Так-так. А вот смешно сказать, но эту книгу я прочитала четвертой! Тут Меф очень интересный перс! И мы здесь знакомимся с Ареем и Улитой!

Обожаю стражей! Свежая идейка таки посетила ДЕ тогда!
А Улита действительно колоритный персонаж. Мне она весьма симпатична. Вот в первой книге она такая вся ведьмочка, циничная, с черным юмором, а потом характер развивается, появляються чувства, мысли... А так я забавлялась, когда она помогала Мефу, вводила его в курс дела!))

Смотря кого конкретно мы будем рассматривать! Мне нравятся темные, роковые, немного трагические персонажи, не потерявшие чувства собственного достоинства! Вот как Арей!)) Может, кто еще интересует?))

Саламандра, на какой ты сейчас книге? И все еще фанатеешь?! Респект!
Кстати, кто как относится к госпоже Эльзе Керкенитиде Флоре Цахес? С ней мы тоже знакомимся в первой книге, а создавать отдельную темку не вижу смысла.
Хорошо она Даф проучила, вывод:будьте бдительны и обходите бывших "даватопрепотелей" стороной!))

Судя по всему - не зря!)) Просто мое фанатение с Мефа началось с начала серии и прервалось на КХ, возобновившись только на СС.))
А Арея пошли в "герои" обожать!

"Остроумного" Арея обсуждаем в героях! Здесь у нас М.И.Б!

Какого гада?? Того мужика который в лифте на Мефа наезжал? А книгу эту я прочитала третьей. И сразу поняла что к чему. До этого читала через силу. Не понимала...

Аня, а причем тут твое "спать хочется"?
Денис, тут все такие, ну большинство, ладно
Frozen Dream, главное что прочитала, правильно?)))

Да уж не знаю я. я там в первых страницах писала об этом..(третьей, кажется.. или пятой.. или не о ней..) Ну в общем вас не переплюнешь!

Денис,ну, переплюнуть всегда можно... Только вопрос:как?))

Люди, это полный капец! Запомните, переводчикам верить нельзя! Щас совершенствую свой инглиш, читаю "Маг Полуночи" на английском! Это капец!)))
Выложить вам пару страничек, чтоб самим не качать с Инета?))

Это отрывок из третьей главы. Как же меня тут имена прикалывают, да и сам текст)) Мефодиус-синьер томато)))слово каша могли бы и перевести, а не писать латынью)))ну и т.д.

