She was an old cog, and even in her youth no one had ever called her pretty. Her figurehead showed a laughing woman holding an infant by one foot, but the woman’s cheeks and the babe’s bottom were both pocked by wormholes. Uncounted layers of drab brown paint covered her hull5; her sails were grey and tattered6. She was not a ship to draw a second glance, unless it was to wonder how she stayed afloat. The Merry Midwife was known in White Harbor too. For years she had plied7 a humble8 trade between there and Sisterton.
It was not the sort of arrival that Davos Seaworth had anticipated when he’d set sail with Salla and his fleet. All this had seemed simpler then. The ravens9 had not brought King Stannis the allegiance of White Harbor, so His Grace would send an envoy10 to treat with Lord Manderly in person. As a show of strength, Davos would arrive aboard Salla’s galleas Valyrian, with the rest of the Lysene fleet behind her. Every hull was striped: black and yellow, pink and blue, green and white, purple and gold. The Lyseni loved bright hues11, and Salladhor Saan was the most colorful of all. Salladhor the Splendid, Davos thought, but the storms wrote an end to all of that.
Instead he would smuggle12 himself into the city, as he might have done twenty years before. Until he knew how matters stood here, it was more prudent13 to play the common sailor, not the lord.
White Harbor’s walls of whitewashed15 stone rose before them, on the eastern shore where the White Knife plunged16 into the firth. Some of the city’s defenses had been strengthened since the last time Davos had been here, half a dozen years before. The jetty that divided the inner and outer harbors had been fortified17 with a long stone wall, thirty feet tall and almost a mile long, with towers every hundred yards. There was smoke rising from Seal Rock as well, where once there had been only ruins. That could be good or bad, depending on what side Lord Wyman chooses.
Davos had always been fond of this city, since first he’d come here as a cabin boy on Cobblecat. Though small compared to Oldtown and King’s Landing, it was clean and well-ordered, with wide straight cobbled streets that made it easy for a man to find his way. The houses were built of whitewashed stone, with steeply pitched roofs of dark grey slate18. Roro Uhoris, the Cobblecat’s cranky old master, used to claim that he could tell one port from another just by the way they smelled. Cities were like women, he insisted; each one had its own unique scent19. Oldtown was as flowery as a perfumed dowager. Lannisport was a milkmaid, fresh and earthy, with woodsmoke in her hair. King’s Landing reeked20 like some unwashed whore. But White Harbor’s scent was sharp and salty, and a little fishy21 too. “She smells the way a mermaid22 ought to smell,” Roro said. “She smells of the sea.”
She still does, thought Davos, but he could smell the peat smoke drifting off Seal Rock too. The sea stone dominated the approaches to the outer harbor, a massive grey-green upthrust looming23 fifty feet above the waters. Its top was crowned with a circle of weathered stones, a ringfort of the First Men that had stood desolate24 and abandoned for hundreds of years. It was not abandoned now. Davos could see scorpions25 and spitfires behind the standing26 stones, and crossbowmen peering between them. It must be cold up there, and wet. On all his previous visits, seals could be seen basking27 on the broken rocks below. The Blind Bastard28 always made him count them whenever the Cobblecat set sail from White Harbor; the more seals there were, Roro said, the more luck they would have on their voyage. There were no seals now. The smoke and the soldiers had frightened them away. A wiser man would see a caution in that. If I had a thimble full of sense, I would have gone with Salla. He could have made his way back south, to Marya and their sons. I have lost four sons in the king’s service, and my fifth serves as his squire29. I should have the right to cherish the two boys who still remain. It has been too long since I saw them.
At Eastwatch, the black brothers told him there was no love between the Manderlys of White Harbor and the Boltons of the Dreadfort. The Iron Throne had raised Roose Bolton up to Warden30 of the North, so it stood to reason that Wyman Manderly should declare for Stannis. White Harbor cannot stand alone. The city needs an ally, a protector. Lord Wyman needs King Stannis as much as Stannis needs him. Or so it seemed at Eastwatch.
Sisterton had undermined those hopes. If Lord Borrell told it true, if the Manderlys meant to join their strength to the Boltons and the Freys … no, he would not dwell on that. He would know the truth soon enough. He prayed he had not come too late.
