Questing Knight(科幻战争)-第14部分

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passing　through　a　host　of　empty　walkthrough　pantries。
A　pair　of　closed　double　doors　loomed　ahead　of　him。　A　rotten　chair　and　a　desk　were　tucked　into　an
alcove　alongside　them。　A　skeleton　was　slumped　in　the　chair；　a　quill　pen　still　clasped　in　its　hand。　Chlod
could　see　what　looked　like　a　ledger　upon　on　the　sloped　desk；　its　paper　yellow　with　age。　Neat
handwriting　could　still　be　discerned　on　the　pages。　Evidently；　this　was　the　post　of　the　larder…master；　whose
job　it　was　to　keep　a　tally　of　all　goods　taken　in　and　out。　Chlod　had　worked　for　a　time　in　a　middling…sized
castle　in　Carcassonne；　and　he　had　made　an　art　out　of　deceiving　the　larder…master　there。　It　had　been　a
good　life；　that；　and　he　had　not　felt　a　moment’s　remorse　when　the　man　had　been　hanged　for　the
irregularities　in　this　ledger。
A　dark　shadow　seemed　to　hover　around　the　skeleton　slumped　in　the　larder…master’s　chair；　and　it
coalesced　into　a　roughly　man…like　shape　as　Chlod　drew　near。　It　solidified　as　he　got　closer；　turning　from
an　indistinguishable　vague　shape　to　that　of　a　portly　man　with　huge　sideburns。
It　opened　its　mouth　to　speak；　but　no　words　came　out。　It　seemed　angry；　gesturing　insistently　at　Chlod
with　its　ghost　quill；　and　it　radiated　a　deadly　chill。　He　had　no　wish　to　pass　near　this　restless　spirit；　but　he
could　already　hear　the　sound　of　armoured　boots　closing　in　behind　him。
Taking　a　deep　breath；　his　blood　running　to　ice　in　his　veins；　Chlod　hurried　to　the　double　doors。　The
spirit　became　more　agitated；　shouting　soundlessly　at　him　and　pointing　at　its　ledger。　The　doors　would　not
give；　and　he　rattled　them　as　he　struggled　to　turn　the　rusted　handles。　He　glanced　over　his　shoulder　and　saw
the　two　black…armoured　guards　marching　towards　him。
The　shade　of　the　larder…master　was　incandescent　with　rage；　bellowing　at　him　silently。　It　came　out
from　behind　its　desk；　separating　completely　from　its　skeleton；　and　hovered　towards　him。　Chlod　quaked；
fighting　with　the　double　doors　vigorously　as　panic　set　in。
The　ghost　reached　for　him。　Chlod　recoiled　from　its　touch；　but　there　was　nowhere　to　go；　and　he　was
backed　up　against　the　closed　doors。　The　shadowy　form　touched　his　face；　and　he　screamed。　It　felt　as
though　needles　of　ice　were　penetrating　his　skin；　and　the　left　side　of　his　face　went　numb。　He　saw　the
ethereal　shade　of　the　larder…master　smile。
The　doors　gave　way　behind　him　suddenly；　ripping　free　of　their　hinges；　and　Chlod　crashed　through。
Weevils　and　rot…worms　writhed　in　the　splintered　chunks　of　rotten　wood；　and　he　scrambled　backwards
through　the　debris。

The　shade　stared　down　at　him　from　the　open　doorway。　Its　image　wavered；　like　a　mirage；　as　the　two
black…armoured　guards　marched　through　it。
Chlod　clambered　to　his　feet　and　ran。　He　staggered　through　storerooms　stacked　with　empty　shelves
and　others　hanging　with　meat　hooks；　until　he　came　to　the　very　back　of　the　larder。　Here；　a　heavy　wooden
crane　was　positioned　above　a　large　wooden　trapdoor　in　the　floor。　A　thick；　corroded　chain　was　spooled
