tw.togreenangeltower2-第71节

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ng。。。。
　　　　　　　Domitis　was　curled　on　a　ragged　blanket　behind　the　altar；　snoring　softly。　In　repose；　the　loose　skin　of　his　face　seemed　even　more　formless；　sagging　into　long　folds　so　that　he　seemed　to　wear　a　mask　of　melted　candlewax。　Miriamele　shuddered　and　hurried　back　to　her　chair；　but　after　a　few　moments　even　that　began　to　feel　too　exposed。　The　room　was　still　full　of　silent　figures；　but　it　was　not　difficult　to　imagine　that　they　were　only　feigning　sleep；　waiting　to　be　sure　her　panion　was　not　returning　before　they　rose　and　came　toward　her。。。。
　　　　　　　Miriamele　waited　for　what　seemed　a　long　time。　The　forechamber　was　colder　even　than　the　broken…domed　chapel；　but　escape　was　within　reach　at　a　moment's　notice。　A　little　of　the　night　wind　slipped　through　the　partially　open　door；　which　made　her　feel　closer　to　freedom　and　hence　a　great　deal　safer；　but　she　still　jumped　when　the　door　hinges　screeched。
　　　　　　　〃Ah；〃　said　Binabik；　slipping　inside；　〃it　is　still　raining　with　great　forcefulness。〃　He　shook　water　onto　the　stone　floor。
〃Bishop　Domitis　has　gone　to　sleep　behind　the　altar。　Binabik；　where　did　you　go？〃
　　　　　　　'To　take　your　horse　back　to　where　Homefmder　and　Qantaqa　wait。　Even　if　we　are　not　finding　what　we　seek　here；　we　can　easily　travel　through　the　town　by　walking。　But　if　we　find　a　tunnel…entering…place；　I　am　fearing　that　we　would　e　back　at　a　later　time　to　find　your　horse　as　part　of　some　hungry　person's　soup。〃
　　　　　　　Miriamele　had　not　thought　of　that；　but　she　did　not　doubt　that　he　was　right。　〃I'm　glad　you　did　it。　Now　what　should　we　do？〃
　　　　　　　〃Go　hunting　for　our　tunnel；〃　said　Binabik。
　　　　　　　〃When　Bishop　Domitis　was　talking　about　the　catabs；　he　kept　looking　over　to　the　back　of　the　cathedral；　that　wall　behind　the　altar。〃
　　　　　　　〃Hmmrn。〃　The　troll　nodded。　〃You　are　wise　for　noticing　and　remembering。　That　is；　I　am　thinking；　the　first　place　we　should　search。〃
　　　　　　　〃We　have　to　be　quiet…we　don't　want　to　wake　him　up。〃
〃Like　snow…mice　we　will　be；　our　pads　whispering　on　the　white　crust。〃　Binabik　squeezed　her　hand。
　　　　　　　Her　worries　about　the　slumbering　Domitis　were　unfounded。　The　old　man　was　snoring　thinly　but　emphatically；　and　did　not　even　twitch　as　they　padded　by。　The　great　wall　behind　the　altar；　which　had　once　been　covered　in　a　tiled　representation　of　Saint　Sutrin's　martyrdom；　was　now　only　crumbling　mortar　witfi　a　few　remaining　spots　of　ceramic　color。　At　one　end　of　the　wall；　tucked　behind　a　rotting　velvet　drapery；　stood　a　low　door。　Binabik　gave　it　a　tug　and　it　opened　easily；　as　though　it　had　been　used　with　some　frequency。　The　troll　peered　inside；　then　turned。　〃Let　us　be　taking　some　candles；〃　he　murmured。　〃That　way　we　can　be　saving　the　torches　in　our　packs　for　a　later　time。〃
　　　　　　　Miriamele　went　back　and　plucked　two　of　the　candles　from　the　sconces。　She　felt　a　little　shame；　since　Domitis　had　been　kind　to　them　in　his　own　strange　way；　but　she　reasoned　that　their　greater　goal　outweighed　the　sin　of　theft；　and　would　benefit　the　bishop　as　well…maybe　one　day　he　would　even　see　his　beloved　cathedral　rebuilt。　She　could　not　help　wondering　if　the　ravens　would　be　wele　then。　She　hoped　not。
