tp.wyrd sisters-第4节

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　'You're　not；　you　know。　It's　just　your　imagination。'
　There　was　a　clattering　from　the　kitchens。　The　cooks　were　already　up　and；　in　the　absence　of　any　other　instructions；　were　preparing　the　castle's　normal　breakfast　menu。　Familiar　smells　were　wafting　up　from　the　dark　archway　that　led　to　the　kitchens。
　Verence　sniffed。
　'Sausages；'　he　said　dreamily。　'Bacon。　Eggs。　Smoked　fish。'　He　stared　at　Champot。　'Black　pudding；'　he　whispered。
　'You　haven't　actually　got　a　stomach；'　the　old　ghost　pointed　out。　'It's　all　in　the　mind。　Just　force　of　habit。　You　just　think　you're　hungry。'
　'I　think　I'm　ravenous。'
　'Yes；　but　you　can't　actually　touch　anything；　you　see；'　Champot　explained　gently。　'Nothing　at　all。'
　Verence　lowered　himself　gently　on　to　a　bench；　so　that　he　did　not　drift　through　it；　and　sank　his　head　in　his　hands。　He'd　heard　that　death　could　be　bad。　He　just　hadn't　realised　how　bad。
　He　wanted　revenge。　He　wanted　to　get　out　of　this　suddenly　horrible　castle；　to　find　his　son。　But　he　was　even　more　terrified　to　find　that　what　he　really　wanted；　right　now；　was　a　plate　of　kidneys。
　
　A　damp　dawn　flooded　across　the　landscape；　scaled　the　battlements　of　Lancre　Castle；　stormed　the　keep　and　finally　made　it　through　the　casement　of　the　solar。
　Duke　Felmet　stared　out　gloomily　at　the　dripping　forest。　There　was　such　a　lot　of　it。　It　wasn't；　he　decided；　that　he　had　anything　against　trees　as　such；　it　was　just　that　the　sight　of　so　much　of　them　was　terribly　depressing。　He　kept　wanting　to　count　them。
　'Indeed；　my　love；'　he　said。
　The　duke　put　those　who　met　him　in　mind　of　some　sort　of　lizard；　possibly　the　type　that　lives　on　volcanic　islands；　moves　once　a　day；　has　a　vestigial　third　eye　and　blinks　on　a　monthly　basis。　He　considered　himself　to　be　a　civilised　man　more　suited　to　the　dry　air　and　bright　sun　of　a　properly…organised　climate。
　On　the　other　hand；　he　mused；　it　might　be　nice　to　be　a　tree。　Trees　didn't　have　ears；　he　was　pretty　sure　of　this。　And　they　seemed　to　manage　without　the　blessed　state　of　matrimony。　A　male　oak　tree　…　he'd　have　to　look　this　up　…　a　male　oak　tree　just　shed　its　pollen　on　the　breeze　and　all　the　business　with　the　acorns；　unless　it　was　oak　apples；　no；　he　was　pretty　sure　it　was　acorns；　took　place　somewhere　else　。　。　。
　'Yes；　my　precious；'　he　said。
　Yes；　trees　had　got　it　all　worked　out。　Duke　Felmet　glared　at　the　forest　roof。　Selfish　bastards。
　'Certainly；　my　dear；'　he　said。
　'What？'　said　the　duchess。
　The　duke　hesitated；　desperately　trying　to　replay　the　monologue　of　the　last　five　minutes。　There　had　been　something　about　him　being　half　a　man；　and　。　。　。　infirm　on　purpose？　And　he　was　sure　there　had　been　a　plaint　about　the　coldness　of　the　castle。　Yes；　that　was　probably　it。　Well；　those　wretched　trees　could　do　a　decent　day's　work　for　once。
　'I'll　have　some　cut　down　and　brought　in　directly；　my　cherished；'　he　said。