That jetty wall conceals31 the inner harbor, he realized, as the Merry Midwife was pulling down her sail. The outer harbor was larger, but the inner harbor offered better anchorage, sheltered by the city wall on one side and the looming mass of the Wolf’s Den14 on another, and now by the jetty wall as well. At Eastwatch-by-the-Sea, Cotter Pyke told Davos that Lord Wyman was building war galleys33. There could have been a score of ships concealed35 behind those walls, waiting only a command to put to sea.
Behind the city’s thick white walls, the New Castle rose proud and pale upon its hill. Davos could see the domed36 roof of the Sept of the Snows as well, surmounted37 by tall statues of the Seven. The Manderlys had brought the Faith north with them when they were driven from the Reach. White Harbor had its godswood too, a brooding tangle38 of root and branch and stone locked away behind the crumbling39 black walls of the Wolf’s Den, an ancient fortress40 that served only as a prison now. But for the most part the septons ruled here.
The merman of House Manderly was everywhere in evidence, flying from the towers of the New Castle, above the Seal Gate, and along the city walls. At Eastwatch, the northmen insisted that White Harbor would never abandon its allegiance to Winterfell, but Davos saw no sign of the direwolf of Stark41. There are no lions either. Lord Wyman cannot have declared for Tommen yet, or he would have raised his standard.
The dockside wharves42 were swarming43. A clutter44 of small boats were tied up along the fish market, off-loading their catches. He saw three river runners too, long lean boats built tough to brave the swift currents and rocky shoots of the White Knife. It was the seagoing vessels45 that interested him most, however; a pair of carracks as drab and tattered as the Merry Midwife, the trading galley32 Storm Dancer, the cogs Brave Magister and Horn of Plenty, a galleas from Braavos marked by her purple hull and sails …
… and there beyond, the warship46.
The sight of her sent a knife through his hopes. Her hull was black and gold, her figurehead a lion with an upraised paw. Lionstar, read the letters on her stern, beneath a fluttering banner that bore the arms of the boy king on the Iron Throne. A year ago, he would not have been able to read them, but Maester Pylos had taught him some of the letters back on Dragonstone. For once, the reading gave him little pleasure. Davos had been praying that the galley had been lost in the same storms that had ravaged47 Salla’s fleet, but the gods had not been so kind. The Freys were here, and he would need to face them.
The Merry Midwife tied up to the end of a weathered wooden pier48 in the outer harbor, well away from Lionstar. As her crew made her fast to the pilings and lowered a gangplank, her captain sauntered up to Davos. Casso Mogat was a mongrel of the narrow sea, fathered on a Sisterton whore by an Ibbenese whaler. Only five feet tall and very hirsute49, he dyed his hair and whiskers a mossy green. It made him look like a tree stump50 in yellow boots. Despite his appearance, he seemed a good sailor, though a hard master to his crew. “How long will you be gone?”
“A day at least. It may be longer.” Davos had found that lords liked to keep you waiting. They did it to make you anxious, he suspected, and to demonstrate their power.
“The Midwife will linger here three days. No longer. They will look for me back in Sisterton.”
“If things go well, I could be back by the morrow.”
“And if these things go badly?”
I may not be back at all. “You need not wait for me.”
A pair of customs men were clambering aboard as he went down the gangplank, but neither gave him so much as a glance. They were there to see the captain and inspect the hold; common seamen51 did not concern them, and few men looked as common as Davos. He was of middling height, his shrewd peasant’s face weathered by wind and sun, his grizzled beard and brown hair well salted with grey. His garb52 was plain as well: old boots, brown breeches and blue tunic53, a woolen54 mantle55 of undyed wool, fastened with a wooden clasp. He wore a pair of salt-stained leather gloves to hide the stubby fingers of the hand that Stannis had shortened, so many years ago. Davos hardly looked a lord, much less a King’s Hand. That was all to the good until he knew how matters stood here.
He made his way along the wharf56 and through the fish market. The Brave Magister was taking on some mead57. The casks stood four high along the pier. Behind one stack he glimpsed three sailors throwing dice58. Farther on the fishwives were crying the day’s catch, and a boy was beating time on a drum as a shabby old bear danced in a circle for a ring of river runners. Two spearmen had been posted at the Seal Gate, with the badge of House Manderly upon their breasts, but they were too intent on flirting59 with a dockside whore to pay Davos any mind. The gate was open, the portcullis raised. He joined the traffic passing through.
