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

slender arms wove enticements in the air, while from her mouth issued a strange chanting, heavy with
loneliness and desire.

The girl finished her dance. She tossed her head in proud despair and gazed up into the
darkness, toward the moon. The music died away. Silence.

Then, a distant voice, as if borne on the wind: "Amaryllis..."

The girl started; she looked this way and that. Nothing but the rocks and the sky and the amber
moon. She gave a pretty sigh.

"My Amaryllis..."

In a husky, tremulous voice, she answered: "Sir Bertilak? Is that you?"

"It is I."

"Where are you? Why do you taunt me so?"
 "I hide behind the moon, my Amaryllis, lest your beauty burn my essence. Shield your face with
the gauze that presently lies so uselessly upon your breast, that I might venture near to you."

"Oh, Bertilak! With all my heart!" The girl did as she was bid. From the darkness came several
low mutterings of approval. Somebody coughed.

"Darling Amaryllis! Stand away! I descend to earth."

Giving a little gasp, the girl pressed her back against the contours of a nearby rock. She tossed
her head in proud expectation. A crack of thunder sounded, fit to disturb the slumbers of the dead.
Open-mouthed, the girl looked up. At a stately pace, a figure descended from the sky. He wore a
silvered jerkin across his bare torso, a long flowing cape, puffed pantaloons, and a pair of elegant
curled slippers. An impressive scimitar was tucked into his jeweled belt. Down he came, head back,
dark eyes flashing, chin jutting forward proudly beneath his aquiline nose. A pair of curving
bone-white horns rose from the edges of his forehead.

He landed gently near where the girl was draped against the rock and, with a casual flourish,
flashed a gleaming smile. Faint female sighs sounded all around.

"What, AmaryllisтАФare you struck dumb? Do you forget so soon the face of your beloved
genie?"

"No, Bertilak! Were it seventy years, not seven, I could never forget a single oiled hair upon
your head. But my tongue falters and my heart pounds with fear, lest the magician wake and catch us!
Then he will bind my slender white legs in chains once more, and immure you in his bottle!"

At this, the genie gave a booming laugh. "The magician sleeps. My magic is greater than his, and
ever shall be. But the night is growing old, and by dawn I must be away with my brothers, the afrits,
riding on the currents of the air. Come to my arms, my darling. In these short hours, while I still have
human form, let the moon be witness to our love, which shall defy the hatred of our peoples even unto
the ending of the world."