　Lady　Felmet　was　momentarily　speechless。　This　was　by　way　of　being　a　calendar　event。　She　was　a　large　and　impressive　woman；　who　gave　people　confronting　her　for　the　first　time　the　impression　that　they　were　seeing　a　galleon　under　full　sail；　the　effect　was　heightened　by　her　unfortunate　belief　that　red　velvet　rather　suited　her。　However；　it　didn't　set　off　her　plexion。　It　matched　it。
　The　duke　often　mused　on　his　good　luck　in　marrying　her。　If　it　wasn't　for　the　engine　of　her　ambition　he'd　be　just　another　local　lord；　with　nothing　much　to　do　but　hunt；　drink　and　exercise　his　droit　de　seigneur。＇2＇　Instead；　he　was　now　just　a　step　away　from　the　throne；　and　might　soon　be　monarch　of　all　he　surveyed。
　Provided　that　all　he　surveyed　was　trees。　He　sighed。
　'Cut　what　down？'　said　Lady　Felmet；　icily。
　'Oh；　the　trees；'　said　the　duke。
　'What　have　trees　got　to　do　with　it？'
　'Well。　。　。　there　are　such　a　lot　of　them；'　said　the　duke；　with　feeling。
　'Don't　change　the　subject！'
　'Sorry；　my　sweet。'
　'What　I　said　was；　how　could　you　have　been　so　stupid　as　to　let　them　get　away？　I　told　you　that　servant　was　far　too　loyal。　You　can't　trust　someone　like　that。'
　'No；　my　love。'
　'You　didn't　by　any　chance　consider　sending　someone　after　them；　I　suppose？'
　'Bentzen；　my　dear。　And　a　couple　of　guards。'
　'Oh。'　The　duchess　paused。　Bentzen；　as　captain　of　the　duke's　personal　bodyguard；　was　as　efficient　a　killer　as　a　psychotic　mongoose。　He　would　have　been　her　choice。　It　annoyed　her　to　be　temporarily　deprived　of　a　chance　to　fault　her　husband；　but　she　rallied　quite　well。
　'He　wouldn't　have　needed　to　go　out　at　all；　if　only　you'd　listened　to　me。　But　you　never　do。'
　'Do　what；　my　passion？'
　The　duke　yawned。　It　had　been　a　long　night。　There　had　been　a　thunderstorm　of　quite　unnecessarily　dramatic　proportions；　and　then　there　had　been　all　that　messy　business　with　the　knives。
　It　has　already　been　mentioned　that　Duke　Felmet　was　one　step　away　from　the　throne。　The　step　in　question　was　at　the　top　of　the　flight　leading　to　the　Great　Hall；　down　which　King　Verence　had　tumbled　in　the　dark　only　to　land；　against　all　the　laws　of　probability；　on　his　own　dagger。
　It　had；　however；　been　declared　by　his　own　physician　to　be　a　case　of　natural　causes。　Bentzen　had　gone　to　see　the　man　and　explained　that　falling　down　a　flight　of　steps　with　a　dagger　in　your　back　was　a　disease　caused　by　unwise　opening　of　the　mouth。
　In　fact　it　had　already　been　caught　by　several　members　of　the　king's　own　bodyguard　who　had　been　a　little　bit　hard　of　hearing。　There　had　been　a　minor　epidemic。
　The　duke　shuddered。　There　were　details　about　last　night　that　were　both　hazy　and　horrible。
　He　tried　to　reassure　himself　that　all　the　unpleasantness　was　over　now；　and　he　had　a　kingdom。　It　wasn't　much　of　one；　apparently　being　mainly　trees；　but　it　was　a　kingdom　and　it　had　a　crown。
　If　only　they　could　find　it。
　Lancre　Castle　was　built　on　an　outcrop　of　rock　by　an　architect　who　had　heard　about　Gormenghast　but　hadn't　got　the　budget。　He'd　done　his　best；　though；　with　a　tiny　confection　of　cut…price　turrets；　bargain　basements；　buttresses；　crenellations；　gargoyles；　towers；　courtyards；　keeps　and　dungeons；　in　fact；　just　about　everything　a　castle　needs　except　maybe　reasonable　foundations　and　the　kind　of　mortar　that　doesn't　wash　away　in　a　light　shower。
