按键盘上方向键 ← 或 → 可快速上下翻页，按键盘上的 Enter 键可回到本书目录页，按键盘上方向键 ↑ 可回到本页顶部！
————未阅读完？加入书签已便下次继续阅读！
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。