tw.togreenangeltower2-第22部分

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chingly　splendid　moment。　He　felt　her　warmth　all　down　the　length　of　his　body。　She　was　smaller　than　he；　much　smaller：　he　could　wrap　around　her　and　protect　her　like　a　suit　of　armor。　He　thought　he　would　like　to　lie　this　way　forever。
As　the　two　lay　like　nestling　kittens；　Simon　drifted　into　sleep。　The　need　to　keep　a　watch　was　forgotten；　eased　from　his　mind　like　a　leaf　carried　away　by　a　river　current。

　　　　　　　Simon　woke　up　alone。　Miriamele　was　outside　the　way　station；　using　a　leafless　branch　to　groom　her　horse。　When　she　came　in；　they　broke　their　fast　on　bread　and　water。　She　said　nothing　of　the　night　before；　but　Simon　thought　he　detected　a　little　less　brittleness　in　her　manner；　as　though　some　of　her　chill　had　melted　away　while　they　lay　huddled　in　sleep。
　　　　　　　They　traveled　six　more　days　on　me　River　Road；　slowed　by　the　monotonous　rains　that　had　turned　the　broad　track　into　sloppy　mud。　The　weather　was　so　miserable　and　the　road　generally　so　empty　that　Miriamele's　fear　of　discovery　seemed　to　lessen；　although　she　still　kept　her　face　covered　when　they　passed　through　smallish　towns　like　Bregshame　and　Garwynswold。　Nights　they　slept　in　way　stations　or　beneath　the　leaky　roofs　of　roadside　shrines。　As　they　sat　together　each　night　in　the　hour　between　eating　and　sleeping；　Miriamele　told　Simon　stories　of　her　childhood　in　Meremund。　In　return；　he　recounted　his　days　among　the　scullions　and　chambermaids；　but　as　the　nights　passed；　he　spoke　more　and　more　about　his　time　with　Doctor　Morgenes；　of　the　old　man's　good　humor　and　occasionally　fierce　temper；　of　his　contempt　for　those　who　did　not　ask　questions　and　his　delight　in　life's　unexpected　plexity。
　　　　　　　The　night　after　they　passed　through　Garwynswold；　Simon　abruptly　found　himself　in　tears　as　he　related　something　Morgenes　had　once　told　him　about　the　wonders　of　beehives。　Miriamele　stared；　surprised；　as　he　struggled　to　control　himself；　afterward　she　looked　at　him　in　a　strange　way　he　had　not　seen　before；　but　although　his　first　impulse　was　shame；　he　could　not　truthfully　see　anything　contemptuous　in　her　expression。
　　　　　　　〃I　wish　he　had　been　my　father　or　my　grandfather；〃　he　said　later。　They　had　retired　to　their　respective　bedrolls。　Although　Miriamele　was；　as　usual；　an　arm's　length　away；　he　felt　that　she　was　in　some　way　nearer　to　him　than　she　had　been　any　night　since　they　had　kissed。　He　had　held　her　since　then；　of　course；　but　she　had　been　asleep。　Now　she　lay　nearby　in　the　darkness；　and　he　almost　thought　he　felt　some　unspoken　agreement　growing　between　them。　〃He　was　that　kind　to　me。　I　wish　he　was　still　alive。〃
　　　　　　　〃He　was　a　good　man。〃
　　　　　　　〃He　was　more　than　that。　He　was　。。。　He　was　someone　who　did　things　when　they　needed　to　be　done。〃　Simon　felt　a　tightening　in　his　chest；　〃He　died　so　that　Josua　and　I　could　escape。　He　treated　me　like　。。。　like　I　was　his　own。　It's　all　wrong。　He　shouldn't　have　had　to　die。〃
　　　　　　　〃Nobody　should　die；〃　Miriamele　said　slowly。　〃Especially　while　they're　still　alive。〃
