[ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]
The tunnel, he discovered, was now about as secret as Cardegoss s main street,
and had guards on both ends, and locked doors. His attempt at bribery won him
shoves and curses, and the threat of another beating.
Some assassin I am
, he thought bitterly, as he reeled into his bedchamber as dusk descended, and
fell groaning into his bed. Head pounding, body aching, he lay still for a
time, then at last roused himself enough to light a candle. He ought to go
upstairs, and check on his ladies, but he didn t think he could bear the
weeping. Or the reporting of his failure to Betriz, or what she would demand
of him after that. If he could not kill Dondo, what right had he to try to
thwart her effort?
I would gladly die, if only I could stop this abomination tomorrow . . .
Do you mean that?
He sat stiffly, wondering if that last voice was quite his own. His tongue had
moved a little behind his lips, as usual for when he was babbling to himself.
Yes.
He lurched around to the end of his bed, fell to his knees, and flipped open
the lid of his trunk. He dived down amongst the folded garments, scented with
cloves as proof against moths, until he came to a black velvet vest-cloak
folded around a brown wool robe. Folded around a ciphered notebook that he had
never finished deciphering when the crooked judge had fled Valenda, that it
had seemed too late to return to the Temple without embarrassing explanations.
Feverishly, he drew it out, and lit more candles.
There s not much time left
. About a third of it was left untranslated.
Forget all the failed experiments. Go to the last page, eh?
Even in the bad cipher, the wool merchant s despair came through, in a kind of
strange shining simplicity. Eschewing all his previous bizarre elaborations,
he had turned at the last not to magic, but to plain prayer. Rat and crow only
Page 102
ABC Amber Palm Converter, http://www.processtext.com/abcpalm.html
to carry the plea, candles only to light his way, herbs only to lift his heart
with their scents, and compose his mind to purity of will; a will then put
aside, laid wholehearted on the god s altar.
Help me. Help me. Help me.
Those were the last words entered in the notebook.
I can do that, thought Cazaril in wonder.
And if he failed . . . there would still be Betriz and her knife.
I will not fail. I ve failed practically everything else in my life. I will
not fail death.
He slipped the book under his pillow, locked his door behind him, and went to
find a page.
The sleepy boy he selected was waiting in the corridor upon the pleasure of
the lords and ladies at their dinner in Orico s banqueting hall, where
Iselle s nonappearance was doubtless the subject of much gossip, not even kept
to a whisper since none of the principals were present. Dondo roistered
privately in his palace with his hangers-on; Orico still cowered out in the
woods.
He fished a gold royal from his purse and held it up, smiling through the O of
his thumb and finger.
Hey, boy. Would you like to earn a royal?
The Zangre pages had learned to be wary; a royal was enough to buy some truly
intimate services from those who sold such. And enough to be a caution, to
those who didn t care to play those games.
Doing what, my lord?
Catch me a rat.
A rat, my lord? Why?
Ah. Why.
Why, so that I can work the crime of death magic upon the second most powerful
lord in Chalion, of course!
No.
Cazaril leaned his shoulders against the wall, and smiled down confidingly.
When I was in the fortress of Gotorget, during the siege three years ago did
you know I was its commander? until my brave general sold it out from under
us, that is we learned to eat rats. Tasty little things, if you could catch
enough of them. I really miss the flavor of a good, candle-roasted rat haunch.
Catch me a really big, fat one, and there will be another to match this.
Cazaril dropped the coin in the page s hand, and licked his lips, wondering
how crazed he looked right now. The page was edging farther from him. You
know where my chamber is?
Yes, m lord?
Bring it there. In a bag. Quick as you can. I m hungry. Cazaril lurched off,
laughing. Really laughing, not feigning it. A weird, wild exhilaration filled
his heart.
