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

looked low. He seemed to sniff the air. All was still. The fire had burned right down; the magician
slumbered; the moon had been obscured behind a cloud and cold stars twinkled in the sky. Not a
sound came from the audience. To her great disgust, Kitty found she was holding her breath.

Suddenly, with a ringing oath and a rasp of iron, the genie drew his scimitar and clutched the
trembling girl to his chest. "Amaryllis! They come! I see them with my powers."

"What, Bertilak? What do you see?"

"Seven savage imps, my darling, sent by the queen of the afrits to capture me! Our dalliance
displeases her: they will bind us both and drag us naked before her throne to await her awful pleasure.
You must flee! NoтАФwe have no time for soft words, though your limpid eyes implore me! Go!"

With many a tragic gesture, the girl disentangled herself from his arms and crept to the left of the
stage. The genie tossed aside his cape and jerkin in bare-chested readiness for battle.
 From the orchestral pit came a dramatic discord. Seven terrifying imps leaped out from behind
the rocks. Each was played by a midget wearing a leather loincloth and a skin-coat of luminous green
paint. With horrid whoops and grimaces, they drew stiletto daggers and fell upon the genie. A battle
ensued, accompanied by a frenzy of screeching violins.

Vicious imps... a wicked magician... It was a subtle job, this Swans of Araby, Kitty could see
that. Ideal propaganda, gently acknowledging popular anxieties rather than denying them flat out.
Show us a little of what we fear, she thought, only take away its teeth. Add music, fight scenes,
lashings of star-crossed love. Make the demons frighten us, then let us watch them die. We are in
control. At the end of the show, all would no doubt be made well. The wicked sorcerer would be
destroyed by the good magicians. The wicked afrits would be cast down, too. As for Bertilak, the
rugged genie, doubtless he'd be a man after all, an eastern princeling transformed into a monster by
some cruel enchantment. And he and Amaryllis would live happily ever after, watched over by the
wise council of benevolent magicians....

A sudden sick feeling swelled in Kitty. It was not the tension of the job, this time; it came from
deeper down, from the reservoir of fury that bubbled away perpetually inside. It was born of knowing
that everything they did was utterly forlorn and useless. It would never change anything. The crowd's
response told her this. Watch! Amaryllis has been seized: an imp has her under his arm, kicking and
weeping. Hear the crowd gasp! But see! Bertilak the heroic genie has tossed one imp over his
shoulder into the smoldering fire! Now he pursues the captor andтАФone, twoтАФmakes short work of
him with his scimitar. Hoorah! Hear the crowd cheer!

It didn't matter what they did in the end; it didn't matter what they stole, what daring attacks they
made. It would make no difference. Tomorrow the queues would still be forming in the streets outside
the Metropolitan, the spheres would still be watching from above, the magicians would still be
elsewhere, enjoying the trappings of their power.

So it had always been. Nothing she had ever done had made any difference, right from the
beginning.




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