He might have taken some comfort in that if he had not been trussed up like a goose and lashed1 to a saddle. He had given up squirming. The knots that bound him were too tight. Instead he’d gone as limp as a sack of meal. Saving my strength, he told himself, though for what he could not have said.
Volantis closed its gates at dark, and the guardsmen on its northern gate were grumbling3 impatiently at the stragglers. They joined the queue behind a wagon4 laden5 with limes and oranges. The guards motioned the wagon through with their torches but took a harder look at the big Andal on his warhorse, with his longsword and his mail. A captain was summoned. Whilst he and the knight6 exchanged some words in Volantene, one of the guardsmen pulled off his clawed gauntlet and gave Tyrion’s head a rub. “I’m full of good fortune,” the dwarf8 told him. “Cut me loose, friend, and I’ll see you’re well rewarded.”
His captor overheard. “Save your lies for those who speak your tongue, Imp2,” he said, when the Volantenes waved them on.
They were moving again, through the gate and beneath the city’s massive walls. “You speak my tongue. Can I sway you with promises, or are you determined9 to buy a lordship with my head?”
“I was a lord, by right of birth. I want no hollow titles.”
“That’s all you’re like to get from my sweet sister.”
“And here I’d heard a Lannister always pays his debts.”
“Oh, every penny … but never a groat more, my lord. You’ll get the meal you bargained for, but it won’t be sauced with gratitude10, and in the end it will not nourish you.”
“Might be all I want is to see you pay for crimes. The kinslayer is accursed in the eyes of gods and men.”
“The gods are blind. And men see only what they wish.”
“I see you plain enough, Imp.” Something dark had crept into the knight’s tone. “I have done things I am not proud of, things that brought shame onto my House and my father’s name … but to kill your own sire? How could any man do that?”
“Give me a crossbow and pull down your breeches, and I’ll show you.” Gladly.
“You think this is a jape?”
“I think life is a jape. Yours, mine, everyone’s.”
Inside the city walls, they rode past guildhalls, markets, and bathhouses. Fountains splashed and sang in the centers of wide squares, where men sat at stone tables, moving cyvasse pieces and sipping12 wine from glass flutes13 as slaves lit ornate lanterns to hold the dark at bay. Palms and cedars14 grew along the cobbled road, and monuments stood at every junction15. Many of the statues lacked heads, the dwarf noted16, yet even headless they still managed to look imposing17 in the purple dusk.
As the warhorse plodded18 south along the river, the shops grew smaller and meaner, the trees along the street became a row of stumps19. Cobblestones gave way to devilgrass beneath their horse’s hooves, then to soft wet mud the color of a baby’s nightsoil. The little bridges that spanned the small streams that fed the Rhoyne creaked alarmingly beneath their weight. Where a fort had once overlooked the river now stood a broken gate, gaping20 open like an old man’s toothless mouth. Goats could be glimpsed peering over the parapets.
Old Volantis, first daughter of Valyria, the dwarf mused22. Proud Volantis, queen of the Rhoyne and mistress of the Summer Sea, home to noble lords and lovely ladies of the most ancient blood. Never mind the packs of naked children that roamed the alleys24 screaming in shrill25 voices, or the bravos standing26 in the doors of wineshops fingering their sword hilts, or the slaves with their bent28 backs and tattooed30 faces who scurried31 everywhere like cockroaches32. Mighty33 Volantis, grandest and most populous34 of the Nine Free Cities. Ancient wars had depopulated much of the city, however, and large areas of Volantis had begun to sink back into the mud on which it stood. Beautiful Volantis, city of fountains and flowers. But half the fountains were dry, half the pools cracked and stagnant35. Flowering vines sent up creepers from every crack in the wall or pavement, and young trees had taken root in the walls of abandoned shops and roofless temples.
And then there was the smell. It hung in the hot, humid air, rich, rank, pervasive36. There’s fish in it, and flowers, and some elephant dung as well. Something sweet and something earthy and something dead and rotten. “This city smells like an old whore,” Tyrion announced. “Like some sagging37 slattern who has drenched38 her privy39 parts in perfume to drown the stench between her legs. Not that I am complaining. With whores, the young ones smell much better, but the old ones know more tricks.”
