tw.togreenangeltower2-第69部分

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　　　　　　　He　clenched　his　fists　and　stepped　through；　then　pulled　the　door　shut　behind　him。
　　　　　　　There　was　no　need　yet　for　the　torch　in　his　belt；　which　he　had　refurbished　with　oil　from　one　of　Green　Angel　Tower's　storage　rooms；　one　already　burned　in　a　bracket　on　the　wall　of　the　high　antechamber；　making　shadows　shiver　in　the　ers。　Simon　could　not　help　wondering　who　had　lit　it；　but　quickly　dismissed　the　useless　thought：　he　could　only　begin　looking；　try　to　move　quietly；　and　listen　for　anyone　else　who　might　be　in　Hjeldin's　Tower　with　him。
　　　　　　　He　walked　across　the　antechamber；　dismayed　by　the　loud　hiss　his　boot　soles　made　rubbing　on　the　stone。　Stairs　led　upward　along　one　wall　to　the　highest；　darkest　parts　of　the　tower。　They　would　have　to　wait。
　　　　　　　So　many　doors！　Simon　chose　one　and　opened　it　gently。　The　torchlight　bleeding　in　from　the　antechamber　revealed　a　room　filled　entirely　with　furnishings　made　from　bones　that　had　been　tied　and　glued　together；　including　one　large　chair　which　had；　as　if　in　mockery　of　the　High　King's　throne；　an　awning　made　entirely　from　skulls…human　skulls。　Many　of　the　bones　still　had　bits　of　dark　dry　flesh　stuck　to　them。　From　somewhere　in　the　room　came　the　fizzing　chirp　of　what　sounded　like　a　cricket。　Simon　felt　his　stomach　rising　into　his　throat　and　hurriedly　shut　the
door。
　　　　　　　When　he　had　recovered　a　little　he　took　his　own　brand　and　lit　it　from　the　wall　torch。　If　he　was　really　going　to　look　for　the　sword；　he　would　have　to　be　able　to　see　even　into　the　dark　corners；　no　matter　what　he　might　find　there。
　　　　　　　He　went　back　to　the　bone　room；　but　further　inspection　turned　up　nothing　but　the　dreadful　furnishings；　an　incredible　array　of　bones。　Simon　hoped　some　of　them　were　animal　bones；　but　doubted　it。　The　insistent　buzz　of　the　cricket　drove　him　out　once　more。
　　　　　　　The　next　chamber　was　filled　wall　to　wall　with　tubs　covered　by　stretched　nets。　Things　Simon　could　not　quite　make　out　slithered　and　splashed　in　dark　fluid；　from　time　to　time　a　slippery　back　or　an　oddly…terminated　appendage　pushed　against　the　netting　until　it　bulged　upward。　In　another　room　Simon　found　thousands　of　tiny　silvery　figures　of　men　and　women；　each　carved　with　amazing　accuracy　and　realism：　each　little　statue　was　a　perfect　representation　of　a　person　frozen　in　a　position　of　fear　or　despair。　When　Simon　lifted　one　of　them；　the　shiny　metal　felt　slippery　and　strangely　warm　against　his　skin。　A　moment　later；　he　dropped　it　and　backed　quickly　out　of　the　room。　He　was　sure　he　had　felt　it　squirm　in　his　grip。
　　　　　　　Simon　made　his　way　from　one　room　to　the　next；　continuously　disturbed　by　what　he　found；　sometimes　by　the　sheer　unpleasantness　of　the　priest's　possessions；　sometimes　by　their　inprehensibility。　The　last　room　on　the　ground　floor　contained　a　few　bones　as　well；　but　they　were　far　too　large　to　belong　to　anything　human。　They　were　boiling　in　a　great　vat　that　hung　above　an　oil　flame；　filling　the　damp　room　with　a　powerful　but　unrecognizable　stink。　Viscous　black　fluid　ran　in　oozing　drops　from　a　spigot　on　the　vat's　side　into　a　wide　stone　bowl。　The　fetid　steam　swirling　up　made　Simon's　head　reel　and　the　scar　on　his　cheek　sting。　A　quick　search　discovered　no　trace　of　the　sword；　and　he　retreated　gratefully　to　the　relatively　clean　air　outside。