　　　　　　　Simon　lay　in　silence　for　a　moment；　confused。　Before　he　could　ask　her　what　she　meant；　he　felt　her　cool　fingers　touch　his　hand；　then　nestle　into　his　palm。
　　　　　　　〃Sleep　well；〃　she　murmured。
　　　　　　　When　his　heart　had　slowed；　her　hand　was　still　there。　He　fell　asleep　at　last；　still　cupping　it　as　gently　as　if　it　were　a　baby　bird。

　　　　　　　More　than　the　rains　and　gray　mist　plagued　them。　The　land　itself；　under　the　pall　of　bad　weather；　was　almost　pletely　lifeless；　dreary　as　a　landscape　of　stones　and　bones　and　spiderwebs。　In　the　towns；　the　citizens　appeared　tired　and　frightened；　unwilling　even　to　regard　Simon　and　Miriamele　with　the　curiosity　and　suspicion　that　were　usually　a　stranger's　due。　At　night　the　windows　were　shuttered；　the　mucky　streets　empty。　Simon　felt　as　though　they　passed　through　ghost　villages；　as　though　the　actual　inhabitants　had　long　departed；　leaving　only　the　insubstantial　shades　of　previous　generations；　all　doomed　to　a　weary；　pointless　haunting　of　their　ancestral　homes。
　　　　　　　In　dim　afternoon　on　their　seventh　day　out　of　Stanshire；　Simon　and　Miriamele　rounded　a　bend　in　the　river　road　and　saw　the　squat　bulk　of　Falshire　Castle　looming　on　the　western　horizon　before　them。　Green　grazing　land　had　once　covered　the　castled　hill　like　a　king's　train；　but　now；　despite　the　heavy　rains；　the　hillside　fields　were　barren；　near　the　hillcrest　some　were　even　patched　with　snow。　At　the　base　of　the　hill　lay　the　walled　city；　bestriding　the　river　that　was　its　lifeblood。　From　docks　along　the　shore　Falshire's　hides　and　wool　were　loaded　on　boats　to　travel　to　the　Kynslagh　and　beyond；　returning　with　the　gold　and　other　goods　that　had　long　made　Falshire　one　of　the　richest　cities　in　Osten　Ard；　second　in　importance　in　Erkynland　only　to　Erchester。
　　　　　　　〃That　castle　used　to　be　Fengbald's；〃　said　Miriamele。　〃And　to　think　my　father　would　have　had　me　marry　him！　I　wonder　which　of　his　family　lords　it　there　now。〃　Her　mouth　tightened。　〃If　the　new　master　is　anything　like　the　old　one；　I　hope　the　whole　thing　falls　down　on　him。〃
　　　　　　　Simon　peered　into　the　diffuse　western　light　that　made　the　castle　seem　only　an　oddly…shaped　black　crag；　then　pointed　to　the　city　below　to　distract　her　attention。　〃We　can　be　in　Falshire…town　before　nightfall。　We　can　have　a　true　meal　tonight。〃
〃Men　always　think　of　their　stomachs。〃
　　　　　　　Simon　thought　the　assertion　unfair；　but　was　pleased　enough　to　be　called　a　man　that　he　smiled。　〃How　about　a　dry　night　in　a　warm　inn；　then？〃
　　　　　　　Miriamele　shook　her　head。　〃We　have　been　lucky；　Simon；　but　we　are　getting　closer　to　the　Hayholt　every　day。　I　have　been　in　Falshire　many　times。　There　is　too　good　a　chance　someone　might　recognize　me。〃
Simon　sighed。　〃Very　well。　But　you　don't　mind　if　I　go　in　somewhere　and　get　us　something　to　eat　like　I　did　in　Stanshire；　do　you？〃
　　　　　　　〃As　long　as　you　don't　leave　me　waiting　all　night。　It's　bad　enough　being　a　poor　traveling　chandler's　wife　without　having　to　stand　in　the　rain　while　the　husband's　inside　slurruping　down　ale　by　a　hot　fire。〃
　　　　　　　Simon's　smile　became　a　grin。　〃Poor　chandler's　wife。〃　Miriamele　looked　at　him　dourly。　〃Poor　chandler　if　he　makes　her　angry。〃

