"S. M. Stirling & David Drake - The General 01 - The Forge" - читать интересную книгу автора (Stirling S. M)

 "I'll use the pry bar," he said. "Get it out, would you?"

Thom rummaged in his rucksack, while Raj advanced to
examine the door. The feeling in his stomach reminded him of
waiting behind the barricade during the street fighting last fall,
when the sound of the rioters had come booming around the
corner, thunder of feet and massed chanting of voices: Conquer!
Conquer! Just like then; he had seen the eyes of the rankers flick
toward him, as they stood at parade rest. He had strolled up to
the chest-high barrier of carts and furniture and paving stones
as if he were walking out the front gate of his father's manor,
going to inspect the dogs. Sergeant major, first company to the
breastwork; prepare for volley fire, if you please. His voice
hadn't been the shaky squeak he'd expected, either.

You could get through anything, once you'd decided you had
to. Look at it as a job to be done, and then do it, because
somebody had to and it cursed well wasn't going to happen if
you waited for the next man. Not to mention that his role in
putting down the riots had gotten him a Captaincy and the still
more important position of Guard to the Vice-Governor.

Closer, and the light was a narrow strip along one side of the
door rather than a wedge; he pressed an eye to the crack, but it
was reflecting around a tongue-and-groove socket that was
almost closed. The air blew from inside to him, dry and metallic
and tasting ofтАж old bones? he thought.

"Maybe I can get it open," he said experimentally, trying for a
grip with his hands. The crack was too narrow, but his friend
slapped the octagonal steel of the pry bar into his hand as he
reached around behind for it. The metal was as thick as he could
comfortably grip and about a meter long; one end flattened out
into a wedge, and the other into a hook. The wedge slipped in
easily enough, a hand's width, and he braced one foot against the
jamb of the door.

"Wait a second," Thom murmured. He pointed to a
rectangular plaque beside the blank gray rectangle of the portal.
"I've seen an old manuscript that describes doors like these,
Annaman's Records of the Settlement. The inscription said
'touche thi squaire, und recessed it shall by.'"
 "But will it work now?" Raj said, a little sharply. A Descott
squire had better things to do with his youth than pour over
ancient manuscripts and parse verbs in Old Namerique, to be
sure. But it was still a little irritating, when some city noble
trotted out a classical quotation. At least Thom's usually have
something to do with reality, he thought.

For answer, Thom pointed at the light that picked out the