　　　　　　　After　hesitating　a　moment；　he　climbed　the　stairs　to　the　next　level。　There　was　undoubtedly　more　to　be　discovered　beneath　the　tower；　down　in　its　catabs…but　Simon　was　in　no　hurry　to　do　that。　He　would　put　such　a　search　off　for　last；　and　pray　that　he　found　the　sword　before　then。
　　　　　　　A　room　full　of　glass　beakers　and　retorts　much　like　things　Morgenes　had　possessed；　a　chamber　whose　walls　and　ceiling　were　draped　with　inordinately　thick　spiderwebs…his　search　of　that　one　was　brief　and　perfunctory…another　which　seemed　an　indoor　jungle　full　of　trailing　vines　and　fat；　rotting　blossoms；　Simon　passed　through　them　all；　feeling　more　and　more　like　some　peasant　boy　from　a　story　who　had　entered　a　witch's　magicalcastle。　Some　of　the　chambers　had　contents　so　dreadful　he　could　do　no　more　than　peer　for　a　moment　into　the　shadowed　interior　before　shoving　the　door　closed　again。　There　were　some　things　he　simply　could　not　force　himself　to　do：　if　the　sword　was　in　one　of　these　rooms；　it　would　have　to　remain　unrescued。
　　　　　　　One　room　that　did　not　at　first　seem　so　dreadful　held　only　a　single　small　cot；　oddly　woven　from　a　mesh　of　leather　straps。　At　first　he　thought　this　might　be　the　place　Pryrates　slept　。。。　until　he　saw　the　hole　in　the　stone　floor　and　the　stains　beneath　the　cot。　He　left　quickly；　shuddering。　He　didn't　think　he　could　spend　much　longer　in　this　place　and　keep　his　sanity。
　　　　　　　On　the　fifth　floor　of　the　priest's　storehouse　of　nightmares；　Simon　hesitated。　This　was　the　level　at　which　the　great　red　windows　were　set：　if　he　moved　from　room　to　room　with　his　torch；　it　was　quite　possible　someone　elsewhere　in　the　keep　might　notice　the　moving　flicker　of　light　in　what　should　be　an　empty　tower。　After　some　consideration；　he　set　his　torch　in　one　of　the　high　brackets　on　the　wall。　He　would　have　to　search　in　near…darkness；　Simon　realized；　but　he　had　spent　enough　time　below　ground　that　he　thought　he　might　be　better　suited　for　that　than　almost　anyone　except　a　Sitha　。。。　or　a　Norn。
　　　　　　　Only　three　chambers　opened　off　the　landing。　The　first　was　another　featureless　room　with　a　cot；　although　this　one　had　no　drain　in　the　floor。　Simon　had　no　problem　believing　that　this　was　indeed　Pryrates'　sleeping　place：　something　in　the　stark　emptiness　of　the　room　seemed　appropriate。　Simon　could　picture　the　black…eyed　priest　lying　on　his　back　staring　up　into　nothing；　plotting。　There　was　also　a　privy；　a　strangely　natural　possession　for　someone　so　unnatural。
　　　　　　　The　second　chamber　was　some　sort　of　reliquary。　The　entire　room　was　lined　with　shelves；　and　every　inch　of　shelf　space　was　taken　up　by　statues。　These　were　not　all　of　a　type；　like　the　silver　figurines　on　the　first　floor；　but　all　shapes　and　sizes；　some　that　looked　like　saint's　icons；　others　lopsided　wooden　fetishes　that　might　have　been　carved　by　children　or　lunatics。　It　was　fascinating；　in　a　way。　Had　Simon　not　felt　the　terror　of　this　strange　tower　all　around　him；　the　incredible　risk　he　was　taking　just　being　here；　he　might　have　liked　to　take　some　time　to　look　at　the　bizarre　collection。　Some　were　made　from　wax　and　had　candle　wicks　protruding　from　the　heads；　others　were　little　more　than　conglomerations　of　bones　and　mud…and　feathers；　but　each　was　recognizably　a　figure　of　some　sort；　although　many　seemed　more　animal　than　human。　But　nowhere　was　there　anything　like　a　sword。　The　eyes　of　some　of　the　images　seemed　to　follow　Simon　as　he　backed　out　again。