“You would know more of that than I do.”
“Ah, of course. That brothel where we met, did you take it for a sept? Was that your virgin40 sister squirming in your lap?”
That made him scowl41. “Give that tongue of yours a rest unless you’d rather I tied it in a knot.”
Tyrion swallowed his retort. His lip was still fat and swollen42 from the last time he had pushed the big knight too far. Hard hands and no sense of humor makes for a bad marriage. That much he’d learned on the road from Selhorys. His thoughts went to his boot, to the mushrooms in the toe. His captor had not searched him quite as thoroughly43 as he might have. There is always that escape. Cersei will not have me alive, at least.
Farther south, signs of prosperity began to reappear. Abandoned buildings were seen less often, the naked children vanished, the bravos in the doorways44 seemed more sumptuously45 dressed. A few of the inns they passed actually looked like places where a man might sleep without fear of having his throat slit46. Lanterns swung from iron stanchions along the river road, swaying when the wind blew. The streets grew broader, the buildings more imposing. Some were topped with great domes47 of colored glass. In the gathering48 dusk, with fires lit beneath them, the domes glowed blue and red and green and purple.
Even so, there was something in the air that made Tyrion uneasy. West of the Rhoyne, he knew, the wharves49 of Volantis teemed50 with sailors, slaves, and traders, and the wineshops, inns, and brothels all catered51 to them. East of the river, strangers from across the seas were seen less seldom. We are not wanted here, the dwarf realized.
The first time they passed an elephant, Tyrion could not help but stare. There had been an elephant in the menagerie at Lannisport when he had been a boy, but she had died when he was seven … and this great grey behemoth looked to be twice her size.
Farther on, they fell in behind a smaller elephant, white as old bone and pulling an ornate cart. “Is an oxcart an oxcart without an ox?” Tyrion asked his captor. When that sally got no response, he lapsed52 back into silence, contemplating53 the rolling rump of the white dwarf elephant ahead of them.
Volantis was overrun with white dwarf elephants. As they drew closer to the Black Wall and the crowded districts near the Long Bridge, they saw a dozen of them. Big grey elephants were not uncommon54 either—huge beasts with castles on their backs. And in the half-light of evening the dung carts had come out, attended by half-naked slaves whose task it was to shovel55 up the steaming piles left by elephants both great and small. Swarms56 of flies followed the carts, so the dung slaves had flies tattooed upon their cheeks, to mark them for what they were. There’s a trade for my sweet sister, Tyrion mused. She’d look so pretty with a little shovel and flies tattooed on those sweet pink cheeks.
By then they had slowed to a crawl. The river road was thick with traffic, almost all of it flowing south. The knight went with it, a log caught in a current. Tyrion eyed the passing throngs58. Nine men of every ten bore slave marks on their cheeks. “So many slaves … where are they all going?”
“The red priests light their nightfires at sunset. The High Priest will be speaking. I would avoid it if I could, but to reach the Long Bridge we must pass the red temple.”
Three blocks later the street opened up before them onto a huge torchlit plaza59, and there it stood. Seven save me, that’s got to be three times the size of the Great Sept of Baelor. An enormity of pillars, steps, buttresses60, bridges, domes, and towers flowing into one another as if they had all been chiseled61 from one collossal rock, the Temple of the Lord of Light loomed62 like Aegon’s High Hill. A hundred hues63 of red, yellow, gold, and orange met and melded in the temple walls, dissolving one into the other like clouds at sunset. Its slender towers twisted ever upward, frozen flames dancing as they reached for the sky. Fire turned to stone. Huge nightfires burned beside the temple steps, and between them the High Priest had begun to speak.
Benerro. The priest stood atop a red stone pillar, joined by a slender stone bridge to a lofty terrace where the lesser64 priests and acolytes65 stood. The acolytes were clad in robes of pale yellow and bright orange, priests and priestesses in red.
The great plaza before them was packed almost solid. Many and more of the worshipers were wearing some scrap66 of red cloth pinned to their sleeves or tied around their brows. Every eye was on the high priest, save theirs. “Make way,” the knight growled67 as his horse pushed through the throng57. “Clear a path.” The Volantenes gave way resentfully, with mutters and angry looks.