Methodius roamed near the house long enough until he was convinced that no one intended to come out for him. The solemn welcome with bread and salt was clearly called off. They either did not want to notice him or were expecting something well defined from him.
“You’re waiting for a visit? Excellent, I’m coming!” Methodius thought with a challenge.
After looking around, he lifted the construction netting and made his way in under the scaffolding. The house was covered in a network of lime ridges. It smelled of damp plaster, peeling by layers. Protecting his head from the metallic clamps of the scaffolding, Methodius found the door — high, wooden, with glass painted on the inside, which could plainly get first prize at a world competition of mediocrity. It opened in, and the scaffolding did not visibly interfere with it. Methodius knocked and then pushed it once, again, and a third time. The door did not yield.
“Hey! It’s me, Methodius Buslaev!” He purposely shouted and heard how his voice resonantly rolled along the empty corridors and the rooms.
Nothing. Nothing and no one. Methodius began to get angry.
“You came to me with your stupid trick! I’m leaving!” He shouted and was already about to leave, when suddenly he heard a low sound.
The door slowly opened a little. Slightly, not more than a third, not to invite but more not to prevent him from entering. Methodius squeezed his way in. He expected it to be dark inside. It turned out to be so. However, the darkness was not complete. He distinctly distinguished a tight landing with dented parquet and stairs going up. Inside, the house appeared deserted. Everything that presented some value had already been taken away. Somewhere on the floor were only some faded paper dropped for uselessness, and a chair without a seat.
Yielding to a vague call, Methodius went up the stairs and turned twice to the left, sometimes groping and sometimes guessing the curves of the corridors. The old oak parquet creaked from time to time under his feet. Somewhere a half-open window also creaked.
Stopping next to a large double door, Methodius thought for a second, and then decisively pushed it. He saw a round table — unexpected in this house deprived of furniture. Two thick black candles, inserted into the eye sockets of a skull, were burning on the table.
And again no one. Methodius experienced a mixed feeling of superstitious fear and irritation.
“The candles I can also light... A skull I can get hold of in the biology lab! Then what? How much longer do I have to wander around?” He asked unhappily.
The strange remark of Methodius had an unexpected effect: someone beside him burst out laughing. Methodius turned sharply but saw no one. He only realized suddenly that the narrow blade of a knife was flying towards him. Everything took place in countable seconds. He only had time to understand that this was death. It was not possible to dodge, but at the last moment, when the blade almost entered his body, without a moment's hesitation and not planning this earlier, he put forward a transparent barrier. Thin as a sheet of paper, durable as steel. The blade tinkled and bounced as if it had hit a solid obstacle.
“Not bad. Instinctive magic protection went into operation. If it were not so, it wouldn’t make sense to bother with the fellow at all,” said someone in an undertone.
There was neither smoke nor flash nor the smell of sulphur — a man simply appeared suddenly next to Methodius. He seemed to Methodius like a pagan idol. Widely set eyes, a broken nose, moustaches, and a beard with grey. A tuft of hair forming a point crawled in the centre of an uneven forehead. He was breathing hoarsely, with effort. But then he was standing so confidently on the floor as if he had grown roots into it.
“Well, what a wrist he has! A leg bone, not a wrist! You crush cut-glass only with such hands,” thought Methodius. He believed that this was the same magician, whom Julitta had invited him to meet.
Methodius did not bow, although at some moment an unknown force attempted to bend his head down against his will. However, he intended and had the ability to resist. Moreover, Methodius put so much force into his resistance that his chin pulled absurdly high up instead of coming down. Feeling awkward, Methodius carefully returned his head to the previous position. The man, from whom, it seemed, nothing could be hidden, cleared his throat with respect.
Julitta appeared beside the table with the black candles. From the previous Julitta there remained only the chubbiness, ashy hair, and the eternal mockery in the eyes — mockery at herself and the entire world. Her clothing had changed strikingly. Over a camisole hung a shoulder belt with a shiny narrow rapier with a bent tip. However, Julitta was not interested in the rapier customary for her. She paid it no more attention than an infant did to the dentures of a grandmother. She was occupied with a box of chocolate rum balls she was holding in her hands.
Ares turned to Julitta and, after nodding at Methodius, asked in a low viscous voice:
“This is the one? I wasn’t mistaken?”
“No, Ares. Methodius Buslaev in person. Uno piece. Dos arms, dos legs,” mockingly confirmed Julitta, biting off a piece of candy.
“An original lad. But I doubt that he’ll be right for us. He’s somewhat emaciated, tousled. Julitta, you haven’t made a mistake? You’re sure this is actually him?” Ares sternly repeated. However, it seemed to Methodius that he knew all the answers already.
Julitta nodded.
“Precisely him,” she said in the sterile voice of an ideal secretary, reading the forehead of Methodius like a sheet of paper. “Methodius Buslaev. Born twelve years ago in the hour of total solar eclipse. Pugnacious and quick-tempered. Inclined to generosity but vindictive. Has not bad health and comparatively flexible psyche. Loves trips.”
“It’s good that he loves trips. This is useful to us. One who loves trips will fall in love with flights,” Ares approved, in a business-like manner rubbing the cut bridge of his nose. “And now what about his parentage?”