　　　　　　　The　last　and　largest　room　was　perhaps　the　red　priest's　study。　Here　the　great　scarlet　windows　were　most　visible；　since　they　covered　a　large　part　of　the　curved　wall；　although　with　night　sky　outside　they　were　dark。　The　room　itself　was　littered　with　scrolls　and　books　and　a　collection　of　other　objects　as　haphazardly　odd　and　dispiriting　as　anything　he　had　seen　in　any　of　the　other　chambers。　If　he　could　not　find　the　sword　here；　his　only　hope　was　the　catabs　beneath　the　tower。　The　roof　above　was　full　of　star…gazing　equipment　and　other　strange　machinery…he　had　seen　that　late　in　the　afternoon　from　one　of　Green　Angel　Tower's　narrow　windows；　Simon　doubted　there　would　be　anything　so　valuable　hidden　out　there；　but　he　would　look　anyway。　No　sense　avoiding　anything　that　might　save　him　a　trip　down　below　Hjeldin's　monument。。。
　　　　　　　The　study　was　thick　with　shadows　and　extremely　cluttered；　almost　the　entire　floor　covered　with　objects；　although　the　walls　were　curiously　empty　of　furnishings　or　anything　else。　At　the　room's　center　a　high…backed　chair　faced　away　from　the　door　toward　the　high　windows。　It　was　surrounded　by　free…standing　cabinets；　each　one　overflowing　with　parchments　and　heavy　bound　books。　The　wall　beneath　the　windows；　Simon　saw　by　the　faint　torchlight；　was　covered　in　pale；　painted　runes。
　　　　　　　He　took　a　few　steps　toward　the　wall；　then　stumbled　slightly。　Something　was　wrong：　he　felt　an　odd　tingling；　a　faintly　nauseating　unsteadiness　in　his　bones　and　his　guts。　A　moment　later；　a　hand　shot　out　from　the　darkness　of　the　chair　and　fastened　onto　his　wrist。　Simon　screamed　and　fell　down；　but　the　hand　did　not　let　go。　The　powerful　grip　was　cold　as　frost。
　　　　　　　〃What　have　we　here？〃　a　voice　said。　〃A　trespasser？〃
　　　　　　　Simon　could　not　yank　himself　free。　His　heart　sped　so　swiftly　that　he　thought　he　would　die　of　fear。　He　was　pulled　slowly　back　onto　his　feet；　then　tugged　around　the　chair　until　he　could　look　into　the　pale　face　that　gazed　at　him　from　its　shadows。　The　eyes　that　met　his　were　almost　invisible；　faint　smears　of　reflected　light　that　nevertheless　seemed　to　hold　him　just　as　strongly　as　the　bony　hand　on　his　wrist。
　　　　　　　〃What　have　we　here？〃　his　captor　repeated；　and　leaned　forward　to　stare　at　him。
　　　　　　　It　was　King　Elias。

17
An　Ember　in　the　Night　Sky

　　　　　　　Despite　the　urgency　of　his　errand　and　the　dull　ache　of　his　tailbone；　Tiamak　could　not　help　pausing　in　wonder　to　watch　the　proceedings　on　the　broad　hillside。
　　　　　　　It　occurred　to　him　that　he　had　spent　so　much　of　his　life　reading　scrolls　and　books　that　he　had　found　very　little　chance　to　experience　the　sort　of　things　about　which　they　were　written。　Except　for　his　brief　stay　in　Ansis　Pellipe　and　his　monthly　forays　to　the　Kwanitupul　market；　the　hurly…burly　of　life　had　not　intruded　much　on　his　hut　in　the　banyan　tree。　Now；　in　this　last　year；　Tiamak　had　been　caught　up　in　the　great　movements　of　mortals　and　immortals。　He　had　fought　monsters　beside　a　princess　and　a　duke。　He　had　met　and　spoken　with　one　of　the　legendary　Sithi。　He　had　seen　the　return　of　the　greatest　knight　of　the　Johannine　Age。　Now；　as　though　the　pages　of　one　of　Doctor　Morgenes'　dusty　volumes　had　taken　on　magical　life；　he　stood　beneath　cloudy　skies　watching　the　surrender　of　an　army　after　a　life　or　death　struggle　in　the　famous　Onestrine　Pass。　Surely　any　scholar　worth　his　quill　pen　would　give　everything　he　had　to　be　here。
　　　　　　　Then　why；　Tiamak　wondered；　did　he　feel　such　intense　longing　to　see　his　banyan　tree　again？
　　　　　　　I　am　as　They　Who　Watch　and　Shape　have　made　me；　he　decided。　I　am　not　a　hero；　like　Camaris　or　Josua　or　even　poor　Isgrimnur。　No；　I　belong　with　Father　Strang