rj.acrownofswords-第74节

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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　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。