Benerro’s high voice carried well. Tall and thin, he had a drawn68 face and skin white as milk. Flames had been tattooed across his cheeks and chin and shaven head to make a bright red mask that crackled about his eyes and coiled down and around his lipless mouth. “Is that a slave tattoo29?” asked Tyrion.
The knight nodded. “The red temple buys them as children and makes them priests or temple prostitutes or warriors69. Look there.” He pointed70 at the steps, where a line of men in ornate armor and orange cloaks stood before the temple’s doors, clasping spears with points like writhing71 flames. “The Fiery72 Hand. The Lord of Light’s sacred soldiers, defenders73 of the temple.”
Fire knights74. “And how many fingers does this hand have, pray?”
“One thousand. Never more, and never less. A new flame is kindled75 for every one that gutters76 out.”
Benerro jabbed a finger at the moon, made a fist, spread his hands wide. When his voice rose in a crescendo78, flames leapt from his fingers with a sudden whoosh79 and made the crowd gasp80. The priest could trace fiery letters in the air as well. Valyrian glyphs. Tyrion recognized perhaps two in ten; one was Doom81, the other Darkness.
Shouts erupted from the crowd. Women were weeping and men were shaking their fists. I have a bad feeling about this. The dwarf was reminded of the day Myrcella sailed for Dorne and the riot that boiled up as they made their way back to the Red Keep.
Haldon Halfmaester had spoken of using the red priest to Young Griff’s advantage, Tyrion recalled. Now that he had seen and heard the man himself, that struck him as a very bad idea. He hoped that Griff had better sense. Some allies are more dangerous than enemies. But Lord Connington will need to puzzle that one out for himself. I am like to be a head on a spike83.
The priest was pointing at the Black Wall behind the temple, gesturing up at its parapets, where a handful of armored guardsmen stood gazing down. “What is he saying?” Tyrion asked the knight.
“That Daenerys stands in peril84. The dark eye has fallen upon her, and the minions85 of night are plotting her destruction, praying to their false gods in temples of deceit … conspiring86 at betrayal with godless outlanders …”
The hairs on the back of Tyrion’s neck began to prickle. Prince Aegon will find no friend here. The red priest spoke82 of ancient prophecy, a prophecy that foretold87 the coming of a hero to deliver the world from darkness. One hero. Not two. Daenerys has dragons, Aegon does not. The dwarf did not need to be a prophet himself to foresee how Benerro and his followers88 might react to a second Targaryen. Griff will see that too, surely, he thought, surprised to find how much he cared.
The knight had forced their way through most of the press at the back of the plaza, ignoring the curses that were flung at them as they passed. One man stepped in front of them, but his captor gripped the hilt of his longsword and drew it just far enough to show a foot of naked steel. The man melted away, and all at once an alley23 opened up before them. The knight urged his mount to a trot89, and they left the crowd behind them. For a while Tyrion could still hear Benerro’s voice growing fainter at their back and the roars his words provoked, sudden as thunder.
They came upon a stable. The knight dismounted, then hammered on the door until a haggard slave with a horsehead on his cheek came running. The dwarf was pulled down roughly from the saddle and lashed to a post whilst his captor woke the stable’s owner and haggled93 with him over the price of his horse and saddle. Cheaper to sell a horse than to ship one half across the world. Tyrion sensed a ship in his immediate94 future. Perhaps he was a prophet after all.
When the dickering was done, the knight slung95 his weapons, shield, and saddlebag over his shoulder and asked for directions to the nearest smithy. That proved shuttered too, but opened quick enough at the knight’s shout. The smith gave Tyrion a squint97, then nodded and accepted a fistful of coins. “Come here,” the knight told his prisoner. He drew his dagger98 and slit Tyrion’s bonds apart. “My thanks,” said the dwarf as he rubbed his wrists, but the knight only laughed and said, “Save your gratitude for someone who deserves it, Imp. You will not like this next bit.”
He was not wrong.
