"Thieves World - Beyond The Veil" - читать интересную книгу автора (Morris Janet E)

overhanging roofs, rear balconies, and adjoining buildings. As he bargained with
the head groom for liniment, sweet feed, and a better stall for his mount,
Belize kept an eye on the intersection of Commerce and Souk avenues visible from
the stable yard, hoping to see the Stepson on the big bay horse ride away. He
didn't. So he went inside the stable to examine its box stalls while the head
groom, biting the Tysian half-crown between his teeth, began trying to make good
his promise to "have him road-worthy in the morning, generous sir. Just pick any
stall you like and I'll move out the other nag."
Belize had everything he needed: local currency, genuine travel papers issued by
the Rankan chancellor's office that afforded him safe conduct empire-wide, a
free hand in accomplishing his mission.
But his gut was telling him he'd missed something, some detail more troublesome
than being a day late to meet a man who didn't know he was coming. Damn the
mages, every necromancing, oversold soul among them. If the mageguild network
had been trustworthy, things would be much easier. In fact, if the mages weren't
suspect, Belize wouldn't be here at all. He was a little bit more than your
average courier. But then, some messages require specialized delivery. Whether
the Riddler agreed with the proposition he carried or not, the parties Belize
served wanted their dictates expedited.
He put the third horse he'd run into the ground to get here into the stall he'd
chosen for it when the groom had cleared and cleaned it, then headed for the
rear stairs to the inn.
He heard no sound out of the ordinary in the summer night: laughter wafting on a
southwest breeze from Peace Falls; horses behind in the stables and before on
the street; the snap and hiss of oil-soaked torches. He took the back stairs two
at a time despite the deep and dancing shadows: a few minutes in his room and
he'd be ready to see what Commerce Avenue had to offer. Just a quick prayer to
his god, some security precautionsЕ it wouldn't take long.
Halfway up the creaking staircase, he thought he heard a sliding foot, leather
scraping on wood. He stopped. He turned full around. He saw the stables, the
head groom, horseboys. Nothing more. He wiped his hands on his thighs. Why was
he so nervous?
Turning back to vault the last few steps and begin his quest, Belize felt a
sharp sting at his throat. He slapped the spot. There was a marsh nearby, but
mosquitoes didn't usuallyЕ His palm felt the little dart even as he slapped it
more deeply into his throat so that its point pierced a nerve. He halted as he
pulled the barb loose, thinking about the scuffling footstep he had heard. Then
his eyes began to tear and a burning sensation spread out from his throat to
reach up into his brain and down toward his heart. As he grabbed onto the
railing for support, sensation left his extremities and his tongue felt as if it
had swollen to thrice normal size and was suffocating him.
He didn't feel the impact as he fell to his knees on the board stairs. He was a
western-trained fighter; the mind-over-body discipline he'd relied upon for
years to prevail against his enemies and endure rigors most men could not
survive allowed him what he craved most then: a look at his assassin.
What he saw, as his body fell forward like a sack of stones, was an urchin's
face, grubby and beardless, with hair like straw and huge eyes that seemed
colorless in the torch light. He felt himself being turned, soon enough, but by
then the fire in his blood was consuming him entirely and there was a light far
up in the night sky which he must follow. He felt the young mugger's fingers