Inside was a cobbled square with a fountain at its center. A stone merman rose from its waters, twenty feet tall from tail to crown. His curly beard was green and white with lichen60, and one of the prongs of his trident had broken off before Davos had been born, yet somehow he still managed to impress. Old Fishfoot was what the locals called him. The square was named for some dead lord, but no one ever called it anything but Fishfoot Yard.
The Yard was teeming61 this afternoon. A woman was washing her smallclothes in Fishfoot’s fountain and hanging them off his trident to dry. Beneath the arches of the peddler’s colonnade62 the scribes and money changers had set up for business, along with a hedge wizard, an herb woman, and a very bad juggler63. A man was selling apples from a barrow, and a woman was offering herring with chopped onions. Chickens and children were everywhere underfoot. The huge oak-and-iron doors of the Old Mint had always been closed when Davos had been in Fishfoot Yard before, but today they stood open. Inside he glimpsed hundreds of women, children, and old men, huddled64 on the floor on piles of furs. Some had little cookfires going.
Davos stopped beneath the colonnade and traded a halfpenny for an apple. “Are people living in the Old Mint?” he asked the apple seller.
“Them as have no other place to live. Smallfolk from up the White Knife, most o’ them. Hornwood’s people too. With that Bastard o’ Bolton running loose, they all want to be inside the walls. I don’t know what his lordship means to do with all o’ them. Most turned up with no more’n the rags on their backs.”
Davos felt a pang65 of guilt66. They came here for refuge, to a city untouched by the fighting, and here I turn up to drag them back into the war. He took a bite of the apple and felt guilty about that as well. “How do they eat?”
The apple seller shrugged67. “Some beg. Some steal. Lots o’ young girls taking up the trade, the way girls always do when it’s all they got to sell. Any boy stands five feet tall can find a place in his lordship’s barracks, long as he can hold a spear.”
He’s raising men, then. That might be good … or bad, depending. The apple was dry and mealy, but Davos made himself take another bite. “Does Lord Wyman mean to join the Bastard?”
“Well,” said the apple seller, “the next time his lordship comes down here hunkering for an apple, I’ll be sure and ask him.”
“I heard his daughter was to wed4 some Frey.”
“His granddaughter. I heard that too, but his lordship forgot t’ invite me to the wedding. Here, you going to finish that? I’ll take the rest back. Them seeds is good.”
Davos tossed him back the core. A bad apple, but it was worth half a penny to learn that Manderly is raising men. He made his way around Old Fishfoot, past where a young girl was selling cups of fresh milk from her nanny goat. He was remembering more of the city now that he was here. Down past where Old Fishfoot’s trident pointed68 was an alley34 where they sold fried cod69, crisp and golden brown outside and flaky white within. Over there was a brothel, cleaner than most, where a sailor could enjoy a woman without fear of being robbed or killed. Off the other way, in one of those houses that clung to the walls of the Wolf’s Den like barnacles to an old hull, there used to be a brewhouse where they made a black beer so thick and tasty that a cask of it could fetch as much as Arbor1 gold in Braavos and the Port of Ibben, provided the locals left the brewer70 any to sell.
It was wine he wanted, though—sour, dark, and dismal71. He strolled across the yard and down a flight of steps, to a winesink called the Lazy Eel72, underneath73 a warehouse74 full of sheepskins. Back in his smuggling75 days, the Eel had been renowned76 for offering the oldest whores and vilest77 wine in White Harbor, along with meat pies full of lard and gristle that were inedible78 on their best days and poisonous on their worst. With fare like that, most locals shunned79 the place, leaving it for sailors who did not know any better. You never saw a city guardsman down in the Lazy Eel, or a customs officer.
Some things never change. Inside the Eel, time stood still. The barrel-vaulted ceiling was stained black with soot80, the floor was hard-packed earth, the air smelled of smoke and spoiled meat and stale vomit81. The fat tallow candles on the tables gave off more smoke than light, and the wine that Davos ordered looked more brown than red in the gloom. Four whores were seated near the door, drinking. One gave him a hopeful smile as he entered. When Davos shook his head, the woman said something that made her companions laugh. After that none of them paid him any mind.
