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

waterтАФ"

The Emperor gave a warbling cry. "Good, good! Victory is ours!

"The advantage is only temporary," Meyrink said. "Come sir, we must go."

Despite his protests, the Emperor was bundled away from the cage, toward a wicket gate.
Meyrink and my master were at the head of the group, the Emperor behind, his short frame hidden
among the courtiers. Queezle and I brought up the rear.

A flash of light. Over the parapet behind us two black figures came leaping. Tattered cloaks
whipped about them, yellow eyes burned in the depths of their cowls. They moved across the terrace
in great drifting bounds, touching ground only rarely. In the aviary, the birds fell into sudden silence.

I looked at Queezle. "Yours or mine?"

The beautiful girl smiled at me, showing her sharp teeth. "Mine." She fell back to meet the
advancing ghuls. I ran on after the Emperor's entourage.

Beyond the gate, a narrow path followed the moat north, under the castle wall. Down below, the
Old Town was on fire; I could see the British troops running through the streets, and Prague's people
fleeing, fighting, falling before them. It all seemed far away; the only sound that came to us was a
distant sighing. Flocks of imps drifted here and there like birds.

The Emperor ceased his loud complaints. The group hurried in silence through the night. So far,
so good. We were at the Black Tower now, at the top of the eastern steps, and the way ahead was
clear.

A flutter of wings; Queezle landed beside me, ashen-faced. She was wounded in the side.
"Trouble?" I said.

"Not the ghuls. An afrit. But a golem came, destroyed it. I'm fine."

Onward down the stairs in the side of the hill. Light from the burning castle was reflected in the
waters of the Vltava below, giving it a melancholy beauty. We met no one, no one pursued us, and
soon the worst of the conflict was left behind.
 As the river neared, Queezle and I gave each other hopeful looks. The city was lost, as was the
Empire, but escape here would allow us some small restoration of personal pride. Although we
loathed our servitude, we also thoroughly disliked being beaten. It looked as if we were going to get
away.

The ambush came when we were nearly at the bottom of the hill.

With a scuttle and a rush, six djinn and a band of imps hopped out onto the steps below. The
Emperor and his courtiers cried out and fell back in disarray. Queezle and I tensed, ready to spring.

A light cough behind us. As one, we turned.

A slim young man stood five steps above. He had tight blond curls, big blue eyes, and wore
sandals and a toga in the late Roman style. He had a rather sappy, coy expression on his face, as if he