rj.acrownofswords-第81节

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e　a　gaggle　of　uncles；　though　certainly　the　sort　no　mother　would　want　near　her　son。
　　　〃He'll　live；〃　Mat　said　dryly。　The　boy　was　probably　picking　up　these　habits　from　his　〃uncles。〃　Next；　they　would　give　him　a　tattoo。　At　least　Olver　had　not　sneaked　out　to　run　with　the　street　children；　he　seemed　to　enjoy　that　almost　as　much　as　he　did　making　himself　a　nuisance　to　grown　women。　〃Harnan；　you　wait　here；　and　if　you　see　Thom　or　Juilin；　collar　them。　Vanin；　I　want　you　to　see　what　you　can　learn　around　the　Chelsaine　Palace；　over　near　the　Three　Towers　Gate。〃　Hesitating；　he　looked　over　the　room。　Serving　women　drifted　in　and　out　of　the　kitchens　with　food　and；　more　often；　drink。　Most　of　the　patrons　seemed　intent　on　their　silver　cups；　though　a　pair　of　women　in　weaver's　vests　argued　quietly；　ignoring　their　wine　punch　and　leaning　across　the　table　at　one　another。　Some　of　the　merchants　appeared　to　be　haggling；　waving　hands　and　dipping　fingers　in　their　drinks　to　scribble　numbers　on　the　table。　The　music　should　mask　his　words　from　eavesdroppers；　but　he　lowered　his　voice　anyway。
　　　News　that　Jaichim　Carridin　had　Darkfriends　ing　to　call　screwed　Vanin's　round　face　into　a　scowl；　as　if　he　might　spit　no　matter　who　saw。　Harnan　muttered　something　about　filthy　Whitecloaks；　and　Corevin　suggested　denouncing　Carridin　to　the　Civil　Guard。　That　got　such　disgusted　looks　from　the　other　two　that　he　buried　his　face　in　a　cup　of　ale。　He　was　one　of　the　few　men　Mat　knew　who　could　drink　Ebou　Dari　ale　in　this　heat。　Or　drink　it　at　all；　for　that　matter。
　　　〃Be　careful；〃　Mat　warned　when　Vanin　stood。　It　was　not　that　he　was　worried；　really。　Vanin　moved　ith　surprising　lightness　for　such　a　fat　man。　He　was　the　best　horsethief　in　two　countries　at　the　least；　and　could　slip　by　even　a　Warder　unseen；　but。。。　〃They're　a　nasty　lot。　Whitecloaks　or　Darkfriends；　either　one。〃　The　man　only　grunted　and　motioned　for　Corevin　to　gather　his　shirt　and　coat　and　e　along。
　　　〃My　Lord？〃　Harnan　said　as　they　left。　〃My　Lord；　I　heard　there　was　a　fog　in　the　Rahad　yesterday。〃
　　　On　the　point　of　turning　away；　Mat　stopped。　Harnan　looked　worried；　and　nothing　much　worried　him。　〃What　do　you　mean；　a　fog？〃　In　this　heat；　fog　thick　as　porridge　would　not　last　a　heartbeat。
　　　The　file　leader　shrugged　unfortably　and　peered　into　his　mug。　〃A　fog。　I　heard　there　was。。。　things。。。　in　it。〃　He　looked　up　at　Mat。　〃I　heard　people　just　disappeared。　And　some　was　found　eaten；　parts　of　them。〃
　　　Mat　managed　not　to　shiver。　〃The　fog's　gone；　isn't　it？　You　weren't　in　it。　Worry　when　you　are。　That's　all　you　can　do。〃　Harnan　frowned　doubtfully；　but　that　was　the　pure　truth。　These　bubbles　of　evil　…　that　was　what　Rand　called　them；　what　Moiraine　had　…　burst　where　and　when　they　chose；　and　there　did　not　seem　to　be　anything　even　Rand　could　do　to　stop　them。　Worrying　about　it　did　as　much　good　as　worrying　whether　a　roof　tile　would　fall　on　your　head　in　the　street　tomorrow。　Less；　since　you　could　decide　to　stay　indoors。