Aside from the whores and the proprietor82, Davos had the Eel to himself. The cellar was large, full of nooks and shadowed alcoves83 where a man could be alone. He took his wine to one of them and sat with his back to a wall to wait.
Before long, he found himself staring at the hearth84. The red woman could see the future in the fire, but all that Davos Seaworth ever saw were the shadows of the past: the burning ships, the fiery85 chain, the green shadows flashing across the belly86 of the clouds, the Red Keep brooding over all. Davos was a simple man, raised up by chance and war and Stannis. He did not understand why the gods would take four lads as young and strong as his sons, yet spare their weary father. Some nights he thought he had been left to rescue Edric Storm … but by now King Robert’s bastard boy was safe in the Stepstones, yet Davos still remained. Do the gods have some other task for me? he wondered. If so, White Harbor may be some part of it. He tried the wine, then poured half his cup onto the floor beside his foot.
As dusk fell outside, the benches at the Eel began to fill with sailors. Davos called to the proprietor for another cup. When he brought it, he brought him a candle too. “You want food?” the man asked. “We got meat pies.”
“What kind of meat is in them?”
“The usual kind. It’s good.”
The whores laughed. “It’s grey, he means,” one said.
“Shut your bloody87 yap. You eat them.”
“I eat all kinds o’ shit. Don’t mean I like it.”
Davos blew the candle out as soon as the proprietor moved off, and sat back in the shadows. Seamen were the worst gossips in the world when the wine was flowing, even wine as cheap as this. All he need do was listen.
Most of what he heard he’d learned in Sisterton, from Lord Godric or the denizens88 of the Belly of the Whale. Tywin Lannister was dead, butchered by his dwarf89 son; his corpse90 had stunk91 so badly that no one had been able to enter the Great Sept of Baelor for days afterward92; the Lady of the Eyrie had been murdered by a singer; Littlefinger ruled the Vale now, but Bronze Yohn Royce had sworn to bring him down; Balon Greyjoy had died as well, and his brothers were fighting for the Seastone Chair; Sandor Clegane had turned outlaw93 and was plundering94 and killing95 in the lands along the Trident; Myr and Lys and Tyrosh were embroiled96 in another war; a slave revolt was raging in the east.
Other tidings were of greater interest. Robett Glover was in the city and had been trying to raise men, with little success. Lord Manderly had turned a deaf ear to his pleas. White Harbor was weary of war, he was reported to have said. That was bad. The Ryswells and the Dustins had surprised the ironmen on the Fever River and put their longships to the torch. That was worse. And now the Bastard of Bolton was riding south with Hother Umber to join them for an attack on Moat Cailin. “The Whoresbane his own self,” claimed a riverman who’d just brought a load of hides and timber down the White Knife, “with three hundred spearmen and a hundred archers97. Some Hornwood men have joined them, and Cerwyns too.” That was worst of all.
“Lord Wyman best send some men to fight if he knows what’s good for him,” said the old fellow at the end of the table. “Lord Roose, he’s the Warden now. White Harbor’s honor bound to answer his summons.”
“What did any Bolton ever know o’ honor?” said the Eel’s proprietor as he filled their cups with more brown wine.
“Lord Wyman won’t go no place. He’s too bloody fat.”
“I heard how he was ailing98. All he does is sleep and weep, they say. He’s too sick to get out o’ his bed most days.”
“Too fat, you mean.”
“Fat or thin’s got naught99 to do with it,” said the Eel’s proprietor. “The lions got his son.”
No one spoke100 of King Stannis. No one even seemed to know that His Grace had come north to help defend the Wall. Wildlings and wights and giants had been all the talk at Eastwatch, but here no one seemed to be giving them so much as a thought.
Davos leaned into the firelight. “I thought the Freys killed his son. That’s what we heard in Sisterton.”
“They killed Ser Wendel,” said the proprietor. “His bones are resting in the Snowy Sept with candles all around them, if you want to have a look. Ser Wylis, though, he’s still a captive.”
