rj.acrownofswords-第66部分

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　running　fifth。　After　the　turn　would　e　the　hazard；　boys　on　trailing　animals　were　known　to　slash　at　those　who　rounded　the　stakes　ahead　of　them。
　　　Following　the　horses；　Mat's　eyes　swept　across　the　sharp…faced　woman　again。。。　and　snapped　back。　The　shouts　and　screams　of　the　crowd　faded。　The　woman　was　shaking　her　fan　at　the　horses　and　jumping　excitedly；　but　suddenly　he　saw　her　in　pale　green　and　a　rich　gray　cloak；　her　hair　caught　in　a　frothy　net　of　lace；　skirts　held　up　delicately　as　she　picked　her　way　across　a　stable　not　far　from　Caemlyn。
　　　Rand　still　lay　there　moaning　in　the　straw；　even　if　the　fever　seemed　gone；　at　least　he　was　not　shouting　anymore　at　people　who　were　not　there。　Mat　eyed　the　woman　suspiciously　as　she　knelt　beside　Rand。　Maybe　she　could　help　as　she　claimed；　but　Mat　did　not　trust　as　he　once　had。　What　was　a　fine　lady　like　this　doing　in　a　village　stable？　Caressing　the　ruby…tipped　hilt　of　the　dagger　hidden　by　his　coat；　he　wondered　why　he　had　ever　trusted。　It　never　paid。　Never。
　　　〃。。。　weak　as　a　day…old　kitten；〃　she　was　saying　as　she　reached　beneath　her　cloak。　〃I　think。。。　〃
　　　A　knife　appeared　in　her　hand　so　suddenly；　streaking　for　Mat's　throat；　that　he　would　have　been　dead　if　he　had　not　been　ready。　Dropping　flat；　he　seized　her　wrist；　just　pushing　it　away　from　him；　the　curved　Shadar　Logoth　blade　sweeping　out　to　lie　against　her　slim　white　neck。　The　woman　froze；　trying　to　look　down　at　the　sharp　edge　dimpling　her　skin。　He　wanted　to　slice。　Especially　when　he　saw　where　her　own　dagger　had　stabbed　into　the　stable　wall。　Around　the　slim　blade　a　black　circle　of　char　grew；　and　a　thin　gray　tendril　of　smoke　rose　from　wood　about　to　burst　into　flame。
　　　Shivering；　Mat　rubbed　a　hand　across　his　eyes。　Just　carrying　that　Shadar　Logoth　knife　had　nearly　killed　him；　eating　those　holes　in　his　memories；　but　how　could　he　forget　a　woman　who　tried　to　kill　him？　A　Darkfriend　…　she　had　admitted　as　much　…　who　tried　to　kill　him　with　a　dagger　that　set　a　bucket　of　water　near　boiling　when　they　tossed　it　in　after　securing　her　in　the　tackroom。　A　Darkfriend　who　had　been　hunting　Rand　and　him。　What　chance　she　was　in　Ebou　Dar　when　he　was；　at　the　races　on　the　same　day？　Ta'veren　might　be　the　answer　…　he　liked　thinking　of　that　about　as　much　he　did　the　Horn　of　bloody　Valere　…　but　the　fact　was；　the　Forsaken　knew　his　name。　That　stable　had　not　been　the　last　time　Darkfriends　tried　putting　an　end　to　Mat　Cauthon。
　　　He　staggered　as　Nalesean　suddenly　began　pounding　his　back。　〃Look　at　him；　Mat！　Light　of　heaven；　look　at　him！〃
　　　The　horses　had　rounded　the　far　poles　and　were　well　on　their　way　back。　Head　stretched　out；　mane　and　tail　flying　behind；　Wind　streaked　down　the　course　with　Olver　clinging　to　his　back　like　a　part　of　the　saddle。　The　boy　rode　as　if　he　had　been　born　there。　Four　lengths　behind；　the　piebald　pounded　furiously；　rider　working　his　switch　in　a　futile　effort　to　close。　Just　like　that　they　slashed　across　the　finish　line；　with　the　next　nearest　horse　another　three　lengths　back。　The　white…maned　dun　came　last。　The　moans　and　mutters　of　losing　bettors　overwhelmed　the　shouts　of　winners。　Losing　tokens　made　a　shower　of　white　onto　the　track；　and　dozens　of　the　bookers'　servants　rushed　out　to　clear　them　away　before　the　next　race。