　　　　　　　The　inn　called　The　Tarbox　was　brightly　torchlit；　as　if　for　some　festive　holiday；　but　as　Simon　peered　in　through　the　doorway　he　thought　the　mood　inside　seemed　far　from　merry。　It　was　crowded　enough；　with　perhaps　two　or　three　dozen　people　scattered　around　the　wide　mon　room；　but　the　talk　among　them　was　so　quiet　that　Simon　could　hear　the　rainwater　dripping　off　the　cloaks　that　hung　beside　the　door。
Simon　made　his　way　between　the　crowded　benches　to　the　far　side　of　the　mon　room。　He　was　aware　of　many　heads　turning　to　watch　him　pass；　and　a　slight　increase　in　the　buzz　of　conversation；　but　he　kept　his　eyes　to　himself。　The　landlord；　a　thin；　tuft…haired　fellow　whose　face　sparkled　with　the　sweat　of　the　roasting　oven；　looked　up　as　he　approached。
　　　　　　　〃Yes？　D'you　need　a　room？〃　He　looked　at　Simon's　tattered　clothes。　'Two　quinis　the　night。〃
　　　　　　　〃Just　a　few　slices　of　that　mutton　and　some　bread。　And　perhaps　some　ale　as　well。　My　wife's　waiting　outside。　We've　far　to　go。〃
　　　　　　　The　landlord　shouted　at　someone　across　the　room　to　have　patience；　then　glared　at　Simon　suspiciously…　〃You'll　need　your　own　jug；　for　none　of　mine's　walking　out　the　door。〃　Simon　lifted　his　jug　and　the　man　nodded。　〃Six　cintis　for　all。　Pay　now。〃
　　　　　　　A　little　nettled；　Simon　dropped　the　coins　on　the　table。　The　landlord　picked　them　up　and　examined　them；　then　pocketed　the　lot　and　scurried　off。
　　　　　　　Simon　turned　to　survey　the　room。　Most　of　the　denizens　seemed　to　be　Falshire…folk；　humble　in　garb　and　settled　in　their　residence：　there　were　very　few　who　looked　as　though　they　might　be　travelers；　despite　the　fact　that　this　was　one　of　the　closest　inns　to　the　city　gates　and　the　River　Road。　A　few　returned　his　gaze；　but　he　saw　little　malice　or　even　curiosity。　The　people　of　Falshire；　if　this　room　was　any　indication；　seemed　to　have　much　in　mon　with　the　sheep　they　raised　and　sheared。
　　　　　　　Simon　had　just　turned　back　to　look　for　the　landlord　when　he　sensed　a　sudden　stirring　in　the　room。　He　wondered　if　the　Falshire…folk　had　indeed　had　more　of　a　reaction　to　him　than　he'd　realized。　Then　a　chill　breeze　touched　the　back　of　his　neck。
　　　　　　　The　door　of　the　inn　was　open　again。　Standing　before　a　curtain　of　water　sluicing　down　from　the　roof　outside；　a　trio　of　white…robed　figures　calmly　surveyed　the　room。　It　was　not　Simon's　imagination　that　all　the　other　folk　in　the　mon　room　shrank　back　a　little　into　themselves。　Furtive　glances　were　darted；　conversations　grew　quieter　or　louder；　and　some　of　the　patrons　nearest　the　door　sidled　slowly　away。
　　　　　　　Simon　felt　a　similar　urge。　Those　must　be　Fire　Dancers；　he　thought。　His　heartbeat　had　grown　swifter。　Had　they　seen　Miriamele？　But　what　would　she　have　meant　to　them　in　any　case？
　　　　　　　Slowly　Simon　leaned　back…against　the　long　table；　putting　on　an　air　of　mild　interest　as　he　watched　the　newers。　Two　of　the　three　were　large；　as　muscled　as　the　dockers　who　worked　the　Hayholt's　sea　gate；　and　carried　blunt…ended　walking　staves　that　looked　more　useful　for　skull…cracking　than　hiking。　The　third；　the　leader　by　his　position　in　front；　was　small；　thick；　and　bull…necked；　and　also　carried　one　of　the　long　cudgels。　As　he　lowered　his　rain…soaked　hood；　his　squaris