　　　There　was　something　that　was　worth　worrying　over；　though。　Nalesean　had　left　their　winnings　sitting　upstairs。　Bloody　nobles　tossed　gold　around　like　water。　Leaving　Harnan　studying　his　mug；　Mat　headed　for　the　railless　stairs　at　the　back　of　the　room；　but　before　he　reached　them；　one　of　the　serving　women　accosted　him。
　　　Caira　was　a　slender；　full…lipped　girl　with　smoky　eyes。　〃A　man　came　in　looking　for　you；　my　Lord；〃　she　said；　twisting　her　skirts　from　side　to　side　and　looking　up　at　him　through　long　lashes。　There　was　a　certain　smokiness　in　her　voice；　too。　〃Said　he　was　an　Illuminator；　but　he　looked　seedy　to　me。　He　ordered　a　meal；　and　left　when　Mistress　Anan　wouldn't　give　it。　He　wanted　you　to　pay。〃
　　　〃Next　time；　pigeon；　give　the　meal；〃　he　told　her；　slipping　a　silver　mark　into　the　plunging　neck　of　her　dress。　〃I'll　speak　to　Mistress　Anan。〃　He　did　want　to　find　an　Illuminator　…　a　real　one；　not　some　fellow　selling　fireworks　full　of　sawdust　…　but　it　hardly　mattered　now。　Not　with　the　gold　lying　unguarded。　And　fogs　in　the　Rahad；　and　Darkfriends；　and　Aes　Sedai；　and　bloody　Tylin　taking　leave　of　her　senses；　and。。。
　　　Caira　giggled　and　twisted　like　a　stroked　cat　〃Would　you　like　me　to　bring　some　punch　to　your　room；　my　Lord？　Or　anything？〃　She　smiled　hopefully；　invitingly。
　　　〃Maybe　later；〃　he　said；　tapping　her　nose　with　a　fingertip。　She　giggled　again；　she　always　did。　Caira　would　have　her　skirt　sewn　to　show　petticoats　to　the　middle　of　her　thigh　or　higher　had　Mistress　Anan　allowed　it；　but　the　innkeeper　looked　after　her　serving　women　almost　as　closely　as　she　did　her　daughters。　Almost。　〃Maybe　later。〃
　　　Trotting　up　the　wide　stone　stairs；　he　put　Caira　out　of　his　mind。　What　was　he　to　do　about　Olver？　The　boy　would　find　himself　in　real　trouble　one　day　if　he　thought　he　could　treat　women　that　way。　He　was　going　to　have　to　keep　him　away　from　Harnan　and　the　others　as　much　as　possible；　he　supposed。　They　were　a　bad　influence　on　a　boy。　To　have　this　on　top　of　everything　else！　He　had　to　get　Nynaeve　and　Elayne　out　of　Ebou　Dar　before　something　worse　went　wrong。
　　　His　room　was　at　the　front；　with　windows　overlooking　the　square；　and　as　he　reached　for　the　door；　the　hallway　floor　behind　him　squeaked。　In　a　hundred　inns；　it　would　not　even　have　registered；　but　the　floors　in　The　Wandering　Woman　did　not　squeak。
　　　He　looked　back　…　and　spun　just　in　time　to　drop　his　hat　and　catch　the　descending　truncheon　with　his　left　hand　instead　of　his　skull。　The　blow　stung　his　hand　to　numbness；　but　he　held　on　desperately　as　thick　fingers　dug　into　his　throat；　forcing　him　back　against　the　door　to　his　room。　His　head　hit　with　a　thump。　Silver…rimmed　black　spots　danced　in　his　vision；　obscuring　a　sweating　face。　All　he　could　really　see　was　a　big　nose　and　yellow　teeth；　and　those　seemed　hazy。　Suddenly　he　realized　he　was　on　the　far　edge　of　consciousness；　those　fingers　were　closing　off　blood　to　his　brain　along　with　air。　His　free　hand　went　beneath　his　coat；　fumbling　over　the　hilts　of　his　knives　as　though　his　fingers　no　longer　remembered　what　they　were　for。　The　cudgel　wrenched　free。　He　could　see　it　rising；　feel　it　rising　to　smash　his　skull。　Focusing　everything；　he　jerked　a　knife　from　its　scabbard　and　thrust。
