tw.togreenangeltower2-第76部分

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　　　　　　　But　even　as　he　hurried　back　toward　his　hiding　hole　in　Green　Angel　Tower；　he　wished　his　friends　were　around　to　talk　him　out　of　it。
　　　　　　　The　sun　had　set　a　few　hours　before。　A　fine　drizzle　was　descending　from　the　night　sky。　Simon　stood　in　Green　Angel　Tower's　doorway　and　prepared　himself　to　step　out。　It　was　not　easy。　He　was　still　feeling　weak　and　hungry；　although　after　sleeping　the　day　away　he　had　found　the　remains　of　someone's　supper；　a　crust　of　bread　and　a　scanty　rind　of　cheese；　on　a　plate　in　an　alcove　off　the　tower's　antechamber。　Both　bread　and　cheese　were　dry；　but　still　seemed　only　hours　old；　not　days　or　weeks；　even　as　he　gobbled　them　down　he　had　wondered　whose　meal　it　had　been。　Did　Barnabas　the　sexton　still　care　for　the　tower　and　its　great　bells？　If　so；　he　was　doing　a　poor　job。
　　　　　　　Thinking　of　Barnabas　had　made　Simon　realize　that　not　once　in　the　time　he　had　returned　had　he　heard　Green　Angel's　bells。　Now；　as　he　stood　in　the　doorway　of　the　tower；　waiting　for　darkness；　the　thought　came　to　him　again。　The　great　echoing　cry　of　the　bronze　bells　had　been　the　heartbeat　of　the　Hayholt　as　he　had　known　it；　an　hourly　reminder　that　things　went　on；　that　time　passed；　that　life　continued。　But　now　they　were　silent。
　　　　　　　Simon　shrugged　and　stepped　out。　He　paused　to　cup　his　hands　beneath　a　stream　of　rainwater　running　down　from　the　roof；　then　drank　thirstily。　He　wiped　his　hands　on　his　breeches　and　stared　at　the　shadow　of　Hjeldin's　Tower　against　the　violet　sky。　There　was　nothing　left　to　do。　There　was　no　reason　to　wait　any　longer。
　　　　　　　Simon　made　his　way　along　the　outer　perimeter　of　the　bailey；　using　the　cover　of　the　buildings　to　keep　himself　hidden　from　any　eyes　that　might　be　watching。　He　had　almost　walked　into　the　arms　of　Pryrates　and　the　soldiers　the　night　before；　despite　the　seeming　emptiness　of　the　keep；　he　would　take　nothing　for　granted。　Once　or　twice　he　heard　wisps　of　conversation　drift　past；　but　he　saw　no　living　people　who　might　have　been　responsible。　A　long；　sobbing　laugh　floated　by。　Simon　shivered。
　　　　　　　As　he　moved　out　around　the　edge　of　one　of　the　out…buildings；　he　thought　he　saw　a　flicker　of　light　in　the　tower's　upper　windows；　a　momentary　gleam　of　red　like　a　coal　that　still　hid　smoldering　life。　He　stopped；　cursing　quietly　to　himself。　Why　should　he　be　so　sure　that　just　because　Pryrates　was　gone；　the　tower　would　be　empty？　Perhaps　the　Norns　lived　there。
　　　　　　　But　perhaps　not。　Surely　even　the　priest　needed　servants　to　look　after　him；　to　sweep　the　floors　and　light　the　lamps；　just　as　Simon　had　once　done　for　Doctor　Morgenes。　If　anyone　moved　inside　the　tower；　it　was　likely　some　terrified　castle…dweller　forced　to　labor　in　the　red　priest's　stronghold。　Perhaps　it　was　Rachel　the　Dragon。　If　so；　Simon　would　rescue　her　as　well　as　Bright…Nail。　Wouldn't　she　be　astonished…he　would　have　to　be　careful　not　to　frighten　her　too　badly。　She　must　have　wondered　where　in　the　world　her　wayward　scullion　had　gone。