Worse and worse. He had known that Lord Wyman had two sons, but he’d thought that both of them were dead. If the Iron Throne has a hostage … Davos had fathered seven sons himself, and lost four on the Blackwater. He knew he would do whatever gods or men required of him to protect the other three. Steffon and Stannis were thousands of leagues from the fighting and safe from harm, but Devan was at Castle Black, a squire to the king. The king whose cause may rise or fall with White Harbor.
His fellow drinkers were talking about dragons now. “You’re bloody mad,” said an oarsman off Storm Dancer. “The Beggar King’s been dead for years. Some Dothraki horselord cut his head off.”
“So they tell us,” said the old fellow. “Might be they’re lying, though. He died half a world away, if he died at all. Who’s to say? If a king wanted me dead, might be I’d oblige him and pretend to be a corpse. None of us has ever seen his body.”
“I never saw Joffrey’s corpse, nor Robert’s,” growled101 the Eel’s proprietor. “Maybe they’re all alive as well. Maybe Baelor the Blessed’s just been having him a little nap all these years.”
The old fellow made a face. “Prince Viserys weren’t the only dragon, were he? Are we sure they killed Prince Rhaegar’s son? A babe, he was.”
“Wasn’t there some princess too?” asked a whore. She was the same one who’d said the meat was grey.
“Two,” said the old fellow. “One was Rhaegar’s daughter, t’other was his sister.”
“Daena,” said the riverman. “That was the sister. Daena of Dragonstone. Or was it Daera?”
“Daena was old King Baelor’s wife,” said the oarsman. “I rowed on a ship named for her once. The Princess Daena.”
“If she was a king’s wife, she’d be a queen.”
“Baelor never had a queen. He was holy.”
“Don’t mean he never wed his sister,” said the whore. “He just never bedded her, is all. When they made him king, he locked her up in a tower. His other sisters too. There was three.”
“Daenela,” the proprietor said loudly. “That was her name. The Mad King’s daughter, I mean, not Baelor’s bloody wife.”
“Daenerys,” Davos said. “She was named for the Daenerys who wed the Prince of Dorne during the reign102 of Daeron the Second. I don’t know what became of her.”
“I do,” said the man who’d started all the talk of dragons, a Braavosi oarsman in a somber103 woolen jack104. “When we were down to Pentos we moored105 beside a trader called the Sloe-Eyed Maid, and I got to drinking with her captain’s steward106. He told me a pretty tale about some slip of a girl who come aboard in Qarth, to try and book passage back to Westeros for her and three dragons. Silver hair she had, and purple eyes. ‘I took her to the captain my own self,’ this steward swore to me, ‘but he wasn’t having none of that. There’s more profit in cloves107 and saffron, he tells me, and spices won’t set fire to your sails.’ ”
Laughter swept the cellar. Davos did not join in. He knew what had befallen the Sloe-Eyed Maid. The gods were cruel to let a man sail across half the world, then send him chasing a false light when he was almost home. That captain was a bolder man than me, he thought, as he made his way to the door. One voyage to the east, and a man could live as rich as a lord until the end of his days. When he’d been younger, Davos had dreamed of making such voyages himself, but the years went dancing by like moths108 around a flame, and somehow the time had never been quite right. One day, he told himself. One day when the war is done and King Stannis sits the Iron Throne and has no more need of onion knights109. I’ll take Devan with me. Steff and Stanny too if they’re old enough. We’ll see these dragons and all the wonders of the world.
Outside the wind was gusting110, making the flames shiver in the oil lamps that lit the yard. It had grown colder since the sun went down, but Davos remembered Eastwatch, and how the wind would come screaming off the Wall at night, knifing through even the warmest cloak to freeze a man’s blood right in his veins111. White Harbor was a warm bath by comparison.
There were other places he might get his ears filled: an inn famous for its lamprey pies, the alehouse where the wool factors and the customs men did their drinking, a mummer’s hall where bawdy112 entertainments could be had for a few pennies. But Davos felt that he had heard enough. I’ve come too late. Old instinct made him reach for his chest, where once he’d kept his fingerbones in a little sack on a leather thong113. There was nothing there. He had lost his luck in the fires of the Blackwater, when he’d lost his ship and sons.
