"Lawrence Watt-Evans - Dus 1 - Lure Of The Basilisk" - читать интересную книгу автора (Watt-Evans Lawrence)

him, and knew that he was no expert at either throwing or climbing ropes. No,
the best approach, he saw, would be to get onto the roof somehow and lower
himself down to the window from above, with two or three lengths of rope
securely fastened to whatever could be found.
Since the palace itself was unscalable, he would have to get onto the
roof from one of the adjacent buildings; to the right was an inn some three
stories high, almost as tall as the palace, with overhanging eaves that Garth
doubted he could get past, while to the left stood a house of two stories, the
upper floor overhanging the lower so that its roof ended not more than two
yards from the palace wall and perhaps ten feet below the level of the palace
roof. That might serve as a jumping-off point, though the jump itself would be
a difficult one.
Reaching that first roof, however, would be easy; an unfallen merchant's
canopy sloped away from the house, supported by a fairly substantial wooden
frame. Without further consideration, Garth grabbed the lower edge of the
canopy, mere inches above his head. Moving as quickly as he could, he swung
himself up onto it. The cloth gave, straining dangerously, and a cloud of dust
arose, making his eyes water, but the canopy held-at first. He scrambled
rapidly up the sloping homespun, feeling it give as he did so; the cloth was
tearing loose from its framework. He rolled sideways onto the cloth-covered
wood, only to hear the frame creak and feel it start to sag under his weight;
but then he was at the top, clinging to the rough facade of the house. It was
not rough enough for a proper hold, however, and he knew his grip was
insufficient to save him if the rickety canopy were to collapse. Although the
fall would probably not hurt him, it would ruin his planned approach to the
palace, as well as make a considerable and undesirable racket.
He waited for the swaying and creaking to subside, spreading his weight
as best he could, as he considered his next move. The eaves would be within
easy reach if he were to stand up, but such an action would undoubtedly bring
the tattered merchant's stall down in complete ruin. Perhaps if he could get a
toe into the wall of the house he could let that carry the strain; there was
an opening between two badly cut stones almost an inch high and four inches
long. Carefully, slowly, he brought his left leg up and wedged the pointed toe
of his boot into the flaw.
Thus anchored, he pulled himself up the wall a few inches at a time, his
right leg resting on the wooden frame, until he was kneeling, his left leg
braced against the wall, his hands, with all four thumbs digging in, clinging
to the wall above his head. Then, in a single sudden surge, he flung himself
upward, catching himself with his arms up over the eaves almost to his
shoulder, then swinging his leg up onto the roof. From that perch he pulled up
his other leg as he saw the canopy frame below him pull loose from the wall
and slowly, quietly fall to the ground, the cloth forming a sort of parachute
that both broke the fall and muffled the inevitable clatter.
He paused briefly to catch his breath but dared not wait, lest Shang had
heard the noise; the collapse could have been caused by wind or wear, but
Garth still had to get out of sight. Wasting no time in preparation, he stood
and ran for the roof-edge facing the palace, and launched himself into the
short gap between buildings. His run had been hindered by the slope of the
roof and he had not fully caught his breath after gaining the rooftop, so the
leap was short and sloppy, but his outstretched fingers reached one of the