"Lawrence Watt-Evans - Ethshar 6 - The Spell of the Black Dagger" - читать интересную книгу автора (Watt-Evans Lawrence)

Something on the mantelpiece was staring at her.

She stared back for a second, startled, and then realized it was probably a
small idol of some sort. It was vaguely human-oid, vaguely froglike, roughly
the size of a small cat, greenish brown, with great big pointed ears. She
crept toward it for a closer look—maybe it had jewels or gold on it somewhere.

It squealed, bounded to its feet, sprang to the floor, and ran off, squeaking
noises that might have been words.

Tabaea almost yelped in surprise, then caught herself and looked around
guiltily.

That was how Telleth the Housebreaker had gotten himself caught, flogged, and
exiled from the city last year, she remembered; he had dropped a statuette on
his foot and sworn at it, and someone asleep upstairs had heard and awoken and
come to investigate, with a sword in hand. She knew better than that.

Well, she had caught herself, she hadn't made a sound beyond a sort of
strangled gasp. Now, if only that weird little creature didn't raise the alarm
...

What was that thing, anyway? She frowned.

It must be some sort of magical creature, she decided. Tabaea glanced at the
waving palm. Well, this house had more than its share of magic, certainly.

She wouldn't mind having a little magic. Like every child in Ethshar, she'd
dreamed sometimes of becoming a wizard or warlock, wearing fancy robes, and
having people step out of her way in the streets.

It hadn't happened, of course.

Maybe someday, if she got rich enough, she would buy herself magical things,
the way whoever owned this house had.

She decided to take a look at the next room, and stepped through an arch into
a broad hallway, paneled in dark rich woods. Stairs led to the upper
floors—the house was an ostentatious three stories in all, though she
suspected the uppermost might be a mere attic—but she was not yet ready to
ascend; if anyone was home, he or she was most likely asleep upstairs, and
poking around up there was best left until last.

As she stood at the foot of the stairs, a door to her right caught her eye; it
was half-closed, whereas the others were all either wide open or tightly shut.
That was intriguing; shading the candle with her other hand, she crept over
and peered in.

The dining salon and the parlor and the hallway were spacious and elegant,