“Parentage... mm... Parents are neutral, not warm, not cold. Lives with his mother and her brother. Amusing individuals; however, according to our profile, without abilities,” stated Julitta and ate two more rum balls after this sad news.
“Look, you’ll get sick!” Ares warned.
“Me? But any bug will die once it’s seen me! Let beauties suffer, it makes no difference to me at all: any flood, any swelling, any harmful microbes,” stated Julitta.
“You can talk about yourself afterwards. What more do we have on Methodius?”
“Impressionable. Last year for three months, he tailed a girl from a neighbouring school. He followed her from a distance, saw her home, hiding behind trees, but never once got up close to her. And then the girl’s knapsack with textbooks suddenly flared up. By itself! Must have been sublimation of desire... Now then, having put out the fire, they were acquainted. True, the great love kicked the bucket after the first dozen remarks. The girl turned out to be just slightly smarter than a stool. Our Signor Tomato was very disappointed.”
Methodius, getting mad from the explicit slander, wanted to interrupt, but Julitta stretched out her hand and with a long nail lightly scratched him on the cheek. Immediately Methodius’ lips and gums became stiff as if from narcosis and his mouth moved to the side.
“I hate it when they interrupt me,” said Julitta.
“What about our friend with regards to studies? Of course, moronoid knowledge isn’t worth anything, but it’s interesting all the same with what speed the brook of knowledge waters the convolutions of his brain,” continued Ares with his questioning.
“Signor Tomato is indifferent to his studies. Nothing to brag about. Although some teachers find that he’s not deprived of abilities, but...”
The stiff lips of Ares were extended into a smile:
“Oh, indeed this ‘could, but’ and the simple ‘but’! How often have I heard it! What short words, but how many people have stumbled over them in all the centuries! Much more than over all the objects lying about in the wrong place! More, Julitta! Don’t drag on!”
“But what’s more? Here he is before you. Methodius Buslaev. Please give him a warm welcome!” The little witch shrugged her shoulders.
Ares glided an evaluating glance along Methodius. Methodius felt like huge weights were on him.
“Hm... Well, I don’t know. Well, what do you personally think of him?” Ares asked.
“I simply adore this boy! He’s so nice and pleasant! Would eat him with kasha, but pity the kasha,” stated Julitta.
“Julitta, stop! Your little jokes bore me,” Ares frowned.
“I haven’t even started. Only just warmed up.”
“JULITTA!”
The voice of Ares barely changed, did not become louder; however, it was as if a bell began to ring in it, and both — Julitta and Methodius — felt this. “Careful!" Methodius said to himself. Julitta stopped eating candies and hurriedly bowed her head:
“My apologies, Baron!”
Methodius glanced at her with surprise. Is he really truly a baron? And if not, then why did she call him that?
“You already spoke with him about the training?” Ares continued, clearly and probably intentionally not turning to Methodius.
“Ne-a. He knows less about this than a hen knows about an omelette,” again growing bolder, Julitta said.
Methodius could not control himself. To stand on the side and listen to them talking about him in the third person as if about some insect was against his principles.
“Aha, I understand! You’re like the magicians from the idiotic little book about magic schools! The type that said holeinpipus, waved a wand, and it rained!” He said with a challenge, after discovering that his mouth had already thawed.
He was sure that he blurted out complete nonsense; however, Ares and Julitta exchanged glances with uneasiness.
“Holeinpipus? M-m-m... it seems I actually met something like that in elementary magic. Now I just haven’t heard about magic wands for a long time. It seems to me, magicians had given them up even in the Middle Ages, in an epoch of inflicting rage on artefacts,” knitting his brow, Ares said pensively.
“Perhaps we’re too late, and elementary magicians have already gotten into contact with him?” Julitta asked anxiously.
Ares quickly glanced at Methodius. That one did not have time to avert his eyes. When their eyes met, it seemed to Methodius that his brain turned into ice. Ice, through which the experienced guard of Gloom could easily see the essence.
“No,” Ares said lazily. “False alarm! They didn’t get into contact. He knows nothing.”
“But how about holeinpipus and the information on the schools?”
“Don’t get too wrapped up!” Ares brushed it off. “Common fault of the secret service. The usual flow of secret information into literature. Remind me tomorrow morning to send to the Chancellery a demand for systematic heart attacks of writers. We must thoroughly thin out our secret service agency. Remember?”
“Yes, Baron. Without fail,” said Julitta and made a note to herself on her palm with a pen that appeared suddenly. She clearly did not trust her memory. The dullest pencil is better than the worst sclerosis.
Ares gave a cough. And with this cough it was as if he had placed a dot showing that precisely now, from this point on, the serious conversation would begin.
“You see, Methodius, we don’t have schools. Tibidox and Magford exist only for elementary magicians. We represent another force. A regular recruitment of students and their training aren’t in our plans. Although now and then — in exceptional cases — we’re also forced to take students. However, not many of them. Hundreds of students in a millennium are more than enough for us. Moreover, realistically only a tenth of them stay. But even these ten remaining don’t know about the existence of the others, since we never bring students together. Our training is personalized,” he said.

Не, не Арес еще ладно, но Меф и Улита это уже финиш)) Я ж специально главу указала, чтоб сверились)))
Хотя я не думаю, что столько англичан знают русский, чтоб читать ГП в переводе, он же не международный все-таки

Относительно)))