tw.thestoneoffarewell-第93部分

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e　and　boil　the　marsh…water　before　washing　out　his　wound？　He　seemed　to　have　a　vague　recollection　of　crying　to　lay　a　spark　to　some　tinder　piled　in　his　clay　cooking…bowl；　but　had　no　idea　whether　a　fire　had　ever　caught　there。
　　Trying　to　remember　made　Tiamak's　head　swim。　It　was　useless　to　fret　over　what　had　or　had　not　happened；　he　told　himself。　He　was　obviously　still　sick；　his　only　chance　was　to　make　his　way　to　Kwanitupul　before　the　fever　returned。　With　a　regretful　head　shake　he　dropped　the　fish　carcass　overboard…the　size　of　the　skeleton　confirmed　that　it　had　indeed　been　a　splendid　fish…then　donned　his　shirt　as　another　bout　of　shivers　ran　through　him。　He　slumped　back　against　the　stern　of　the　boat；　then　reached　for　the　hat　he　had　woven　from　sand…palm　fronds　during　his　journey's　first　day。　He　pulled　it　down　low　in　an　effort　to　keep　the　harsh　midday　sun　out　of　his　smarting　eyes。　After　dabbing　a　little　more　water　on　his　eyelids；　he　began　to　push　with　the　pole；　laboriously　forcing　the　flatboat　along　the　wide　channel　while　his　aching　muscles　protested　with　every　stroke。
　　
　　The　fever　did　return　sometime　during　the　night。　When　Tiamak　escaped　its　clutches　once　more；　it　was　to　find　himself　floating　in　lazy　circles；　his　flatboat　becalmed　in　a　marshy　backwater。　His　leg；　although　swollen　and　tremendously　painful；　did　not　seem　markedly　worse。　With　luck；　if　he　could　get　to　Kwanitupul　soon　he　would　not　lose　it。
　　Shaking　loose　the　cobwebs　of　sleep；　he　offered　yet　another　prayer　to　He　Who　Always　Steps　on　Sand…whose　existence；　despite　Tiamak's　generally　skeptical　nature；　had　e　to　seem　a　great　deal　more　conceivable　since　the　misadventure　with　the　crocodile。　Whether　this　weakening　of　his　disbelief　was　due　to　the　mind…dizzying　fever；　or　to　a　resurgence　of　true　faith　brought　on　by　the　nearness　of　death；　Tiamak　did　not　much　care。　Neither　did　he　scrutinize　his　feelings　about　the　matter　very　deeply。　The　fact　was；　he　did　not　want　to　be　a　one…legged　scholar…or　worse；　a　dead　scholar。　If　the　gods　did　not　help　him；　then　there　was　no　resource　available　to　him　in　this　treacherous　marsh　other　than　his　own　fast…failing　resolve。　Faced　with　those　simple　alternatives；　Tiamak　prayed。　
　　He　poled　himself　out　of　this　latest　backwater；　at　last　reaching　a　place　where　several　waterways　came　together。　It　was　hard　to　tell　exactly　how　he　had　wandered　to　this　point；　but　using　the　newly…kindled　stars　as　a　reference…　especially　the　Loon　and　the　shining…pawed　Otter…he　was　able　to　orient　himself　toward　Kwanitupul　and　the　sea。　He　kept　his　barge…pole　moving　until　dawn；　when　he　could　no　longer　ignore　his　weary　mind　and　wounded　body　crying　out　for　rest。　Fighting　to　keep　his　eyes　open；　he　floated　down　the　watercourse　a　little　farther；　poking　m　the　muddy　bank　until　at　last　he　located　a　large　stone　which　he　levered　free。　This　he　secured　to　his　fishing　line　and　dumped　it　over　the　side　to　act　as　an　anchor　so　he　could　remain　moored　in　an　uncovered　section　of　the　waterway　as　he　took　his　desperately…needed　sleep；　safely　away　from　tree…clinging　ghants　and　other　unwanted　pany。