　　　　　　　Simon　turned　before　he　reached　the　tower　doors　and　clambered　into　a　patch　of　ivy　growing　along　the　bailey　wall。　Hero　or　not；　he　was　no　fool。　He　would　wait　to　see　if　there　was　any　sign　the　tower　was　occupied。
　　　　　　　He　huddled；　holding　his　knees。　The　bulk　of　the　tower　overhead；　its　blunt　dark　stones；　made　him　unfortable。　It　was　hard　not　to　feel　it　waited　for　him　like　a　giant　feigning　sleep；　anticipating　the　moment　when　Simon　would　e　within　reach。。。
　　　　　　　Time　seemed　to　pass　very　slowly。　When　he　could　stand　the　waiting　no　longer；　he　dragged　himself　out　of　the　ivy；　which　seemed　to　cling　more　strongly　than　it　should。　No　one　had　e　near　the　doorway；　no　one　was　moving　anywhere　about　the　Inner　Bailey。　He　had　seen　no　more　lights　in　the　windows；　nor　had　he　heard　anything　but　the　moaning　of　the　wind　in　the　towertops。　It　was　time。　But　how　to　get　in？　There　was　scarcely　any　chance　he　would　be　able　to　unlock　the　huge　black　doors…someone　as　secretive　as　Pryrates　must　have　bolts　on　his　fortress　gateway　that　could　keep　out　an　army。　No；　it　would　undoubtedly　take　climbing。　The　gatehouse　that　stood　around　and　over　the　front　door　was　probably　his　best　chance。　From　the　top　of　it　he　could　perhaps　find　a　way　up　to　one　of　the　upper　windows。　The　stones　of　the　walls　were　heavy　and　crudely　set：　climbing　holds　should　not　be　too　difficult　to　find。
　　　　　　　He　ducked　into　the　shelter　of　the　gatehouse　and　paused　for　a　moment　to　look　at　the　black　timbers　of　the　front　doors。　They　were　indeed　massive…Simon　guessed　that　even　men　with　axes　would　not　penetrate　them　in　anything　less　than　half　a　day。　Testing；　he　grasped　one　of　the　massive　door　handles　and　pulled。　The　right　side　door　swung　out　silently；　startling　Simon　so　that　he　stumbled　backward；　out　into　the　thin　rain。
　　　　　　　The　doors　were　open…unlocked！　For　a　moment　he　wanted　only　to　run；　certain　it　was　a　trap　set　just　for　him；　but　as　he　stopped；　hands　raised　as　though　to　ward　off　a　blow；　he　realized　that　was　unlikely。　Or　perhaps　there　were　more　certain　protections　inside。。。　？
　　　　　　　Simon　hesitated　a　moment　longer；　his　heart　rattling。
　　　　　　　Don't　he　a　fool。　Either　go　in　or　stay　out。　Don't　stand　around　in　the　middle　of　everything　waiting　to　be　noticed　by　someone。
　　　　　　　He　clenched　his　fists　and　stepped　through；　then　pulled　the　door　shut　behind　him。
　　　　　　　There　was　no　need　yet　for　the　torch　in　his　belt；　which　he　had　refurbished　with　oil　from　one　of　Green　Angel　Tower's　storage　rooms；　one　already　burned　in　a　bracket　on　the　wall　of　the　high　antechamber；　making　shadows　shiver　in　the　ers。　Simon　could　not　help　wondering　who　had　lit　it；　but　quickly　dismissed　the　useless　thought：　he　could　only　begin　looking；　try　to　move　quietly；　and　listen　for　anyone　else　who　might　be　in　Hjeldin's　Tower　with　him。
　　　　　　　He　walked　across　the　antechamber；　dismayed　by　the　loud　hiss　his　boot　soles　made　rubbing　on　the　stone。　Stairs　led　upward　along　one　wall　to　the　highest；　darkest　parts　of　the　tower。　They　would　have　to　wait。
