rj.acrownofswords-第67部分

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go。
　　　〃Does　the　style　suit　my　Lord？〃
　　　Mat　gave　a　start。　He　had　forgotten　the　skinny　man　and　the　ring；　too。　〃No；　I　don't　want　…　〃　Frowning；　he　tugged　at　the　ring　again。　It　would　not　budge！
　　　〃No　need　to　pull；　you　might　crack　the　stone。〃　Now　that　he　was　no　longer　a　potential　customer；　Mat　was　no　longer　my　Lord；　either。　Sniffing；　the　fellow　kept　a　sharp　eye　on　him　lest　he　try　to　run。　〃I　have　some　grease。　Deryl；　where's　that　grease…pot？〃　The　guard　blinked　and　scratched　his　head　as　if　wondering　what　a　grease…pot　was。　The　white…plumed　hat　was　halfway　to　the　end　of　the　bridge　already。
　　　〃I'll　take　it；〃　Mat　snapped。　No　time　for　haggling。　Hauling　a　fistful　of　coins　from　his　coat　pocket；　he　slapped　them　down　on　the　counter；　mostly　gold　and　a　little　silver。　〃Enough？〃
　　　The　ringmaker's　eyes　bulged。　〃A　little　too　much；〃　he　quavered　uncertainly。　His　hands　hesitated　above　the　coins；　then　two　fingers　pushed　a　pair　of　silver　pennies　toward　Mat。　〃So　much？〃
　　　〃Give　them　to　Deryl；〃　Mat　growled　as　the　bloody　ring　slipped　from　his　finger。　The　skinny　man　was　hurriedly　raking　up　the　rest　of　the　coins。　Too　late　to　try　backing　out　of　the　purchase。　Mat　wondered　by　just　how　much　he　had　overpaid。　Stuffing　the　ring　into　his　pocket；　he　hastened　after　the　Darkfriend。　The　hat　was　nowhere　to　be　seen。
　　　Twinned　statues　decorated　the　end　of　the　bridge；　pale　marble　women　over　a　span　tall；　each　with　one　breast　bared　and　a　hand　raised　to　point　toward　something　in　the　sky。　In　Ebou　Dar；　a　bare　chest　symbolized　openness　and　honesty。　Ignoring　stares；　he　climbed　up　beside　one　of　the　women；　steadying　himself　with　an　arm　around　her　waist。　A　street　ran　along　the　canal；　and　two　more　split　off　at　angles　ahead；　all　full　of　people　and　carts；　sedan　chairs　and　wagons　and　coaches。　Someone　shouted　in　a　rough　voice　about　real　women　being　warmer；　and　a　number　in　the　crowd　laughed。　White　plumes　appeared　from　behind　a　blue…lacquered　coach　on　the　left…hand　fork。
　　　Leaping　down；　he　pushed　up　the　street　after　her；　ignoring　the　curses　of　those　he　bumped。　It　was　an　odd　chase。　In　the　mass　of　people；　with　wagons　and　coaches　constantly　getting　in　his　way；　he　could　not　keep　a　clear　sight　of　the　hat　from　the　street。　Scampering　up　the　broad　marble　steps　of　a　palace；　he　got　another　glimpse；　then　scurried　back　down　to　shove　ahead。　The　rim　of　a　tall　fountain　gave　him　yet　another　view；　then　an　upended　barrel　against　a　wall；　and　a　crate　that　had　just　been　unloaded　from　an　oxcart。　Once　he　clung　to　the　side　of　a　wagon　until　the　driver　threatened　him　with　her　whip。　With　all　the　climbing　and　looking；　he　did　not　narrow　the　Darkfriend's　lead　very　much。　But　then；　he　still　had　no　notion　what　to　do　if　he　caught　her。　Suddenly；　when　he　hoisted　himself　up　onto　the　narrow　coping　along　the　face　of　one　of　the　big　houses；　she　was　not　there　anymore。
　　　Frantically　he　looked　up　and　down　the　street。　The　white　plumes　no　longer　waved　through　the　crowd。　In　easy　sight　were　half　a　dozen　houses　much　like　the　one　he　was　clinging　to；　several　palaces　of　various　sizes；　two　inns；　three　taverns；　a　cutler's　shop　with　a　knife　and　a　pair　of　scissors　on　its　sign；　a　fishmonger　with　a　board　painted　in　fifty　kinds　of　fish；　two　rugweavers　with　unrolled　carpets　spread　on　tables　beneath　awnings；　a　tailor's　shop　and　four　cloth　sellers；　two　shops　displaying　lacquerware；　a　goldsmith；　a　silversmith；　a　livery　stable。。。　The　list　was　too　long。　She　could　have　gone　into　any　of　them。　Or　none。　She　might　have　taken　a　turn　he　had　not　seen。