　　Now　able　to　preserve　the　gains　made　by　his　poling；　Tiamak　made　better　time。　He　lost　half　of　the　next　afternoon　（his　eighth　or　ninth　since　leaving　home；　he　guessed）　to　another　resurgence　of　fever；　but　was　able　to　push　on　a　bit　during　the　evening；　and　even　continue　after　dark　in　order　to　make　up　some　of　his　lost　time。　He　discovered　that　there　were　far　fewer　biting　and　stinging　insects　once　the　sun　had　vanished　into　the　western　swamp；　this　and　the　oddly　pleasant　blue　glow　of　twilight　made　such　a　nice　change　from　his　sun…battered　afternoons　that　he　celebrated　by　finally　eating　the　rather　forlorn…looking　river…apple　he　had　found　on　a　branch　overhanging　the　watercourse。　River…apples　were　usually　gone　by　this　late　in　the　year；　those　which　had　escaped　the　birds　falling　free　at　last　to　drift　on　the　eddying　water；　bobbing　like　fisherman's　floats　until　their　seeds　wound　up　at　last　in　some　mud…dam　or　root…tangled　clump　of　soil。　Tiamak　had　considered　the　find　a　good　omen。　He　had　put　it　aside　after　many　expressions　of　thanks　to　beneficent　deities；　knowing　he　would　enjoy　it　more　if　he　savored　the　thought　of　it　for　a　while。
　　The　first　bite　through　the　rind　of　the　river…apple　was　sour；　but　the　pale　flesh　nearer　the　middle　was　wonderfully　sweet。　Tiamak；　who　had　been　surviving　for　days　on　waterbugs　and　edible　grasses　and　leaves；　was　so　overe　by　the　taste　of　the　fruit　that　he　nearly　fell　into　a　swoon。　He　had　to　put　most　of　it　aside　for　later。
　　
　　Kwanitupul　could　have　been　said　to　occupy　the　northern　shore　of　the　upper　prong　of　the　Bay　of　Firannos；　except　that　there　was　no　real　shore　in　that　location：　Kwanitupul　lay　on　the　Wran's　northernmost　fringe；　but　it　was　still　very　much　a　part　of　the　greater　marsh。　
　　What　had　once　been　a　minor　trading　village　made　up　of　a　few　score　tree…houses　and　stilted　huts　had　grown　vast　when　the　merchants　of　Nabban　and　Perdruin　and　the　Southern　Islands　discovered　the　array　of　valuable　things　that　came　from　the　Wran's　unreachable　interior…unreachable　by　any　except　the　Wrannamen；　of　course。　Exotic　feathers　for　ladies'　gowns；　dried　mud　for　dyes；　apothecarical　powders　and　minerals　of　unequaled　rarity　and　potency；　all　these　things　and　many　more　kept　the　bazaars　of　Kwanitupul　thriving　with　merchants　and　traders　from　up　and　down　the　coast。　Since　there　was　no　land　worthy　of　the　name；　pilings　were　driven　deep　into　the　mud　instead；　and　shallow…drafted　boats　were　laden　with　powdered　stone　and　mortar　and　allowed　to　sink　along　the　banks　of　the　swampy　waterways。　Across　these　foundations　countless　huts　and　walk…ways　had　sprung　up。
　　As　Kwanitupul　grew；　Nabbanai　and　Perdruinese　drifted　in　to　share　its　dilapidated　precincts　with　the　native　Wrannamen；　until　the　trading　city　had　spread　its　way　over　many　miles　of　canals　and　swaying　bridges；　growing　across　and　clogging　the　outer　byways　of　the　swamp　like　water…hyacinth。　Its　ramshackle　eminence　now　dominated　the　Bay　of　Firannos　as　its　older　and　larger　sister　Ansis　Pelippe　did　the　Bay　of　Emettin　and　Osten　Ard's　north…central　coast。
　　Still　dizzy　with　fever；　Tiamak　found　himself　at　last　drifting　up　out　of　the　swamp's　wild　interior　into　the　increasingly　crowded　arterial　water…　ways　of　Kwanitupul。　At　first；　only　a　few　other　flatboats　shared　the　green　water　with　him；　and　these　were　almost　entirely　poled　by　other　Wrannamen；　many　wearing　feathery　tribal　finery　in　honor　of　their　first　visit　to　the　grandest　marsh…village　of　all。　Farther　into　Kwanitupul　the　canals　were　choked　with　a　host　of　other　crafts…not　only　small　boats　like　Tiamak's；　but　ships　of　all　size　and　design；　from　the　beautifully　carved　and　canopied　barks　of　rich　merchants　to　huge　grain　ships　and　barges　carrying　cut　stone　that　slid　along　the　waterways　like　imperious　whales；　forcing　smaller　boats　to　scatter　or　risk　being　swamped　in　their　rolling　wake。