What must I do now? He pulled his mantle tighter. Do I climb the hill and present myself at the gates of the New Castle, to make a futile114 plea? Return to Sisterton? Make my way back to Marya and my boys? Buy a horse and ride the kingsroad, to tell Stannis that he has no friends in White Harbor, and no hope?
Queen Selyse had feasted Salla and his captains, the night before the fleet had set sail. Cotter Pyke had joined them, and four other high officers of the Night’s Watch. Princess Shireen had been allowed to attend as well. As the salmon115 was being served, Ser Axell Florent had entertained the table with the tale of a Targaryen princeling who kept an ape as a pet. This prince liked to dress the creature in his dead son’s clothes and pretend he was a child, Ser Axell claimed, and from time to time he would propose marriages for him. The lords so honored always declined politely, but of course they did decline. “Even dressed in silk and velvet116, an ape remains117 an ape,” Ser Axell said. “A wiser prince would have known that you cannot send an ape to do a man’s work.” The queen’s men laughed, and several grinned at Davos. I am no ape, he’d thought. I am as much a lord as you, and a better man. But the memory still stung.
The Seal Gate had been closed for the night. Davos would not be able to return to the Merry Midwife till dawn. He was here for the night. He gazed up at Old Fishfoot with his broken trident. I have come through rain and wrack118 and storm. I will not go back without doing what I came for, no matter how hopeless it may seem. He might have lost his fingers and his luck, but he was no ape in velvet. He was a King’s Hand.
Castle Stair was a street with steps, a broad white stone way that led up from the Wolf’s Den by the water to the New Castle on its hill. Marble mermaids119 lit the way as Davos climbed, bowls of burning whale oil cradled in their arms. When he reached the top, he turned to look behind him. From here he could see down into the harbors. Both of them. Behind the jetty wall, the inner harbor was crowded with war galleys. Davos counted twenty-three. Lord Wyman was a fat man, but not an idle one, it seemed.
The gates of the New Castle had been closed, but a postern opened when he shouted, and a guard emerged to ask his business. Davos showed him the black and gold ribbon that bore the royal seals. “I need to see Lord Manderly at once,” he said. “My business is with him, and him alone.”
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arbor
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| n.凉亭；树木 | |
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rippling
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| 起涟漪的，潺潺流水般声音的 | |
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gust
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| n.阵风，突然一阵（雨、烟等），（感情的）迸发 | |
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wed
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| v.娶，嫁，与…结婚 | |
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hull
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| n.船身；(果、实等的)外壳；vt.去(谷物等)壳 | |
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tattered
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| adj.破旧的，衣衫破的 | |
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plied
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| v.使用（工具）( ply的过去式和过去分词 )；经常供应（食物、饮料）；固定往来；经营生意 | |
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humble
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ravens
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| n.低质煤；渡鸦( raven的名词复数 ) | |
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envoy
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| n.使节，使者，代表，公使 | |
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hues
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| 色彩( hue的名词复数 )； 色调； 信仰； 观点 | |
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smuggle
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prudent
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| adj.谨慎的，有远见的，精打细算的 | |
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den
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| n.兽穴；秘密地方；安静的小房间，私室 | |
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whitewashed
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| 粉饰，美化，掩饰( whitewash的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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plunged
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| v.颠簸( plunge的过去式和过去分词 )；暴跌；骤降；突降 | |
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fortified
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slate
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| n.板岩，石板，石片，石板色，候选人名单；adj.暗蓝灰色的，含板岩的；vt.用石板覆盖，痛打，提名，预订 | |
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scent
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| n.气味，香味，香水，线索，嗅觉；v.嗅，发觉 | |
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reeked
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| v.发出浓烈的臭气( reek的过去式和过去分词 )；散发臭气；发出难闻的气味 (of sth)；明显带有（令人不快或生疑的跡象） | |
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fishy
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mermaid
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| n.美人鱼 | |
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23
looming
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| n.上现蜃景（光通过低层大气发生异常折射形成的一种海市蜃楼）v.隐约出现，阴森地逼近( loom的现在分词 )；隐约出现，阴森地逼近 | |
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24
desolate
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| adj.荒凉的，荒芜的；孤独的，凄凉的；v.使荒芜，使孤寂 | |
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25
scorpions
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| n.蝎子( scorpion的名词复数 ) | |
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standing
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| n.持续，地位；adj.永久的，不动的，直立的，不流动的 | |
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basking
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| v.晒太阳，取暖( bask的现在分词 )；对…感到乐趣；因他人的功绩而出名；仰仗…的余泽 | |
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28
bastard
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| n.坏蛋，混蛋；私生子 | |
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squire
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| n.护卫, 侍从, 乡绅 | |
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warden