　　　His　attacker　let　out　a　high…pitched　scream；　and　Mat　was　vaguely　aware　of　the　club　bouncing　off　his　shoulder　as　it　fell　to　the　floor；　but　the　man　did　not　let　go　of　his　throat。　Stumbling；　Mat　drove　him　back；　tearing　at　the　clutching　fingers　with　one　hand；　driving　his　knife　repeatedly　with　the　other。
　　　Abruptly　the　fellow　fell；　sliding　from　Mat's　blade。　The　knife　nearly　followed　him　to　the　floor。　So　did　Mat。　Gulping　breath；　sweet　air；　he　clung　to　something；　a　doorway；　to　hold　himself　on　his　feet。　From　the　floor　a　plain…faced　man　stared　up　at　him　with　eyes　that　would　never　see　anything　again；　a　heavyset　fellow　with　curled　Murandian　mustaches；　in　a　dark　blue　coat　fit　for　a　small　merchant　or　a　prosperous　shopkeeper。　Not　the　look　of　a　thief　about　him　at　all。
　　　Abruptly　he　realized　they　had　stumbled　through　an　open　door　in　their　fight。　It　was　a　smaller　room　than　Mat's；　windowless；　a　pair　of　oil　lamps　on　small　tables　beside　the　narrow　bed　providing　a　murky　illumination。　A　lanky；　pale…haired　man　straightened　from　a　large　open　chest；　staring　oddly　at　the　corpse。　The　chest　took　up　most　of　the　free　space　in　the　room。
　　　Mat　opened　his　mouth　to　apologize　for　intruding　so　roughly；　and　the　lanky　man　snatched　a　long　dagger　from　his　belt；　a　cudgel　from　the　bed；　and　leaped　over　the　chest　at　him；　That　had　not　been　the　look　you　gave　a　dead　stranger。　Clinging　unsteadily　to　the　doorframe；　Mat　threw　underhanded；　the　hilt　no　sooner　leaving　his　hand　than　he　was　scrabbling　under　his　coat　for　another。　His　knife　stuck　squarely　in　the　other　man's　throat；　and　Mat　almost　fell　again；　this　time　from　relief；　as　the　man　clutched　himself；　blood　spurting　between　his　fingers；　and　toppled　backward　into　the　open　chest。
　　　〃It's　good　to　be　lucky；〃　Mat　croaked。
　　　Staggering；　he　retrieved　his　knife；　wiping　it　clean　on　the　fellow's　gray　coat。　A　better　coat　than　the　other；　still　wool；　but　of　a　better　cut。　A　lesser　lord　would　not　have　been　ashamed　to　wear　it。　Andoran；　by　the　collar。　He　sank　onto　the　bed；　frowning　at　the　man　sprawled　in　the　chest。　A　noise　made　him　look　up。
　　　His　manservant　was　in　the　doorway；　trying　unsuccessfully　to　hide　a　large　black　iron　frying　pan　behind　his　back。　Nerim　kept　a　full　set　of　pots；　and　everything　else　he　thought　a　lord's　servant　might　need　traveling；　in　the　small　room　he　shared　with　Olver　next　to　Mat's。　He　was　short　even　for　a　Cairhienin；　and　skinny　to　boot。　〃My　Lord　has　blood　on　his　coat　again；　I　fear；〃　he　murmured　in　melancholy　tones。　The　day　he　sounded　anything　else；　the　sun　would　rise　in　the　west　〃I　do　wish　my　Lord　would　be　more　careful　of　his　clothes。　It　is　so　hard　to　remove　blood　without　a　stain；　and　the　insects　hardly　need　any　encouragement　to　eat　holes。　This　place　has　more　insects　than　I　have　ever　seen；　my　Lord。〃　No　mention　at　all　of　two　dead　men；　or　what　he　had　intended　with　the　frying　pan。
　　　That　scream　had　drawn　other　attention；　The　Wandering　Woman　was　not　the　sort　of　inn　where　screams　passed　unremarked。　Feet　pounded　in　the　hallway；　and　Mistress　Anan　pushed　Nerim　firmly　out　of　her　way　and　raised　her　skirts　to　step　around　the　corpse　on