fs.thesecondbookofswords-第22节

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。　Like　the　others　working　here　he　looked　thin　and　vaguely　unhealthy。
　　　Here　was　another　client；　a　man；　recently　infected　with　one　worm；　or　several；　and　now　crying　out　with　the　full　sensation。　His　trembling　hands　went　scratching　back　and　forth；　all　ten　fingernails　working　on　the　skin　over　his　left　ribs。　The　worms　followed　the　paths　of　nerve…tissue　in　their　hosts；　inducing　pleasure　in　exchange　for　food　and　shelter　inside　a　mammalian　body。　Sometimes　the　pleasure　shaded　into　unendurable　tickling；　hence　the　work　for　fingernails　and　bs。　Mark　had　even　heard　once　that　the　worms　were　used　in　Red　Temple　dungeons　as　tools　of　torture；　with　the　victims　simply　infected　and　kept　from　scratching。
　　　On　succeeding　couches；　people　tossed　and　scratched　and　moaned。　Attendants　were　at　work　on　some　of　them　with　bs。　As　he　got　farther　toward　the　rear　of　the　room；　Mark　decided　that　it　was　probably　arranged　by　classes　of　addicts；　with　beginners　or　occasional　users　near　the　front；　those　more　enslaved　by　the　habit　near　the　middle。　In　the　dimmer　reaches　of　the　rear；　where　Mark　and　his　panions　now　walked　among　them；　were　people　who　by　appearances　never　left　their　cots　at　all。　The　bodies　back　here　tended　to　look　starved　and　wasted；　marked　with　old　scars　and　not…so…old　dried　blood。　Here　attendants　gave　less　attention。　Sometimes　…　inevitably；　Mark　had　heard　…　the　worms　turned　inward　from　the　skin　toward　the　spinal　column　and　the　brain。
　　　In　the　room's　farthest　recess　was　an　inconspicuous　door。　It　would　be　the　way　out；　thought　Mark；　for　customers　who　could　either　not　continue　paying　or　not　walk。　The　Sword　led　Doon　directly　to　this　door。　It　was　not　locked；　and　swung　open　at　a　touch；　revealing　a　dim　passage。　In　a　side　room　off　this　passage；　another　attendant　moving　amid　trays　and　racks　of　earth　looked　up　in　dim　candlelight　as　six　armed　men　came　tramping　through。　But　he　made　no　protest　or　even　ment。
　　　The　service　corridor　soon　branched。　Wayfinder　chose　the　left…hand　way；　which　quickly　ran　into　a　strong　grill…work　door；　tightly　closed　and　probably　locked。　Beyond　the　door；　a　red…helmeted　soldier　was　on　guard；　and　beyond　the　guard　Mark　could　see　what　looked　like　the　doors　of　individual　cells　lining　the　corridor。
　　　〃Open　up；〃　manded　Doon；　rattling　briskly　at　the　grill。
　　　But　the　soldier　was　not　in　a　mood　to　be　intimidated。　〃No　passage　through　here　without　a　written　order。　What　do　you　want　in　here；　anyway？　You　field　troops　think　you　can　e　in　here　and　have　fun　any　time；　without　any。。。〃
　　　Wayfinder；　still　sheathed　and　belted；　hit　the　floor　stones　with　a　muffled　thud。　It　had　been　replaced　in　Doon's　right　hand　with　a　dagger；　handier　tool　for　such　close　work。　Meanwhile　Doon's　thin　left　arm　had　snaked　through　the　grill　to　seize　the　guard　by　the　front　of　his　garments　and　snatch　him　sharply　forward。　Instantly　the　Baron's　right　hand　shoved　the　dagger　home；　up　beneath　the　breastbone。　The　soldier's　eyes　bulged；　then　glazed。　If　he　made　a　sound　at　all；　it　was　too　faint　to　be　heard　over　the　now…distant　music。