　　　　　　　Each　holding　a　candle；　Miriamele　and　Binabik　went　carefully　down　the　narrow　staircase。　Centuries　of　human　traffic　had　worn　a　groove　like　a　dry　river　bed　in　the　center　of　the　stone　steps。　They　stepped　off　the　stairs　into　the　low…ceilinged　catabs　and　stopped　to　look　around。　The　walls　on　either　side　were　honeybed　with　niches；　each　containing　a　silent　stone　effigy　of　a　figure　in　repose；　most　wearing　the　robes　and　other　symbols　of　church　office。　But　for　these；　the　narrow　halls　seemed　entirely　empty。
　　　　　　　Binabik　pointed　at　one　turning　that　seemed　less　traveled。　〃This　way；　I　am　thinking。〃
　　　　　　　Miriamele　peered　down　the　shadowy　tunnel。　The　pale　plaster　walls　were　unmarked；　no　would…be　saints　lay　here；　it　seemed。　She　took　a　deep　breath。　〃Let's　go。〃

　　　　　　　In　the　cathedral　above；　a　pair　of　ravens　dropped　down　from　the　ceiling　and；　after　circling　briefly；　settled　on　the　altar。　They　stood　side　by　side；　bright　eyes　glaring　at　the　door　to　the　catabs。　Nor　were　they　the　only　observers。　A　figure　detached　itself　from　the　shadows　along　the　wall　and　crept　silently　across　the　cathedral。　It　moved　past　the　altar；　stepping　just　as　carefully　as　had　Miriamele　and　the　troll；　then　paused　for　a　while　outside　the　vault　door　as　though　listening。　When　a　short　time　had　passed；　the　dark　shape　slipped　through　the　doorway　and　went　pattering　quietly　down　the　stairs。
　　　　　　　After　that；　nothing　was　heard　in　the　dark　cathedral　but　the　bishop's　even　snoring　and　the　faint　rustle　of　wings。

16
Roots　of　the　White　Tree

　　　　　　　Simon　stared　at　the　amazing　thing　for　a　long　time。　He　took　a　step　closer；　then　danced　back　nervously。　How　could　it　be？　It　must　be　a　dream…picture；　like　so　many　other　illusions　in　these　endless　tunnels。
　　　　　　　He　rubbed　his　eyes　and　then　opened　them　again：　the　plate　still　stood　in　the　niche　by　the　stair　landing；　chest…high。　On　it；　arranged　as　prettily　as　at　a　royal　banquet；　was　a　small　green　apple；　an　onion；　and　a　heel　of　bread。　An　unadorned　bowl　with　a　cover　stood　beside　it。
　　　　　　　Simon　shrank　back；　looking　wildly　from　side　to　side。　Who　would　do　such　a　thing？　What　would　make　someone　leave　a　perfectly　good　supper　in　the　middle　of　an　empty　stairwell　in　the　depths　of　the　earth？　He　raised　his　guttering　torch　to　inspect　the　magical　offering　once　more。
　　　　　　　It　was　hard　to　believe…no；　it　was　impossible。　He　had　been　wandering　for　hours　since　leaving　the　great　pool；　trying　to　stay　on　an　upward　course　but　not　at　all　sure　that　the　curving　bridges；　downsloping　corridors；　and　oddly…constructed　stairways　were　not　taking　him　even　further　into　the　earth；　no　matter　how　many　steps　he　climbed。　All　that　time　the　flame　of　his　torch　had　been　growing　fainter；　until　it　was　little　more　than　a　wisp　of　blue　and　yellow　which　might　be　blown　out　by　any　errant　breeze。　He　had　all　but　convinced　himself　that　he　would　be　lost　forever；　that　he　would　starve　and　die　in　darkness…and　then　he　had　found　this　。。。　this　miracle。