　　　〃We　have　to　find　that　woman；　Mat。　I'd　not　put　it　past　her　to　run　off　without　paying　out　so　much　as　she　owes　us。〃　From　what　Mat　had　heard；　the　bookers'　guild　was　more　than　harsh　the　first　time　one　of　its　members　tried　anything　of　the　sort；　and　deadly　the　second；　but　they　were　moners；　and　that　was　enough　for　Nalesean。
　　　〃She's　standing　right　over　there　in　plain　view。〃　Mat　gestured　without　taking　his　eyes　from　the　fox…faced　Darkfriend。　Glaring　at　a　token；　she　hurled　it　to　the　ground；　and　even　lifted　her　skirts　to　stamp　on　it。　Plainly　not　a　wager　on　Wind。　Still　grimacing；　she　began　threading　her　way　through　the　crowd。　Mat　stiffened。　She　was　leaving。　〃Gather　our　winnings；　Nalesean；　then　take　Olver　back　to　the　inn。　If　he　misses　his　reading　lesson；　you'll　kiss　the　Dark　One's　sister　before　Mistress　Anan　lets　him　out　for　another　race。〃
　　　〃Where　are　you　going？〃
　　　〃I　saw　a　woman　who　tried　to　kill　me；〃　Mat　said　over　his　shoulder。
　　　〃Give　her　a　trinket　next　time；〃　Nalesean　shouted　after　him。
　　　Following　the　woman　was　no　trouble；　with　that　white…plumed　hat　for　a　banner　bobbing　through　the　crowd　on　the　other　side。　The　earthen　banks　gave　way　to　a　large　open　area　where　brightly　lacquered　coaches　and　sedan　chairs　waited　under　the　watchful　eyes　of　drivers　and　bearers。　Mat's　horse　Pips　was　one　of　scores　being　guarded　by　members　of　the　Ancient　and　Worshipful　Guild　of　Stablemen。　There　was　a　guild　for　most　things　in　Ebou　Dar；　and　woe　to　anyone　who　trespassed　on　their　ground。　He　paused；　but　she　walked　on　by　the　conveyances　that　had　brought　those　with　position　or　money。　No　maid；　and　now　not　even　a　chair。　No　one　walked　in　this　heat　who　had　money　to　ride。　Had　my　Lady　e　on　hard　times？
　　　The　Silver　Circuit　lay　just　south　of　the　tall　white…plastered　city　wall；　and　she　strolled　up　the　hundred　paces　or　so　of　road　to　the　broad　pointed　arch　of　the　Moldine　Gate　and　in。　Trying　to　appear　casual；　Mat　followed。　The　gateway　was　ten　spans　of　dim　tunnel；　but　her　hat　stood　out　among　the　folk　passing　through。　People　who　had　to　walk　seldom　wore　plumes。　She　seemed　to　know　where　she　was　going　on　the　other　side。　The　plumes　wove　through　the　crowds　ahead　of　him；　unhurried　but　always　moving　forward。
　　　Ebou　Dar　shone　white　in　the　morning　sun。　White　palaces　with　white　columns　and　screened　wrought…iron　balconies　cheek…by…jowl　with　white…plastered　weavers'　shops　and　fishmongers　and　stables；　great　white　houses　with　louvered　shutters　hiding　their　arched　windows　beside　white　inns　with　painted　signs　hanging　in　front　and　open　markets　under　long　roofs　where　live　sheep　and　chickens；　calves　and　geese　and　ducks　made　a　barnyard　din　alongside　their　fellows　already　butchered　and　hanging。　All　white；　stone　or　plaster；　except　here　and　there　bands　of　red　or　blue　or　gold　on　turnip…shaped　domes　and　pointed　spires　that　had　balconies　running　around　them。　There　were　squares　everywhere；　always　with　a　statue　larger　than　life　on　a　pedestal　or　a　splashing　fountain　that　only　emphasized　the　heat；　always　packed　with　people。　Refugees　filled　the　city；　and　merchants　and　traders　of　every　sort。　Never　a　trouble　but　brought　profit　to　somebody。　What　Saldaea　had　once　sent　into　Arad　Doman　now　came　downriver　to　Ebou　Dar；　and　so　did　what　Amadicia　had　traded　into　Tarabon。　Everyone　scurried；　for　a　coin　or　a　thousand；　for　a　bite　to　eat　today。　The　aroma　that　hung　in　the　air　was　equal　parts　perfume；　dust　and　sweat。　Somehow；　it　all　smelled　desperate。