　　　〃Keys；〃　said　Doon　laconically；　supporting　his　victim　against　the　grill。　The　man　was　wearing　a　ring　of　them　on　his　belt。
　　　Mark　reached　in　through　the　bars；　detached　the　keys；　and　brought　them　out。　One　part　of　his　mind　was　protesting　that　this　had　been　cold　murder；　while　another　part　exulted　in　the　triumph；　the　demonstration　of　Doon's　proficiency。　War　required　capable　leaders；　and　this　was　war；　a　part　of　Sir　Andrew's　fight　against　the　Dark　King　and　the　cruel　Silver　Queen。　This　robbery　was　meant　as　a　stroke　of　war　against　the　allies　of　Sir　Andrew's　foes；　the　Temples　Red　and　Blue。
　　　The　grill…door　was　opened；　and　the　dead　man　propped　sitting　in　a　corner；　his　presence　made　as　inconspicuous　as　possible　in　the　restricted　space。　Apparently　none　of　the　other　Temple　people　had　noticed　anything　wrong　as　yet。　The　music　went　on　as　before；　behind　doors　in　the　distance。　Somewhere　nearby；　around　a　corner；　the　clashing　of　pots　and　the　slosh　of　water　told　of　a　kitchen　of　some　kind　functioning。
　　　Bundled　Wayfinder　in　hand　again；　the　Baron　led　his　small　troop　of　armed　men　down　the　corridor　lined　with　cells。　All　of　the　doors　were　closed。　The　Sword　paused。　〃This　one；　here。　Try　the　keys。〃
　　　The　ring　held　six　of　them。　Mark　fumbled　past　one　key　that　did　not　look　meant　to　fit　this　crude　lock；　tried　another　that　looked　as　if　it　might　but　didn't。　The　third　try　was　lucky；　and　the　brass…bound　oaken　door　swung　back。　The　space　behind　it　was　very　dark；　as　one　might　expect　the　interior　of　a　cell　to　be。
　　　Quick　reflexes　ducked　Mark　safely　under　an　onrushing　metal　blur。　He　recognized　the　missile　as　a　brass　chamber　pot；　as　it　clanged　and　spattered　on　the　opposite　wall　of　the　narrow　corridor。
　　　〃Keep　away　from　me！〃　The　voice　ing　out　of　the　dark　cell　was　certainly　a　woman's；　but　forceful　enough　to　have　served　an　infantry　sergeant。　〃You　putrid　collection　of　loadbeast　droppings；　do　you　know　who　I　am？　Do　you　know　what'll　happen　to　you　if　you　touch　me？〃
　　　Doon；　who　had　started　in　at　the　open　door；　recoiled　now；　swearing　by　several　demons；　as　another　missile　of　some　kind　flew　past　his　head。　The　cell's　sole　occupant　was　now　visible　in　the　light　from　the　open　door。　She　was　a　tall　young　woman；　sturdily　built；　her　pale　skin　streaked　with　dirt　and　her　red　hair　matted。　Her　clothing　was　rich；　or　had　been　once；　long　ago　before　it　approached　its　present　state　of　wear　and　dirtiness。　Her　height　overtopped　Doon；　who　now　moved　into　the　cell　again；　by　a　good　measure；　and　indeed　came　within　a　few　centimeters　of　matching　Mark's；　who　was　tallest　of　the　men　present。
　　　Doon；　murmuring　something　no　doubt　meant　either　to　frighten　or　reassure；　took　her　by　the　arm　and　tried　to　tug　her　from　the　cell。　She　would　have　none　of　it；　but　cursed　at　him　again。　Her　white　hands　and　arms；　emerging　from　torn　sleeves；　grabbed　at　him　and　fought　him　off。
　　　The　little　man；　unwilling　to　use　deadly　force；　struggled　ineffectually　in　the　grip　of　the　big　young　woman；　the　big　girl；　really；　Mark　realized；　for　she　was　very　young。　The　Baron's　momentary　predicament　would　perhaps　have　been　ic；　at　some　other　time。　It　was　not；　now。
