and picked the lock on the door
without hesitation. The door opened -- and the trap held. He allowed himself a moment of smugness.

He stiffly rose to his feet, opened the door, and looked inside. Yep. No doubt about it. This was the
sorcerer's room. Books scattered about the table, reading candle burned down to its wick, numerous
scrolls, papers, and more books strewn about the rest of the room. He glanced around. There was a
small chest at the end of the bed. It looked to be the only thing in the room capable of concealing the
cloak. And that was what bothered him. He didn't even go to the chest. Instead, he continued to stand in
the doorway, looking at the room. Look for the pattern -- and then find the glitch. Chest, bed, table,
chair. That pretty much did it for furniture. He let his eyes fall over the rest. The arrangement of the books
on the table. The table itself. The layout of the books on the bed. The chair. Wait. The table. Something
wasn't right about the table. He walked over to it slowly. He peered at the top of the table, and then
crouched down to peer underneath. Like most tables, the legs were uneven. One leg, the near one, was
shorter than the others. It rested about a half-inch off the floor. Devon frowned. That wasn't right. He
stood up and looked at the top of the table. All the books were on the near side -- the weight of the
books should be pushing the short leg against the floor. Hmmm. He looked over the table. There was a
clear spot, about a foot square, on the back side. He grinned. He reached into his side pouch and
produced another small packet of powder -- flour. He sprinkled the flour over the clear space. As it fell,
it gathered on something solid. A chest. Skull Eyes! he thought triumphantly. He sprinkled more flour,
until the entire box was revealed. Then he bent close, and examined the lock. Trapped and locked, but
nothing he couldn't handle. Fifteen more minutes, and the lock was open. He opened the chest carefully,
and looked inside. Folded neatly within was a soft, gray cloak. Excellent. He reached for the cloak.

"Find what you're looking for?" a voice said from behind him. Devon whirled and crouched at the same
time, a dagger slipping into his hand. A man stood in the doorway, resting against the door jam. He was
clad entirely in a darkish gray robe. Ash's Ghost! The sorcerer!

"I have to admit -- I'm fairly impressed," the sorcerer continued. "I thought I had taken sufficient
precaution, but I can see that I was mistaken.

Fortunately for me though, you didn't see all the triggers." His eyes flickered to the floor. Devon swore to
himself. He could now see the tiny swirls and sigils marked in fine sand on the room's floor -- just in front
of the door. Of course the sorcerer wouldn't have relied only on the lock on the door! The sorcerer had
been alerted the moment Devon entered the room.

"Also fortunately for me, it appears I have arrived just in time. It would seem you have not yet purloined
my belongings. As that is the case, I will be content for you to simply leave. I feel no need to--" Devon
didn't hear the rest of what the man said. At that moment, another man moved into view behind the
sorcerer. He was unkempt in appearance, and his identity was hidden by a bandana tied around his face.
He stood directly behind the sorcerer, wielding a long scimitar. He raised the weapon high. The sorcerer
continued, totally oblivious. At that moment, Devon did something he really wouldn't understand until
years later. He warned the sorcerer. He gave the briefest of nods, and let his eyes flicker over the
sorcerer's shoulder. It was enough. The sorcerer deftly stepped in and to the right of the doorway just as
the scimitar came whistling through the space where he had been standing. Then chaos erupted.