around　the　crane’s　mechanism；　and　a　massive　hook　hung　at　head　height　from　the　end　of　its　length。　The
underside　of　a　further　trapdoor　was　positioned　directly　overhead；　leading　to　the　upper　levels　of　the
palace。
It　was　through　these　trapdoors　that　the　palace’s　stores　were　replenished。　Branches　of　the　Grismarie
had　been　redirected　beneath　the　palace　in　centuries　past；　and　in　times　gone　by；　barges　laden　with
produce　were　poled　up　the　wide　tunnels　from　upriver。　Casks　of　wines；　pallets　stacked　with　meats　and　all
manner　of　goods　and　foodstuffs　from　all　across　Bretonnia　and　beyond　would　have　once　been　hauled
directly　into　the　palace　from　the　canals　below　without　the　Mousillon　nobility　ever　being　forced　to　witness
their　arrival。
Chlod　turned　around　on　the　spot；　eyes　darting　around　frantically　for　a　way　to　release　the　trapdoor；
before　his　eyes　settled　on　a　rusted　lever　set　in　the　wall。　A　spider　the　size　of　his　hand　had　constructed　an
intricate　web　between　the　lever　and　the　stone　wall；　and　it　turned　towards　him；　a　myriad　of　eyes　glinting　in
the　darkness。　He　slapped　it　away；　and　took　hold　of　the　lever’s　handle。
The　lever　was　ancient　and　rusted；　and　had　clearly　not　been　used　for　decades。　It　resisted　him；　and　he
closed　his　eyes　as　he　strained　to　move　it。　He　planted　one　foot　against　the　wall　and　bent　his　back　against
it；　groaning　with　the　exertion。　It　did　not　budge。
The　guards　closed　towards　him　unerringly；　hefting　their　heavy　swords。　They　were　less　than　ten　yards
away。
‘Come　on！’　shouted　Chlod；　tugging　frantically　on　the　lever。
With　a　horrendous　screeching　of　metal；　the　lever　gave　way　and　Chlod　fell　to　the　ground。　There　was　a
grinding　of　gears　and　the　two　halves　of　the　trapdoor　swung　downwards；　like　the　floor　beneath　a　hangman
’s　noose。　They　struck　the　walls　of　the　vertical　shaft　with　a　resounding　boom；　and　at　the　same　moment；　the
chain　from　the　crane　began　to　unspool。　The　heavy　hook　rocketed　down　into　the　darkness；　and　the　sound
of　the　chain　unravelling　was　deafening。
A　cloud　of　bats　erupted　from　below；　screeching　and　clawing。　In　their　midst；　eyes　tinged　red　and　their
flesh　covered　in　open　sores　and　filth；　the　most　devolved　of　Grandfather　Mortis’s　children　burst　from　the
darkness。　A　narrow　staircase　descended　around　the　edge　of　the　vertical　shaft　leading　down　to　the　canal
fifty　feet　below；　and　dozens　of　wild…eyed；　emaciated　figures　appeared；　crawling　over　each　other　in　their
haste。
One　of　them　was　cut　almost　in　two　by　a　black…armoured　guard；　the　heavy　blow　splitting　him
diagonally　from　shoulder　to　hip。　Then　the　two　armoured　figures　disappeared　beneath　the　feral　tide；　borne
to　the　ground　with　a　crash。
The　chain　had　come　to　a　shuddering　halt；　and　after　a　pause；　it　began　to　reverse；　hauled　back　up　by
toothed　cogs　and　immense　counter…weights　hidden　behind　the　stone　wall。
Chlod　lay　still；　breathing　heavily；　as　he　watched　the　demise　of　the　two　guards。　Rocks　pounded　their
helmets　until　the　metal　buckled　inwards；　and　knives　were　slid　between　gaps　in　their　plate。　Finally；　the　two
armoured　figures　were　still。　One　of　their　visors　had　been　wrenched　completely　out　of　shape　and　torn