　　　〃I　am　Ariane！〃　the　girl　was　shouting　at　them　all；　as　Mark　moved　forward　to　try　to　help　his　leader。　Her　cries　had　awakened　an　echoing　clamor　from　some　of　the　other　cells；　so　that　the　corridor　reverberated　with　unintelligible　noise。　The　girl　was　yelling：　〃I　am　the。。。〃
　　　Her　voice　faltered；　at　the　first　instant　when　she　looked　Mark　full　in　the　face。　And　when　it　came　back；　it　was　vastly　changed；　a　dreamer's　whisper　to　match　the　sudden　wonder　in　her　eyes。　〃My　brother；〃　she　breathed。　And　in　the　next　instant　Mark　saw　her　eyes　roll　up。　He　stepped　forward　just　in　time　to　help　Doon　catch　her　slumping　body。　She　apparently　had　fainted。
　　　Doon　was　supporting　her；　but　turning　his　head；　looking　for　his　wizard。　〃Indosuaros；　what。。？〃
　　　〃Not　my　doing；〃　said　the　magician；　incongruous　figure　of　power　against　the　shabby　background。
　　　Doon　was　not　going　to　puzzle　over　it　now。　Leaving　the　girl　to　Mark　to　hold；　he　had　his　Sword　in　hand　again。　〃It　points　us　back　the　way　we　came。。。　bring　her；　and　let's　get　out。〃
　　　Mark；　impeded　by　the　longbow　still　on　his　back；　had　to　struggle　in　the　narrow　corridor　to　carry　the　heavy　girl　along。　Ben　stopped　him　and　wordlessly　relieved　him　of　the　burden。　Without　effort　Ben　hoisted　her　body　over　one　shoulder　and　strode　on。　Long　red　hair；　even　matted　as　it　was；　still　fell　nearly　to　the　floor；　and　strong　white　forearms　dangled。
　　　As　they　tramped　past　the　dead　guard；　his　fixed　eyes　seemed　to　gaze　at　Mark。
Chapter　8
　　　The　Blue　Temple　furnished　itself　elegantly　here　on　the　upper　levels　of　the　central　office；　especially　in　the　chambers　where　the　members　of　the　Inner　Council　met　to　talk　business；　among　themselves　and　with　other　folk　of　parable　importance　in　the　world。　The　clerks　and　administrators　who　worked　on　the　lower　floors　might　have　to　make　do　with　worn　furniture　and　blank　paneled　walls；　but　up　here　there　was　no　stinting　on　slaves　and　fountains；　marble　and　gold；　tapestries　and　entertainment。
　　　Not　that　Radulescu　had　been　provided　with　any　entertainers　to　keep　him　pany　as　he　cooled　his　heels　in　the　High　Priest's　outer　office；　actually　an　anteroom　of　one　of　a　suite　of　offices。　But　he　could　hear　string　music　in　the　distance　somewhere。　He　could　distract　himself；　if　he　liked；　by　getting　up　from　the　luxuriously　padded　couch　from　time　to　time　to　pace　the　floor；　and　gaze　out　of　the　curtained　window。　That　window　overlooked　walls；　and　parapets；　and　some　lesser　towers　belonging　to　folk　of　somewhat　less　importance；　affording　a　clear　view　above　rooftops　all　the　way　to　the　inner　side　of　the　city　walls　themselves。　Those　walls　were　even　higher　…　designedly　so。　They　were　famed　for　their　height　and　strength；　and　this　city　for　its　impregnability　…　indeed；　many　people　believed　that　the　central　hoard　of　the　Blue　Temple　was　concealed　in　some　subterranean　vault　beneath　this　very　building。
　　　Radulescu　of　course　knew　better。　But　only　he；　the　High　Priest；　and　two　or　three　members　of　the　Inner　Council　…　Radulescu　was　not　sure　which　ones　…　were　the　only　people　on　the　surface　of　the　earth　who　knew　with　certainty　where　Benambra's　Gold　was　kept