　　　Jumping　down；　he　settled　his　hat；　muttering　under　his　breath。。。　and　saw　her；　almost　at　the　top　of　the　wide　stairs　leading　to　a　palace　nearly　across　from　him；　already　half…hidden　by　the　tall　fluted　columns　out　front。　The　palace　was　not　large；　with　only　two　slim　spires　and　a　single　pear…shaped　dome　banded　in　red；　but　Ebou　Dari　palaces　always　gave　the　ground　floor　to　servants　and　kitchens　and　the　like。　The　better　rooms　were　high；　to　catch　the　breezes。　Doormen　liveried　in　black　and　yellow　bowed　deeply　and　swung　the　carved　doors　wide　before　she　reached　them。　A　servant　inside　curtsied；　apparently　saying　something；　and　immediately　turned　to　lead　her　deeper。　She　was　known。　He　would　have　wagered　everything　on　it
　　　For　a　while　after　the　doors　closed；　he　stood　there　studying　the　palace。　Not　the　richest　in　the　city　by　far；　but　only　a　noble　would　dare　build　its　like。　〃But　who　in　the　Pit　of　Doom　lives　there？〃　he　muttered　finally；　plucking　off　his　hat　to　fan　himself。　Not　her；　not　when　she　had　to　walk。　A　few　questions　in　the　taverns　along　the　street　would　tell　him。　And　word　of　his　queries　would　seep　to　the　palace；　sure　as　dirt　soiled　your　hands。
　　　Someone　said；　〃Carridin。〃　It　was　a　scrawny；　white…haired　fellow　lounging　nearby　in　the　shade。　Mat　looked　at　him　questioningly；　and　he　grinned；　showing　gaps　in　his　teeth。　His　stooped　shoulders　and　sad　weathered　face　did　not　fit　his　fine　gray　coat。　Despite　a　bit　of　lace　at　his　neck；　he　was　the　very　picture　of　hard　times。　〃You　asked　who　lived　there。　The　Chelsaine　Palace　is　let　to　Jaichim　Carridin。〃
　　　Mat's　hat　paused。　〃You　mean　the　Whitecloak　ambassador？〃
　　　〃Aye。　And　Inquisitor　of　the　Hand　of　the　Light。〃　The　old　man　tapped　a　gnarled　finger　against　the　side　of　his　beak　of　a　nose。　Both　looked　to　have　been　broken　several　times。　〃Not　a　man　to　bother　unless　you　must；　and　then　I'd　think　three　times。〃
　　　Unconsciously　Mat　hummed　a　bit　of　〃Storm　from　the　Mountains。〃　Not　a　man　to　bother　indeed。　Questioners　were　the　nastiest　of　the　Whitecloaks。　A　Whitecloak　Inquisitor　who　had　a　Darkfriend　e　to　call。
　　　〃Thank　you　…　〃　Mat　gave　a　start。　The　fellow　was　gone；　swallowed　up　in　the　crowd。　Strange；　but　he　had　looked　familiar。　Maybe　another　long…dead　acquaintance　drifting　out　of　those　old　memories。　Maybe。。。　It　hit　him　like　an　Illuminator's　nightflower　exploding　inside　his　head。　A　white…haired　man　with　a　hooked　nose。　That　old　man　had　been　at　the　Silver　Circuit；　standing　not　far　from　the　woman　who　had　just　gone　into　Carridin's　rented　palace。　Turning　his　hat　in　his　hands；　he　frowned　uneasily　at　the　palace。　The　Mire　never　held　a　bog　like　this　one。　He　could　feel　the　dice　tumbling　in　his　head　suddenly；　and　that　was　always　a　bad　sign。
　　　
　　　
Chapter　15　
（Snakey　Square）　
Insects　
　　　
　　　Carridin　did　not　look　up　immediately　from　the　letter　he　was　writing　when　the　Lady　Shiaine；　as　she　called　herself；　was　shown　in。　Three　ants　struggled　futilely　in　the　wet　ink；　trapped。　Everything　else　might　be　dying；　but　ants　and　cockroaches　and　every　sort　of　vermin　seemed　to　thrive。　Carefully　he　pressed　the　blotter　down。　He　was　not　about　to　begin　again　for　a　few　ants。　A　failure　to　send　this　report；　or　a　report　of　failure；　might　doom　him　as　surely　as　those　mired　insects；　yet　it　was　fear　of　a　different　failure　that　tightened　his　guts。
