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

wanted up at the castle."

The hawk-headed warrior glanced up. "OhтАФhullo, Queezle."

An elegant she-leopard was sitting in the middle of the street, staring at me with lime-green eyes.
As I watched, she negligently rose, walked a few paces to the side, sat down again. A gout of burning
pitch slammed into the cobblestones where she'd been, leaving a smoldering crater. "Bit busy," she
remarked.

"Yes. We're done for here." I jumped down from the cart.

"Looks like the Binding spells in the walls are breaking," the leopard said, glancing at the
trembling gate. "There's shoddy workmanship for you. Wonder which djinni built that?"

"Can't think," I said. "So, thenтАФour master calls?"

The leopard nodded. "Better hurry, or he'll stipple us. Let's go on foot. Sky's too crowded."

"Lead on." I changed, became a panther, black as midnight. We ran up through the narrow
streets toward Hradcany Square. The roads we took were empty; we avoided the places where the
panic-stricken people surged like livestock. More and more buildings were burning now, gables
collapsing, side walls falling in. Around the roofs small imps were dancing, waving embers in their
hands.

At the castle, imperial servants stood in the square under flickering lanterns, gathering random
pieces of furniture into carts; beside them ostlers were struggling to tether horses to the struts. The sky
above the city was peppered with bursts of colored light; behind, back toward Strahov and the
monastery, came the dull thump of explosions. We slipped through the main entrance unopposed.

"The Emperor's getting out, is he?" I panted. Frantic imps were passing us, balancing cloth
bundles on their heads.

"He's more concerned about his beloved birds," Queezle said. "Wants our afrits to airlift them to
safety." The green eyes flicked at me in rueful amusement.

"But all the afrits are dead."

"Exactly. Well, almost there."
 We had arrived in the northern wing of the castle, where the magicians had their quarters. The
taint of magic hung thick about the stones. Down a long flight of stairs the leopard and panther ran,
out along a balcony overlooking the Stag Moat, and in through the arch that led to the Lower
Workroom. This was a broad, circular room that took up almost the entire ground floor of the White
Tower. I had been summoned here often over the centuries, but now the usual magical
paraphernaliaтАФthe books, the incense pots, the candelabraтАФhad been swept aside, to make way for
a row of ten chairs and tables. On each table was a crystal orb, flickering with light; on each chair, a
hunched magician peering into his or her respective orb. There was absolute silence in the room.

Our master was standing at a window, staring through a telescope into the dark sky. [7] He
noticed us, made a gesture for silence, then beckoned us into a side room. His gray hair had turned
white with the strain of the last few weeks; his hooked nose hung thin and pinched, and his eyes were