"Jonathan Stroud - Bartimaeus 2 - The Golem's Eye" - читать интересную книгу автора (Stroud Jonathan)

couldn't hurt a fly. However, as an extra detail that I couldn't help but notice, he also carried a
monstrous scythe with a silver blade.

I checked him out on the other planes, in the faint hope that he might actually be an eccentric
human on his way to a fancy-dress party. No such luck. It was an afrit of some potency. I swallowed.
This wasn't good at all. [10]

[10] The measliest afrit is worth avoiding, and this one was formidable indeed. On the higher planes, his
forms were vast and terrifying, so presumably appearing in such a weedy first-plane guise appealed to his twisted
sense of humor. I can't say I was laughing, though.

"Mr. Gladstone's compliments to the Emperor," the young man said. "He requests the pleasure
of his company. The rest of you rabble can make yourselves scarce."

That sounded reasonable. I looked at my master beseechingly, but he furiously motioned me
forward. I sighed, took a reluctant step toward the afrit.

The young man tsked loudly. "Oh, hop it, small-timer. You haven't a chance."

His derision stoked my fury. I pulled myself up. "Beware," I said coldly. "You underestimate me
at your peril."

The afrit batted his eyelashes with an ostentatious lack of concern. "Indeed? Have you a name?"

"A name?" I cried. "I have many names! I am Bartimaeus! I am Sakhr al-Jinni! I am N'gorso the
Mighty and the Serpent of Silver Plumes!"

I paused dramatically. The young man looked blank. "Nope. Never heard of you. Now if you'll
justтАФ"

"I have spoken with SolomonтАФ"

"Oh, please!" The afrit made a dismissive gesture. "Haven't we all? Let's face it, he got around."

"I have rebuilt the walls of Uruk, Karnak, and PragueтАФ"
 The young man smirked. "Prague? What, these ones here? The ones it took Gladstone five
minutes to break down? Sure you didn't work on Jericho, too?"

"Yes, he did," Queezle put in. "One of his first jobs. He keeps quiet about it, butтАФ"

"Look, QueezleтАФ"

The afrit fingered his scythe. "Last chance, djinni," he said. "Vamoose. You can't win this one."

I shrugged in a resigned sort of way. "We'll see."

And so, sad to say, we did. Very quickly, too. My first four Detonations were deflected by the
twirling scythe. The fifth, which I'd made a real humdinger, rebounded directly at me, sending me
crashing off the path and down the hill in a shower of essence. I tried to rise, but fell back in pain. My
wound was too great; I could not recover in time.