　The　castle　leaned　vertiginously　over　the　racing　white　water　of　the　Lancre　river；　which　boomed　darkly　a　thousand　feet　below。　Every　now　and　again　a　few　bits　fell　in。
　Small　as　it　was；　though；　the　castle　contained　a　thousand　places　to　hide　a　crown。
　The　duchess　swept　out　to　find　someone　else　to　berate；　and　left　Lord　Felmet　looking　gloomily　at　the　landscape。　It　started　to　rain。
　It　was　on　this　cue　that　there　came　a　thunderous　knocking　at　the　castle　door。　It　seriously　disturbed　the　castle　porter；　who　was　playing　Cripple　Mister　Onion　with　the　castle　cook　and　the　castle's　Fool　in　the　warmth　of　the　kitchen。
　He　growled　and　stood　up。　'There　is　a　knocking　without；'　he　said。
　'Without　what？'　said　the　Fool。
　'Without　the　door；　idiot。'
　The　Fool　gave　him　a　worried　look。　'A　knocking　without　a　door？'　he　said　suspiciously。　'This　isn't　some　kind　of　Zen；　is　it？'
　When　the　porter　had　grumbled　off　in　the　direction　of　the　gatehouse　the　cook　pushed　another　farthing　into　the　kitty　and　looked　sharply　over　his　cards　at　the　Fool。
　'What's　a　Zen？'　he　said。
　The　Fool's　bells　tinkled　as　he　sorted　through　his　cards。　Without　thinking；　he　said：　'Oh；　a　sub…sect　of　the　Turnwise　Klatch　philosophical　system　of　Sumtin；　noted　for　its　simple　austerity　and　the　offer　of　personal　tranquillity　and　wholeness　achieved　through　meditation　and　breathing　techniques；　an　interesting　aspect　is　the　asking　of　apparently　nonsensical　questions　in　order　to　widen　the　doors　of　perception。'
　'How's　that　again？'　said　the　cook　suspiciously。　He　was　on　edge。　When　he'd　taken　the　breakfast　up　to　the　Great　Hall　he'd　kept　getting　the　feeling　that　something　was　trying　to　take　the　tray　out　of　his　hands。　And　as　if　that　wasn't　bad　enough；　this　new　duke　had　sent　him　back　for　。　。　。　He　shuddered。　Oatmeal！　And　a　runny　boiled　egg！　The　cook　was　too　old　for　this　sort　of　thing。　He　was　set　in　his　ways。　He　was　a　cook　in　the　real　feudal　tradition。　If　it　didn't　have　an　apple　in　its　mouth　and　you　couldn't　roast　it；　he　didn't　want　to　serve　it。
　The　Fool　hesitated　with　a　card　in　his　hand；　suppressed　his　panic　and　thought　quickly。
　'I'faith；　nuncle；'　he　squeaked；　'thou't　more　full　of　questions　than　a　martlebury　is　of　mizzensails。'
　The　cook　relaxed。
　'Well；　okay；'　he　said；　not　entirely　satisfied。　The　Fool　lost　the　next　three　hands；　just　to　be　on　the　safe　side。
　The　porter；　meanwhile；　unfastened　the　hatch　in　the　wicket　gate　and　peered　out。
　'Who　dost　knock　without？'　he　growled。
　The　soldier；　drenched　and　terrified　though　he　was；　hesitated。
　'Without？　Without　what？'　he　said。
　'If　you're　going　to　bugger　about；　you　can　bloody　well　stay　without　all　day；'　said　the　porter　calmly。
　'No！　I　must　see　the　duke　upon　the　instant！'　shouted　the　guard。　'Witches　are　abroad！'
　The　porter　was　about　to　e　back　with；　'Good　time　of　year　for　it'；　or　'Wish　I　was；　too'；　but　stopped　when　he　saw　the　man's　face。　It　wasn't　the　face　of　a　man　who　would　enter　into　the　spirit　of　the　thing。　It　was　the　look　of　someone　who　had　seen　things　a　decent　man　shouldn't　wot　of　。　。　。
　
　'Witches？'　said　Lord　Felmet。　'Witches！'　said　the　duchess。
　I