The manacles were black iron, thick and heavy, each weighing a good two pounds, if the dwarf was any judge. The chains added even more weight. “I must be more fearsome than I knew,” Tyrion confessed as the last links were hammered closed. Each blow sent a shock up his arm almost to the shoulder. “Or were you afraid that I would dash away on these stunted99 little legs of mine?”
The ironsmith did not so much as look up from his work, but the knight chuckled100 darkly. “It’s your mouth that concerns me, not your legs. In fetters101, you’re a slave. No one will listen to a word you say, not even those who speak the tongue of Westeros.”
“There’s no need for this,” Tyrion protested. “I will be a good little prisoner, I will, I will.”
“Prove it, then, and shut your mouth.”
So he bowed his head and bit his tongue as the chains were fixed102, wrist to wrist, wrist to ankle, ankle to ankle. These bloody103 things weigh more than I do. Still, at least he drew breath. His captor could just as easily have cut his head off. That was all Cersei required, after all. Not striking it off straightaway had been his captor’s first mistake. There is half a world between Volantis and King’s Landing, and much and more can happen along the way, ser.
The rest of the way they went by foot, Tyrion clanking and clattering104 as he struggled to keep up with his captor’s long, impatient strides. Whenever he threatened to fall behind, the knight would seize his fetters and yank them roughly, sending the dwarf stumbling and hopping105 along beside him. It could be worse. He could be urging me along with a whip.
Volantis straddled one mouth of the Rhoyne where the river kissed the sea, its two halves joined by the Long Bridge. The oldest, richest part of the city was east of the river, but sellswords, barbarians106, and other uncouth107 outlanders were not welcome there, so they must needs cross over to the west.
The gateway108 to the Long Bridge was a black stone arch carved with sphinxes, manticores, dragons, and creatures stranger still. Beyond the arch stretched the great span that the Valyrians had built at the height of their glory, its fused stone roadway supported by massive piers109. The road was just wide enough for two carts to pass abreast110, so whenever a wagon headed west passed one going east, both had to slow to a crawl.
It was well they were afoot. A third of the way out, a wagon laden with melons had gotten its wheels tangled112 with one piled high with silken carpets and brought all wheeled traffic to a halt. Much of the foot traffic had stopped as well, to watch the drivers curse and scream at one another, but the knight grabbed hold of Tyrion’s chain and bulled a path through the throng for both of them. In the middle of the press, a boy tried to reach into his purse, but a hard elbow put an end to that and spread the thief’s bloody nose across half his face.
Buildings rose to either side of them: shops and temples, taverns114 and inns, cyvasse parlors115 and brothels. Most were three or four stories tall, each floor overhanging the one beneath it. Their top floors almost kissed. Crossing the bridge felt like passing through a torchlit tunnel. Along the span were shops and stalls of every sort; weavers116 and lacemakers displayed their wares117 cheek by jowl with glassblowers, candlemakers, and fishwives selling eels111 and oysters118. Each goldsmith had a guard at his door, and every spicer had two, for their goods were twice as valuable. Here and there, between the shops, a traveler might catch a glimpse of the river he was crossing. To the north the Rhoyne was a broad black ribbon bright with stars, five times as wide as the Blackwater Rush at King’s Landing. South of the bridge the river opened up to embrace the briny119 sea.
At the bridge’s center span, the severed120 hands of thieves and cutpurses hung like strings121 of onions from iron stanchions along the roadway. Three heads were on display as well—two men and a woman, their crimes scrawled122 on tablets underneath123 them. A pair of spearmen attended them, clad in polished helms and shirts of silver mail. Across their cheeks were tiger stripes as green as jade124. From time to time the guards waved their spears to chase away the kestrels, gulls125, and carrion126 crows paying court to the deceased. The birds returned to the heads within moments.
“What did they do?” Tyrion inquired innocently.
The knight glanced at the inscriptions127. “The woman was a slave who raised her hand to her mistress. The older man was accused of fomenting128 rebellion and spying for the dragon queen.”
“And the young one?”
“Killed his father.”
Tyrion gave the rotting head a second look. Why, it almost looks as if those lips are smiling.
Farther on, the knight paused briefly129 to consider a jeweled tiara displayed upon a bed of purple velvet130. He passed that by, but a few steps on he stopped again to haggle92 over a pair of gloves at a leatherworker’s stall. Tyrion was grateful for the respites131. The headlong pace had left him puffing132, and his wrists were chafed133 raw from the manacles.