　　　　　　　So　many　doors！　Simon　chose　one　and　opened　it　gently。　The　torchlight　bleeding　in　from　the　antechamber　revealed　a　room　filled　entirely　with　furnishings　made　from　bones　that　had　been　tied　and　glued　together；　including　one　large　chair　which　had；　as　if　in　mockery　of　the　High　King's　throne；　an　awning　made　entirely　from　skulls…human　skulls。　Many　of　the　bones　still　had　bits　of　dark　dry　flesh　stuck　to　them。　From　somewhere　in　the　room　came　the　fizzing　chirp　of　what　sounded　like　a　cricket。　Simon　felt　his　stomach　rising　into　his　throat　and　hurriedly　shut　the
door。
　　　　　　　When　he　had　recovered　a　little　he　took　his　own　brand　and　lit　it　from　the　wall　torch。　If　he　was　really　going　to　look　for　the　sword；　he　would　have　to　be　able　to　see　even　into　the　dark　corners；　no　matter　what　he　might　find　there。
　　　　　　　He　went　back　to　the　bone　room；　but　further　inspection　turned　up　nothing　but　the　dreadful　furnishings；　an　incredible　array　of　bones。　Simon　hoped　some　of　them　were　animal　bones；　but　doubted　it。　The　insistent　buzz　of　the　cricket　drove　him　out　once　more。
　　　　　　　The　next　chamber　was　filled　wall　to　wall　with　tubs　covered　by　stretched　nets。　Things　Simon　could　not　quite　make　out　slithered　and　splashed　in　dark　fluid；　from　time　to　time　a　slippery　back　or　an　oddly…terminated　appendage　pushed　against　the　netting　until　it　bulged　upward。　In　another　room　Simon　found　thousands　of　tiny　silvery　figures　of　men　and　women；　each　carved　with　amazing　accuracy　and　realism：　each　little　statue　was　a　perfect　representation　of　a　person　frozen　in　a　position　of　fear　or　despair。　When　Simon　lifted　one　of　them；　the　shiny　metal　felt　slippery　and　strangely　warm　against　his　skin。　A　moment　later；　he　dropped　it　and　backed　quickly　out　of　the　room。　He　was　sure　he　had　felt　it　squirm　in　his　grip。
　　　　　　　Simon　made　his　way　from　one　room　to　the　next；　continuously　disturbed　by　what　he　found；　sometimes　by　the　sheer　unpleasantness　of　the　priest's　possessions；　sometimes　by　their　inprehensibility。　The　last　room　on　the　ground　floor　contained　a　few　bones　as　well；　but　they　were　far　too　large　to　belong　to　anything　human。　They　were　boiling　in　a　great　vat　that　hung　above　an　oil　flame；　filling　the　damp　room　with　a　powerful　but　unrecognizable　stink。　Viscous　black　fluid　ran　in　oozing　drops　from　a　spigot　on　the　vat's　side　into　a　wide　stone　bowl。　The　fetid　steam　swirling　up　made　Simon's　head　reel　and　the　scar　on　his　cheek　sting。　A　quick　search　discovered　no　trace　of　the　sword；　and　he　retreated　gratefully　to　the　relatively　clean　air　outside。
　　　　　　　After　hesitating　a　moment；　he　climbed　the　stairs　to　the　next　level。　There　was　undoubtedly　more　to　be　discovered　beneath　the　tower；　down　in　its　catabs…but　Simon　was　in　no　hurry　to　do　that。　He　would　put　such　a　search　off　for　last；　and　pray　that　he　found　the　sword　before　then。
　　　　　　　A　room　full　of　glass　beakers　and　retorts　much　like　things　Morgenes　had　possessed；　a　chamber　whose　walls　and　ceiling　were　draped　with　inordinately　thick　spiderwebs…his　search　of　that　one　was　brief　and　perfunctory…another　which　seemed　an　indoor　jungle　full　of　trailing　vines　and　fat；　rotting　blossoms；　Simon　passed　through　them　all；　feeling　more　and　more　like　some　peasant　boy　from　a　story　who　had　entered　a　witch's　magicalcastle。　Some　of　the　chambers　had　contents　so　dreadful　he　could　do　no　more　than　peer　for　a　moment　into　the　shadowed　interior　before　shoving　the　door