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| n.监察员，监狱长，看守人，监护人 | |
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31
conceals
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| v.隐藏，隐瞒，遮住( conceal的第三人称单数 ) | |
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32
galley
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| n.（飞机或船上的）厨房单层甲板大帆船；军舰舰长用的大划艇； | |
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33
galleys
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| n.平底大船，战舰( galley的名词复数 )；（船上或航空器上的）厨房 | |
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34
alley
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| n.小巷，胡同；小径，小路 | |
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35
concealed
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| a.隐藏的，隐蔽的 | |
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36
domed
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| adj. 圆屋顶的, 半球形的, 拱曲的 动词dome的过去式和过去分词形式 | |
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37
surmounted
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| 战胜( surmount的过去式和过去分词 )； 克服（困难）； 居于…之上； 在…顶上 | |
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38
tangle
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| n.纠缠；缠结；混乱；v.(使)缠绕；变乱 | |
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39
crumbling
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| adj.摇摇欲坠的 | |
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40
fortress
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| n.堡垒，防御工事 | |
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41
stark
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| adj.荒凉的；严酷的；完全的；adv.完全地 | |
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42
wharves
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| n.码头，停泊处( wharf的名词复数 ) | |
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43
swarming
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| 密集( swarm的现在分词 )； 云集； 成群地移动； 蜜蜂或其他飞行昆虫成群地飞来飞去 | |
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44
clutter
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| n.零乱，杂乱；vt.弄乱，把…弄得杂乱 | |
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vessels
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| n.血管( vessel的名词复数 )；船；容器；（具有特殊品质或接受特殊品质的）人 | |
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46
warship
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| n.军舰，战舰 | |
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47
ravaged
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| 毁坏( ravage的过去式和过去分词 )； 蹂躏； 劫掠； 抢劫 | |
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48
pier
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| n.码头；桥墩，桥柱；[建]窗间壁，支柱 | |
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49
hirsute
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| adj.多毛的 | |
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50
stump
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| n.残株，烟蒂，讲演台；v.砍断，蹒跚而走 | |
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51
seamen
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| n.海员 | |
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52
garb
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| n.服装，装束 | |
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53
tunic
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| n.束腰外衣 | |
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54
woolen
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| adj.羊毛(制)的；毛纺的 | |
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55
mantle
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| n.斗篷，覆罩之物，罩子；v.罩住，覆盖，脸红 | |
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56
wharf
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| n.码头，停泊处 | |
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57
mead
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| n.蜂蜜酒 | |
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58
dice
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| n.骰子；vt.把（食物）切成小方块，冒险 | |
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59
flirting
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| v.调情，打情骂俏( flirt的现在分词 ) | |
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60
lichen
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| n.地衣, 青苔 | |
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61
teeming
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| adj.丰富的v.充满( teem的现在分词 )；到处都是；（指水、雨等）暴降；倾注 | |
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62
colonnade
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| n.柱廊 | |
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63
juggler
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| n. 变戏法者, 行骗者 | |
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64
huddled
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| 挤在一起（huddle的过去式与过去分词形式） | |
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65
pang
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| n.剧痛，悲痛，苦闷 | |
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66
guilt
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| n.犯罪；内疚；过失，罪责 | |
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67
shrugged
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| vt.耸肩（shrug的过去式与过去分词形式） | |
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68
pointed
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| adj.尖的，直截了当的 | |
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69
cod
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| n.鳕鱼；v.愚弄；哄骗 | |
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70
brewer
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| n. 啤酒制造者 | |
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71
dismal
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| adj.阴沉的，凄凉的，令人忧郁的，差劲的 | |
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72
eel
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| n.鳗鲡 | |
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73
underneath
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| adj.在...下面，在...底下；adv.在下面 | |
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74
warehouse
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| n.仓库；vt.存入仓库 | |
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75
smuggling
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| n.走私 | |
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76
