"Jonathan Stroud - Bartimaeus 1 - The Amulet of Samarkand" - читать интересную книгу автора (Stroud Jonathan)

hubcaps. Even so, I had to get it first, and this would not necessarily be easy, even for me.

I closed my blackbird's eyes and opened my inner ones, one after the other, each on a different
plane.[1] I looked back and forth around me, hopping up and down the branch to get the optimal
view. No fewer than three villas along the street had magical protection, which showed how wealthy
an area we were in. I didn't inspect the two farther off up the street; it was the one across from them,
beyond the streetlight, that interested me. The residence of Simon Lovelace, magician.

[1] I have access to seven planes, all coexistent. They overlap each other like layers on a crushed
mille-feuille. Seven planes is sufficient for anybody. Those who operate on more are just showing off.

The first plane was clear, but he'd rigged up a defense nexus on the secondтАФit shone like blue
gossamer all along the high wall. It didn't finish there either; it extended up into the air, over the top of
the low white house, and down again on the other side, forming a great shimmering dome.

Not bad, but I could handle it.

There was nothing on the third or fourth planes, but on the fifth I spotted three sentries prowling
around in midair, just beyond the lip of the garden wall. They were a dull yellow all over, each one
formed of three muscular legs that rotated on a hub of gristle. Above the hub was a blobby mass,
which sported two mouths and several watchful eyes. The creatures passed at random back and forth
around the perimeter of the garden. I shrank back against the trunk of the beech tree instinctively, but
I knew they were unlikely to spot me from there. At this distance I would look like a blackbird on all
seven planes. It was when I got closer that they might break through my illusion.

The sixth plane was clear. But the seventh... that was curious. I couldn't see anything
obviousтАФthe house, the street, the night all looked unchangedтАФbut, call it intuition if you like, I was
sure something was present there, lurking.

I rubbed my beak doubtfully against a knot of wood. As expected, there was a good deal of
powerful magic at work here. I'd heard of Lovelace. He was considered a formidable magician and a
hard taskmaster. I was lucky I had never been called up in his service, and I did not much want his
enmity or that of his servants.

But I had to obey that kid.

The soggy blackbird took off from the branch and swooped across the road, conveniently
avoiding the arc of light from the nearest lamp. It landed in a patch of scrubby grass at the corner of
the wall. Four black trash bags had been left out there for collection the next morning. The blackbird
hopped behind the bags. A cat that had observed the bird [2] from some way off waited a few
moments for it to emerge, lost patience, and scuttled curiously after it. Behind the bags it discovered
no bird, black or otherwise. There was nothing there but a freshly turned molehill.

[2] On two planes. Cats have that power.




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I hate the taste of mud. It is no fit thing for a being of air and fire. The cloying weight of earth