loose；　and　Chlod　hurriedly　looked　away　as　he　saw　what　was　contained　within。　If　ever　the　suit　of　armour
had　ever　been　worn　by　a　living　man；　that　time　was　long　past。
The　chain　continued　to　recoil；　clunking　loudly　as　each　link　was　reeled　in。　Finally；　the　massive　hook
reappeared。　Four　iron　rings　had　been　attached　to　it；　each　hooked　into　smaller　chains　that　were　orange
with　rust。　A　loading　pallet　was　hauled　into　view；　carrying　the　smiling　figure　of　Grandfather　Mortis；　who

was　standing　with　his　arms　raised　above　him　like　an　ascendant　god。
A　cluster　of　filthy　peasants　manhandled　the　crane；　swinging　it　away　from　the　gaping　trapdoor；　and　it
settled　to　the　floor　with　a　final　groan。
‘Excellent；　excellent；’　said　Mortis；　stepping　away　from　the　platform　and　rubbing　his　skeletal　hands
together。
He　moved　towards　Chlod；　still　lying　against　the　wall；　and　lifted　him　gently　to　his　feet。　He　stroked
Chlod’s　cheek　with　the　back　of　one　grey；　wrinkled　hand。　‘You　have　done　well；　my　child；’　he　said。　‘The
sins　of　the　past　are　forgiven。’
Grandfather　Mortis　continued　to　stroke　Chlod’s　cheek　for　a　moment；　then　he　grabbed　him　tightly
around　the　neck；　his　thumbs　pressing　hard　into　his　throat。　Chlod　gaped　like　a　landed　fish；　his　eyes
boggling。
‘But　don’t　even　think　about　leaving　us　again；’　said　Mortis。　‘You　belong　with　us；　and　I　will　not　tolerate
any　disobedience　from　you　again。’
From　somewhere　distant；　there　came　a　ferocious　roar；　booming　up　through　the　lower　levels　of　the
palace。　Mortis　released　Chlod；　a　look　of　rapture　upon　his　face；　and　Calard’s　manservant　fell　to　his
knees；　gasping　for　air。
‘Harken；　my　children！’　said　Mortis；　lifting　a　hand　to　his　ear。　‘Hear　the　call　of　our　beloved　lord！
XI
HIS　FACE　A　mask　of　grim　resolve；　Calard　slipped　through　the　braying　crowd。　His　gaze　did　not　waver
from　Merovech。　Calard　was　some　ten　people　back　from　the　edge　of　the　fighting　circle；　and　was　making
his　way　steadily　through　the　press；　closing　the　distance　to　the　albino　duke。　His　fist　was　clenched　tightly
around　the　hilt　of　the　Sword　of　Garamont；　sheathed　at　his　hip。
There　was　a　grunt　of　pain　and　a　splash　of　blood　in　the　fighting　circle　below；　and　the　crowd　roared　its
approval。　Merovech　alone　made　no　reaction；　his　expression　cold　and　detached。　Calard　ignored　the
glances　he　received　from　knights　and　ladies　as　he　pushed　his　way　through　the　onlookers；　drawing　ever
nearer　the　butcher　responsible　for　the　sacking　of　Castle　Garamont。
‘Kill　him！’　shouted　a　woman　wearing　a　spidery　lace　ruff　around　her　slender　neck。　Her　powdered
cheeks　were　flushed　and　her　pupils　dilated。　Her　cry　was　echoed　by　dozens　of　others；　all　crying　out　for
blood。
Calard　was　now　directly　behind　Merovech；　and　he　began　to　work　his　way　forwards；　shouldering
through　the　crowd。
The　duke　stood　alone；　aloof　and　distant　from　all　those　gathered　around　him。　No　one　came　within　arm
’s　distance　of　his　person；　possibly　out　of　respect；　or　perhaps　more　likely　out　of　fear。　Merovech　was　a
motionless　island　amidst　a　braying　sea　of　humanity；　yet　far　from　making　him　appear　unthreatening　or
calm；　his　utter　stillness　was　deeply　unsettling。　I