　　　Barge…filled　canals　sliced　through　the　city；　crossed　by　dozens　of　bridges；　some　so　narrow　that　two　people　would　have　to　squeeze　past　one　another；　others　large　enough　that　shops　actually　lined　them；　hanging　out　over　the　water。　On　one　of　those；　he　suddenly　realized　that　the　white…plumed　hat　had　stopped。　People　flowed　around　him　as　he　did；　too。　The　shops　here　were　really　just　open　wooden　nooks；　with　heavy　plank　shutters　that　could　be　let　down　to　close　them　off　at　night。　Raised　overhead　now；　the　shutters　displayed　signs　for　the　shops。　The　one　above　the　plumed　hat　showed　a　golden　scale　and　hammer；　sign　of　the　goldsmiths'　guild；　though　plainly　not　of　a　particularly　prosperous　member。　Through　a　momentary　gap　in　the　crowd；　he　saw　her　look　back；　and　turned　hurriedly　to　the　narrow　stall　to　his　right。　On　the　wall　at　the　back　hung　finger　rings；　and　boards　displaying　stones　cut　in　all　sorts　of　designs。
　　　〃My　Lord　wishes　a　new　signet　ring？〃　the　birdlike　fellow　behind　the　counter　asked；　bowing　and　dry…washing　his　hands。　Skinny　as　a　rail；　he　had　no　worry　of　anyone　stealing　his　goods。　Cramped　into　a　corner　on　a　stool　sat　a　one…eyed　fellow　who　might　have　had　trouble　standing　upright　inside　the　cubicle；　with　a　long　cudgel　studded　with　nail　heads　propped　between　his　massive　knees。　〃I　can　cut　any　design；　as　my　Lord　can　see；　and　I　have　try…rings　for　the　size；　of　course。〃
　　　〃Let　me　see　that　one。〃　Mat　pointed　at　random；　he　needed　some　reason　to　stand　here　until　she　went　on。　It　might　be　a　good　time　to　decide　exactly　what　he　was　going　to　do。
　　　〃A　fine　example　of　the　long　style；　my　Lord；　much　in　favor　now。　Gold；　but　I　work　in　silver；　as　well。　Why；　I　think　the　size　is　right。　If　my　Lord　would　care　to　try　it　on？　My　Lord　may　wish　to　examine　the　fine　detail　of　the　carving？　Does　my　Lord　prefer　gold　or　silver？〃
　　　With　a　grunt　that　he　hoped　might　be　taken　for　answer　to　some　of　that；　Mat　shoved　the　proffered　ring　onto　the　second　finger　of　his　left　hand　and　pretended　to　examine　the　dark　oval　of　carved　stone。　All　he　really　saw　was　that　it　was　as　long　as　the　joint　of　his　finger。　Head　down；　he　studied　the　woman　from　the　corner　of　his　eye　the　best　he　could　through　gaps　that　opened　in　the　throng。　She　was　holding　a　wide；　flat　gold　necklace　up　to　the　light。
　　　There　was　a　Civil　Guard　in　Ebou　Dar；　but　not　a　very　efficient　one；　seldom　to　be　seen　on　the　streets。　If　he　denounced　her；　it　would　be　his　word　against　hers；　and　even　if　he　was　believed；　a　few　coins　might　let　her　walk　free　even　on　that　charge。　The　Civil　Guard　was　cheaper　than　a　magistrate；　but　either　could　be　bought　unless　someone　powerful　was　watching；　and　then　if　enough　gold　lay　in　the　offer。
　　　A　swirl　in　the　crowd　suddenly　turned　into　a　Whitecloak；　conical　helmet　and　long　mail　shirt　gleaming　like　silver；　snowy　cloak　with　the　flaring　golden　sun　billowing　as　he　strode　along　confident　that　a　path　would　clear　for　him。　Which　it　certainly　did；　few　willingly　put　themselves　in　the　way　of　the　Children　of　the　Light。　Yet　for　every　eye　that　slid　away　from　the　stone…faced　man；　another　beamed　on　him　approvingly。　The　sharp…faced　woman　not　only　looked　at　him　openly；　she　smiled。　A　charge　laid　against　her　might　or　might　not　put　her　in　prison；　but　it　could　be　the　spark　to　ignite　a　city　full　of　tales　about　Darkfriends　in　the　Tarasin　Palace。　Whitecloaks　were　good　at　whipping　up　mobs；　and　to　them；　Aes　Sedai　were　Darkfriends。　As　the　Child　of　the　Light　passed　her；　she　laid　down　the　necklace；　apparently　regretful；　and　turned　to　go。
　　　〃Does　the　style　suit　my　Lord？〃
　　　Mat　gave　a　start。　He　had　forgotten　the　skinny　man　a