　　　　　　　It　was　not　just　the　food　itself；　although　the　sight　of　it　filled　his　mouth　with　saliva　and　made　his　fingers　twitch。　No；　it　meant　there　must　be　people　somewhere　nearby；　and　likely　light　and　fresh　air　as　well。　Even　the　walls；　which　were　rough…cobbled　human　work；　spoke　of　the　surface；　of　escape。　He　was　as　good　as　saved！
　　　　　　　Hold　a　moment。　He　caught　himself　with　hand　outstretched；　almost　touching　the　skin　of　the　apple。　What　if　it's　a　trap？　What　if　they　know　someone　is　down　here；　and　they're　trying　to　lure　him　out？
　　　　　　　But　who　would　〃they〃　be？　No　one　could　know　he　was　down　here　but　his　friends　and　the　bestial　diggers　and　the　shadowy　ghosts　of　the　Sithi　in　their　dream…castle。　No；　someone　had　brought　supper　down　here；　then　for　some　reason　had　walked　away；　forgetting　it。
　　　　　　　If　it　was　even　real。
　　　　　　　Simon　reached；　ready　for　the　food　to　vanish；　to　turn　to　dust　。。。　but　it　did　not。　His　hand　closed　on　the　apple。　It　was　hard　beneath　his　fingers。　He　snatched　it　up；　sniffed　it　briefly…what　did　poison　smell　like；　anyway？…and　then　took　a　bite。
　　　　　　　Thank　you；　merciful　Usires。　Thank　you。
　　　　　　　It　was　。。。　wonderful。　The　fruit　was　far　from　ripe；　the　juice　tan；　even　sour；　but　it　felt　like　he　held　the　living　green　earth　in　his　hand　again；　that　the　life　of　the　sun　and　wind　and　rain　was　crisping　between　his　teeth　and　tongue；　running　down　his　throat。　For　a　moment　he　forgot　all　else；　savoring　the　glory　of　it。
　　　　　　　He　lifted　the　cover　from　the　bowl；　sniffed　to　make　sure　it　was　water；　then　drank　it　down　in　thirsty　gulps。　When　the　bowl　was　empty；　he　grabbed　the　plate　of　food　and　darted　back　down　the　corridor；　searching　for　a　place　to　hide　and　eat　in　safety。
　　　　　　　Simon　fought　with　himself　to　make　the　apple　last；　even　though　each　bite　seemed　like　a　year　of　his　life　given　back　to　him。　When　he　had　finished　it；　and　had　licked　every　bit　of　juice　from　his　fingers；　he　stared　longingly　at　the　bread　and　onion。　With　masterful　self…control；　he　tucked　them　both　into　the　pockets　of　his　breeches。　Even　if　he　found　his　way　back　to　the　surface；　even　if　he　was　near　some　place　where　people　were；　there　was　no　guarantee　he　would　be　fed。　If　he　came　up　within　Erchester　or　one　of　the　small　villages　along　the　Kynslagh；　he　might　find　a　place　to　hide　and　even　some　allies；　if　he　came　up　in　the　Hayholt；　all　hands　might　be　turned　against　him。　And　if　he　was　wrong　about　what　the　plate　signified…well；　he　would　be　grateful　to　have　the　rest　of　the　meal　when　the　thrilling　effect　of　an　entire　apple　wore　off。
　　　　　　　He　picked　up　the　torch…it　was　even　dimmer　now；　the　flames　a　transparent　azure…and　stepped　back　out　into　the　corridor；　then　paced　forward　until　he　reached　the　branching　place。　A　chill　passed　through　him。　Which　way　had　he　turned？　He　had　been　in　such　a　hurry　to　put　distance　between　himself　and　anyone　who　might　return　for　the　food　that　he　had　acted　without　his　normal　care。　Had　he　turned　left；　as　he　should　have？　Somehow　that　did　not　seem　correct。
　　　　　　　Still；　he　could　do　nothing　but　trust　to　the　way　he　had　done　it　so　far。　He　took　the　rightward　branching。　Within　moments；　he　became　convinced　that　he　had　chosen　wrongly：　this　way　led　down。　He　retraced　his　steps　and　took　another　of　the　corridors；　but　this　on