It lasted until he reached his bedchamber again and sat to plan the rest of
his ploy, his dark prayer, his suicide. It was night; the crow would not fly [ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]
zanotowane.pl doc.pisz.pl pdf.pisz.pl szkicerysunki.xlx.pl
The tunnel, he discovered, was now about as secret as Cardegoss s main street,
and had guards on both ends, and locked doors. His attempt at bribery won him
shoves and curses, and the threat of another beating.
Some assassin I am
, he thought bitterly, as he reeled into his bedchamber as dusk descended, and
fell groaning into his bed. Head pounding, body aching, he lay still for a
time, then at last roused himself enough to light a candle. He ought to go
upstairs, and check on his ladies, but he didn t think he could bear the
weeping. Or the reporting of his failure to Betriz, or what she would demand
of him after that. If he could not kill Dondo, what right had he to try to
thwart her effort?
I would gladly die, if only I could stop this abomination tomorrow . . .
Do you mean that?
He sat stiffly, wondering if that last voice was quite his own. His tongue had
moved a little behind his lips, as usual for when he was babbling to himself.
Yes.
He lurched around to the end of his bed, fell to his knees, and flipped open
the lid of his trunk. He dived down amongst the folded garments, scented with
cloves as proof against moths, until he came to a black velvet vest-cloak
folded around a brown wool robe. Folded around a ciphered notebook that he had
never finished deciphering when the crooked judge had fled Valenda, that it
had seemed too late to return to the Temple without embarrassing explanations.
Feverishly, he drew it out, and lit more candles.
There s not much time left
. About a third of it was left untranslated.
Forget all the failed experiments. Go to the last page, eh?
Even in the bad cipher, the wool merchant s despair came through, in a kind of
strange shining simplicity. Eschewing all his previous bizarre elaborations,
he had turned at the last not to magic, but to plain prayer. Rat and crow only
Page 102
ABC Amber Palm Converter, http://www.processtext.com/abcpalm.html
to carry the plea, candles only to light his way, herbs only to lift his heart
with their scents, and compose his mind to purity of will; a will then put
aside, laid wholehearted on the god s altar.
Help me. Help me. Help me.
Those were the last words entered in the notebook.
I can do that, thought Cazaril in wonder.
And if he failed . . . there would still be Betriz and her knife.
I will not fail. I ve failed practically everything else in my life. I will
not fail death.
He slipped the book under his pillow, locked his door behind him, and went to
find a page.
The sleepy boy he selected was waiting in the corridor upon the pleasure of
the lords and ladies at their dinner in Orico s banqueting hall, where
Iselle s nonappearance was doubtless the subject of much gossip, not even kept
to a whisper since none of the principals were present. Dondo roistered
privately in his palace with his hangers-on; Orico still cowered out in the
woods.
He fished a gold royal from his purse and held it up, smiling through the O of
his thumb and finger.
Hey, boy. Would you like to earn a royal?
The Zangre pages had learned to be wary; a royal was enough to buy some truly
intimate services from those who sold such. And enough to be a caution, to
those who didn t care to play those games.
Doing what, my lord?
Catch me a rat.
A rat, my lord? Why?
Ah. Why.
Why, so that I can work the crime of death magic upon the second most powerful
lord in Chalion, of course!
No.
Cazaril leaned his shoulders against the wall, and smiled down confidingly.
When I was in the fortress of Gotorget, during the siege three years ago did
you know I was its commander? until my brave general sold it out from under
us, that is we learned to eat rats. Tasty little things, if you could catch
enough of them. I really miss the flavor of a good, candle-roasted rat haunch.
Catch me a really big, fat one, and there will be another to match this.
Cazaril dropped the coin in the page s hand, and licked his lips, wondering
how crazed he looked right now. The page was edging farther from him. You
know where my chamber is?
Yes, m lord?
Bring it there. In a bag. Quick as you can. I m hungry. Cazaril lurched off,
laughing. Really laughing, not feigning it. A weird, wild exhilaration filled
his heart.
It lasted until he reached his bedchamber again and sat to plan the rest of
his ploy, his dark prayer, his suicide. It was night; the crow would not fly [ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]