　　Tiamak　normally　enjoyed　the　sights　of　Kwanitupul　enormously…　although；　unlike　his　tribesmen；　he　had　seen　Ansis　Pelippe　and　the　other　port　cities　of　Perdruin；　beside　which　Kwanitupul　was　only　a　slightly　shabby　copy。　Now；　however；　his　fever　was　upon　him　once　more。　The　lapping　of　water　and　the　shouts　of　Kwanitupulis　seemed　curiously　distant；　the　waterways　he　had　traveled　many　times　before　were　forbiddingly　unfamiliar。
　　He　wracked　his　wandering　mind　for　the　name　of　the　inn　to　which　he　had　been　directed　to　go。　In　his　letter；　the　one　whose　delivery　had　martyred　Tiamak's　gallant　pigeon　Ink…daub；　Father　Dinivan　had　told　him。。。　told　him。。。
　　You　are　sorely　needed。　Yes；　he　remembered　that　part。　The　fever　made　it　so　hard　to　think。。。　　Go　to　Kwanitupul；　Dinivan　had　written；　stay　at　the　inn　we　have　spoken　of；　and　wait　there　until　I　can　tell　you　more。　And　what　else　had　the　priest　said？　More　than　lives　may　depend　on　you。
　　But　what　inn　had　they　spoken　of？　Tiamak；　startled　by　a　smear　of　color　before　his　unfocused　gaze；　looked　up　in　time　to　prevent　his　boat　sliding　in　front　of　a　larger　vessel　with　two　flaring　eyes　painted　on　its　hull。　This　boat's　owner　jumped　up　and　down　in　the　bow；　waving　a　fist　at　Tiamak　as　he　drifted　past。　The　man's　mouth　was　moving；　but　Tiamak　heard　only　a　dull　roaring　in　his　ears　as　he　poled　out　of　the　wake。　What　inn？
　　〃Pelippa's　Bowl！〃　The　name　struck　him　like　lightning　out　of　the　sky。　He　did　not　realize　he　had　shouted　it　aloud；　but　such　was　the　din　of　the　waterway　that　his　indiscretion　mattered　little。
　　Pelippa's　Bowl；　an　inn　Dinivan　had　mentioned　in　a　letter；　because　it　was　run　by　a　woman　who　had　once　been　a　nun　of　Saint　Pelippa's　order…　Tiamak　could　not　summon　the　woman's　name…and　who　still　liked　to　talk　theology　and　philosophy。　Morgenes　had　stayed　there　whenever　he　traveled　in　the　Wran；　because　the　old　man　liked　the　proprietress　and　her　irreverent　but　thoughtful　mind。
　　As　these　memories　came　back　to　him；　Tiamak　felt　his　weary　spirits　lifted。　Perhaps　Dinivan　would　join　him　at　the　inn！　Or；　even　better；　perhaps　Morgenes　himself　was　staying　there；　which　would　explain　why　Tiamak's　latest　messages　to　the　old　man's　home　at　the　Hayholt　in　Erkynland　had　gone　unanswered。　Whatever　the　case；　with　the　names　of　his　Scrollbearer　friends　to　offer　as　currency；　he　was　certain　that　he　would　find　a　bed　and　a　sympathetic　ear　at　Pelippa's　Bowl。
　　Still　fever…addled；　but　with　a　more　hopeful　heart；　Tiamak　bent　his　aching　back　to　the　pole　once　more。　His　frail　boat　skimmed　along　Kwanitupul's　greasy　green　waterways。
　　
　　
　　The　strange　presence　in　Simon's　head　spoke　on。　The　spell　of　the　woman's　voice　held　him　gently　prisoned；　enwrapped　in　a　charm　that　seemed　to　have　no　seam　or　flaw。　He　was　in　perfect　darkness；　as　in　the　moment　just　before　the　final　tumble　into　sleep；　but　his　thoughts　were　as　janglingly　active　as　those　of　a　man　who　only　pretends　to　slumber　while　his　enemies　scheme　across　the　room。　He　did　not　awaken；　but　neither　did　he　pass　into　forgetfulness。　Instead；　the　voice　spoke　on；　and　the　words　summoned　images　of　beauty　and　horror。
　　〃。。。　　And　although　you　have　gone　away；　Hakatri…to　death　or　the　Ultimate　West；　I　know　not　which…I　shall　say　these　things　to　you；　for　in　truth；　no　one　knows　the　way　time　flows　on　the　Road　of　Dreams；　or　where　it　is　that　thoughts　may　wander　that　have　been　cast　out　on　the　scales　of　the　Greater　Worm　or　on　t