The Stone Light Read Online Free PDF Page B

At last, when it became clear to him that the Egyptian envoy had command of the six soldiers, he could not creep away. He had to do something, had to act. Even if it was madness.
    He let out a sharp whistle. For a moment nothing happened. But then the envoy whirled around so fast that his dark cloak billowed out. His hood slid back for a moment, long enough so Serafin could see what the cats had done to him. The spy’s face was furrowed with crusted wounds, not harmless scratches but deep gouges, which would soon scab over to an ugly wasteland of scars. And the man knew whom he had to thank. He remembered the sound that had set the cats on him.
    He remembered Serafin.
    The envoy called something in a language that Serafin didn’t understand and pointed toward the altar, as if his eyes could see through the massive stone. Faster than Serafin would have thought possible, the mummies began moving, their sickle swords raised. One of them stayedbehind, near the envoy. The man pulled his hood up again, but first he threw Serafin a hate-filled look in which there was a promise—of pain, of misery, of long torture.
    The mummies had covered half the distance. Serafin had just leaped from his hiding place when the cats finally came.
    Thirty, forty, fifty stray cats, from all directions, from all openings, from the roofs and out of the sewers. And with every second there were more, until the piazza swarmed with them.
    The envoy shrieked and retreated backward up the bridge, while he ordered one of the other soldiers back with a shrill command so that he could keep the cats from getting at him. But the other four mummies paid scarcely any attention to the animals, who fell on them from all sides. Claws sank into the paper skin. Teeth bit into clothing and armor, snapped at fingers, and tore dusty scraps from cheeks and arms.
    None of it stopped the mummy soldiers.
    They kept single-mindedly on their way, stamping through a sea of fur and claws, each hung with a dozen cats like living Christmas tree decorations. The sickle swords whistled through the air and in blind rage struck their victims, some on the ground, some in mid-leap. Meowing and shrieking echoed and reechoed from the houses. But the animals learned quickly. More and more often they fastened themselves to the sword arms of the soldiers, until the mummies sagged under the weight.
    Serafin was immobilized with horror. Not for long, only for a few instants. It was enough for him to realize that the cats were sacrificing their lives for him. With all the danger that threatened him, he couldn’t permit that. Cats were the friends of the master thieves, their allies, not their meek slaves. He hesitated a moment, then let out a new succession of whistles. Immediately the wave of cats surged back; only those who were biting and hooked into mummies stayed a few seconds longer. Then they also gave up, let themselves drop, and whisked away.
    Serafin’s command meant that the cats should run away, back to wherever they had come from. But they didn’t obey. They fell back from the mummies for only a few yards, stopped at the edge of the piazza, and watched their opponents with glowing eyes.
    Meanwhile, Serafin had run to the other side of the piazza. From there he looked back and saw the cats clumped in front of the buildings like a wave of fur. He also saw that the mummy soldiers were hard on his heels.
    The cats waited for him to call them to attack again, but he didn’t have the heart to. Nearly a dozen animals lay dead or dying in the lane that the four mummy soldiers had plowed. The grief that overwhelmed Serafin at this sight shook him even more strongly than fear for his life.
    Ten more yards and the four soldiers would reach him. Silently they rushed toward him. In the background, upon the bridge, stood the envoy, his arms crossed, barricaded behind his two guards.
    “The cats!” cried a light voice suddenly out of the shadows behind Serafin. “They should pull farther