renowned
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| adj.著名的，有名望的，声誉鹊起的 | |
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77
vilest
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| adj.卑鄙的( vile的最高级 )；可耻的；极坏的；非常讨厌的 | |
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78
inedible
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| adj.不能吃的，不宜食用的 | |
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79
shunned
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| v.避开，回避，避免( shun的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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80
soot
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| n.煤烟，烟尘；vt.熏以煤烟 | |
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81
vomit
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| v.呕吐，作呕；n.呕吐物，吐出物 | |
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82
proprietor
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| n.所有人；业主；经营者 | |
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83
alcoves
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| n.凹室( alcove的名词复数 )；（花园）凉亭；僻静处；壁龛 | |
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84
hearth
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| n.壁炉炉床，壁炉地面 | |
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85
fiery
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| adj.燃烧着的，火红的；暴躁的；激烈的 | |
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86
belly
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| n.肚子，腹部；(像肚子一样)鼓起的部分，膛 | |
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87
bloody
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| adj.非常的的；流血的；残忍的；adv.很；vt.血染 | |
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88
denizens
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| n.居民，住户( denizen的名词复数 ) | |
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89
dwarf
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| n.矮子，侏儒，矮小的动植物；vt.使…矮小 | |
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90
corpse
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| n.尸体，死尸 | |
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91
stunk
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| v.散发出恶臭( stink的过去分词 )；发臭味；名声臭；糟透 | |
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92
afterward
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| adv.后来；以后 | |
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93
outlaw
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| n.歹徒，亡命之徒；vt.宣布…为不合法 | |
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94
plundering
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| 掠夺，抢劫( plunder的现在分词 ) | |
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95
killing
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| n.巨额利润；突然赚大钱，发大财 | |
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96
embroiled
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| adj.卷入的；纠缠不清的 | |
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97
archers
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| n.弓箭手，射箭运动员( archer的名词复数 ) | |
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98
ailing
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| v.生病 | |
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99
naught
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| n.无，零 [=nought] | |
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100
spoke
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| n.（车轮的）辐条；轮辐；破坏某人的计划；阻挠某人的行动 v.讲，谈（speak的过去式）；说；演说；从某种观点来说 | |
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101
growled
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| v.（动物）发狺狺声， （雷）作隆隆声( growl的过去式和过去分词 )；低声咆哮着说 | |
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102
reign
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| n.统治时期，统治，支配，盛行；v.占优势 | |
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103
somber
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| adj.昏暗的，阴天的，阴森的，忧郁的 | |
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104
jack
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| n.插座，千斤顶，男人；v.抬起，提醒，扛举；n.（Jake）杰克 | |
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105
moored
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| adj. 系泊的 动词moor的过去式和过去分词形式 | |
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106
steward
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| n.乘务员，服务员；看管人；膳食管理员 | |
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107
cloves
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| n.丁香（热带树木的干花，形似小钉子，用作调味品，尤用作甜食的香料）( clove的名词复数 )；蒜瓣(a garlic ~|a ~of garlic) | |
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108
moths
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| n.蛾( moth的名词复数 ) | |
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109
knights
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| 骑士； （中古时代的）武士( knight的名词复数 )； 骑士； 爵士； （国际象棋中）马 | |
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110
gusting
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| （风）猛刮（gust的现在分词形式） | |
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111
veins
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| n.纹理；矿脉( vein的名词复数 )；静脉；叶脉；纹理 | |
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112
bawdy
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| adj.淫猥的，下流的；n.粗话 | |
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113
thong
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| n.皮带；皮鞭；v.装皮带 | |
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114
futile
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| adj.无效的，无用的，无希望的 | |
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115
salmon
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| n.鲑，大马哈鱼，橙红色的 | |
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116
velvet
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| n.丝绒，天鹅绒；adj.丝绒制的，柔软的 | |
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117
remains
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| n.剩余物，残留物；遗体，遗迹 | |
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118
wrack
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| v.折磨；n.海草 | |
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119
mermaids
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| n.（传说中的）美人鱼( mermaid的名词复数 ) | |
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