　　　He　had　no　worry　of　Shiaine　reading　what　he　wrote。　It　was　in　a　cipher　known　to　only　two　men　beside　himself。　So　many　bands　of　〃Dragonsworn〃　at　work；　each　stiffened　by　a　core　of　his　most　trusted　men；　so　many　more　who　might　be　bandits　or　even　truly　sworn　to　that　filth；　al'Thor。　Pedron　Niall　might　not　like　that　last；　but　his　mand　had　been　to　plunge　Altara　and　Murandy　into　blood　and　chaos　from　which　only　Niall　and　the　Children　of　the　Light　could　rescue　them；　a　madness　clearly　to　be　laid　at　the　feet　of　this　so…called　Dragon　Reborn；　and　that　he　had　done。　Fear　held　both　countries　by　the　throat。　Tales　that　the　witches　marched　across　the　same　country　were　an　added　reward。　Tar　Valon　witches　and　Dragonsworn；　Aes　Sedai　carrying　off　young　women　and　setting　up　false　Dragons；　villages　in　flames　and　men　nailed　to　the　doors　of　their　barns　…　it　was　all　one　in　half　the　street　rumors；　now。　Niall　would　be　pleased。　And　send　more　orders。　How　he　expected　Carridin　to　snatch　Elayne　Trakand　out　of　the　Tarasin　Palace　was　beyond　reason。
　　　Another　ant　skittered　across　the　ivory…inlaid　table　onto　the　page；　and　his　thumb　stabbed　down；　destroying　it。　And　smearing　a　word　to　illegibility。　The　entire　report　would　need　to　be　redone。　He　wanted　a　drink　very　badly。　There　was　brandy　in　a　crystal　flask　on　the　table　by　the　door；　but　he　did　not　want　the　woman　to　see　him　drinking。　Suppressing　a　sigh；　he　shoved　the　letter　aside　and　pulled　a　kerchief　from　his　sleeve　to　wipe　his　hand。　〃So；　Shiaine；　do　you　finally　have　progress　to　report？　Or　have　you　just　e　for　more　money？〃
　　　She　smiled　at　him　lazily　from　a　tall　carved　armchair。　〃There　are　expenses　associated　with　a　search；〃　she　said　in　almost　the　accents　of　an　Andoran　noble。　〃Especially　when　we　want　no　questions　asked。〃
　　　Most　people　would　have　been　unsettled　by　the　sight　of　Jaichim　Carridin；　even　cleaning　a　pen　nib；　with　his　steely　face　and　deep…set　eyes；　the　white　tabard　over　his　coat　bearing　the　golden　sunburst　of　the　Children　of　the　Light　impressed　upon　the　crimson　shepherd's　crook　of　the　Hand。　Not　Mili　Skane。　That　was　her　real　name；　though　she　did　not　know　he　knew。　A　saddler's　daughter　from　a　village　near　Whitebridge；　she　had　gone　to　the　White　Tower　at　fifteen；　another　thing　she　thought　secret。　It　was　hardly　the　best　start；　being　a　Friend　of　the　Dark　because　the　witches　told　her　she　could　not　learn　to　channel；　but　before　that　year　was　out　she　had　not　only　found　a　circle　in　Caemlyn　but　made　her　first　kill。　In　the　seven　years　since；　she　had　added　nineteen　more。　She　was　one　of　the　best　assassins　available；　and　a　hunter　who　could　find　anyone　or　anything。　That　much　he　had　been　told　when　she　was　sent　to　him。　A　circle　reported　to　her　now。　Several　of　them　actually　were　nobles　and　almost　all　were　older；　but　neither　thing　mattered　among　those　who　served　the　Great　Lord。　Another　circle　working　for　Carridin　was　led　by　a　gnarled　beggar　with　one　eye；　no　teeth　and　a　habit　of　bathing　only　once　in　the　year。　Had　circumstances　been　different；　Carridin　himself　would　have　knelt　to　Old　Cully；　the　only　name　the　stinking　villain　admitted　to。　Mili　Skane　surely　groveled　for　Old　Cully；　and　so　did　every　last　panion　of　her　circle；　noble　or　not。　It　irritated　Carridin　that　〃Lady　Shiaine〃　would　be　on　her　knees　in　a　flash　if　the　straggly…haired　old　beggar　entered　the　room；　but　for　him　sat　with　her　legs　crossed；　smiling　and　twitching　her　slippered　foot　as　if　impatient　to　be　done。　She　had　been　ordered　to　obey　him　absolutely；　by　one　eve