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

until he felt it scrape on the bolt, then pried sideways, moving the bolt a
fraction of an inch. He repeated this several times. Then, while holding the
dagger-tip where it was, he peered into the crack. He could not be certain,
but the bolt appeared to have moved perceptibly and not slid back completely.
He continued; with a dozen more prying motions something snapped, and his
dagger sprang free. He saw, to his disgust, that the point had broken off;
however, a careful study of the crack seemed to show that the broken tip had
worked its way between the lock and the frame. With the blunted end of the
blade he pried once more.
There was a loud click, a sort of "thunk", and the lock was open.
Working the latch, Garth pushed on the door. It gave, slowly, with a
harsh scratching sound where the tip of his dagger was wedged between the lock
and the frame. He pressed harder, and it swung abruptly open, precipitating
him forward into the darkness beyond.
He tumbled awkwardly down a few steps, then caught himself. He was on a
narrow stair which descended further than he could see by the dim torchlight,
with walls of solid stone on either side. The walls, in fact, appeared to be
natural uncut stone; he could see no seams or mortar. The tunnel and stair
were hewn from the living bedrock of the valley.
A breath of cool air wafted up to him from the invisible depths below.
He had found the crypts of Mormoreth, he was quite certain.
Caution was called for from here on; at any moment he might encounter
the basilisk. His only means of ensuring that he would not be petrified in
such an encounter was the shaving mirrors he had brought, taken from the dead
bandits. He found one of the two mirrors in his pack and stood it on his
shoulder, holding it in place with his free hand. Then he turned his head and
angled the mirror so that he could see the reflection of the descending steps
in it, and twisted his helmet around on his head so that its earpiece blocked
his view. As long as he looked toward the mirror be would be unable to see in
front of him, except by reflection. It was an awkward and uncomfortable
arrangement, but he thought it would probably do.
Thus equipped, he returned to the head of the staircase, retrieved his
torch, and pushed the door to, being careful not to let it lock. He returned
his broken dirk to its sheath, then turned and descended, holding the torch
high and finding his way entirely by the image in the mirror.


CHAPTER SEVEN
The stairs curved somewhat back and forth, with a sinuous grace; they
continued downward for perhaps a hundred steps, perhaps more, and ended in a
small chamber with a corridor opening from each side. The air was cool and
dry, free of any movement or breeze. Garth had lost his sense of direction on
the long, curving staircase, but that mattered little so far underground.
The corridor walls were astonishingly clean; there was no dust, and not
a cobweb to be seen. Likewise, the antechamber was completely empty, nothing
but a stark cube of stone with three corridors and the staircase opening from
its four sides. There were no stalactites, nor niter deposits, nor any other
sign of age, of growth, or of decay. It was as if the tunnels were newly
bored. Still, there was an indefinable something, perhaps a scent in the air,
which made the overman suspect that the catacombs were very ancient indeed,