From the far end of the Long Bridge, it was only a short walk through the teeming134 waterfront districts of the west bank, down torchlit streets crowded with sailors, slaves, and drunken merrymakers. Once an elephant lumbered135 past with a dozen half-naked slave girls waving from the castle on its back, teasing passersby136 with glimpses of their breasts and crying, “Malaquo, Malaquo.” They made such an entrancing sight that Tyrion almost waddled137 right into the steaming pile of dung the elephant had left to mark its passage. He was saved at the last instant when the knight snatched him aside, yanking on his chain so hard it made him reel and stumble.
“How much farther?” the dwarf asked.
“Just there. Fishmonger’s Square.”
Their destination proved to be the Merchant’s House, a four-story monstrosity that squatted139 amongst the warehouses140, brothels, and taverns of the waterside like some enormous fat man surrounded by children. Its common room was larger than the great halls of half the castles in Westeros, a dim-lit maze141 of a place with a hundred private alcoves143 and hidden nooks whose blackened beams and cracked ceilings echoed to the din27 of sailors, traders, captains, money changers, shippers, and slavers, lying, cursing, and cheating each other in half a hundred different tongues.
Tyrion approved the choice of hostelry. Soon or late the Shy Maid must reach Volantis. This was the city’s biggest inn, first choice for shippers, captains, and merchantmen. A lot of business was done in that cavernous warren of a common room. He knew enough of Volantis to know that. Let Griff turn up here with Duck and Haldon, and he would be free again soon enough.
Meanwhile, he would be patient. His chance would come.
The rooms upstairs proved rather less than grand, however, particularly the cheap ones up on the fourth floor. Wedged into a corner of the building beneath a sloping roof, the bedchamber his captor had engaged featured a low ceiling, a sagging feather bed with an unpleasant odor, and a slanting145 wood-plank floor that reminded Tyrion of his sojourn146 at the Eyrie. At least this room has walls. It had windows too; those were its chief amenity147, along with the iron ring set in the wall, so useful for chaining up one’s slaves. His captor paused only long enough to light a tallow candle before securing Tyrion’s chains to the ring.
“Must you?” the dwarf protested, rattling148 feebly. “Where am I going to go, out the window?”
“You might.”
“We are four floors up, and I cannot fly.”
“You can fall. I want you alive.”
Aye, but why? Cersei is not like to care. Tyrion rattled150 his chains. “I know who you are, ser.” It had not been hard to puzzle out. The bear on his surcoat, the arms on his shield, the lost lordship he had mentioned. “I know what you are. And if you know who I am, you also know that I was the King’s Hand and sat in council with the Spider. Would it interest you to know that it was the eunuch who dispatched me on this journey?” Him and Jaime, but I’ll leave my brother out of it. “I am as much his creature as you are. We ought not be at odds151.”
That did not please the knight. “I took the Spider’s coin, I’ll not deny it, but I was never his creature. And my loyalties152 lie elsewhere now.”
“With Cersei? More fool you. All my sister requires is my head, and you have a fine sharp sword. Why not end this farce153 now and spare us both?”
The knight laughed. “Is this some dwarf’s trick? Beg for death in hopes I’ll let you live?” He went to the door. “I’ll bring you something from the kitchens.”
“How kind of you. I’ll wait here.”
“I know you will.” Yet when the knight left, he locked the door behind him with a heavy iron key. The Merchant’s House was famous for its locks. As secure as a gaol154, the dwarf thought bitterly, but at least there are those windows.
Tyrion knew that the chances of his escaping his chains were little and less, but even so, he felt obliged to try. His efforts to slip a hand through the manacle served only to scrap off more skin and leave his wrist slick with blood, and all his tugging155 or twisting could not pull the iron ring from the wall. Bugger this, he thought, slumping157 back as far as his chains would allow. His legs had begun to cramp158. This was going to be a hellishly uncomfortable night. The first of many, I do not doubt.
The room was stifling159, so the knight had opened the shutters160 to let in a cross breeze. Cramped161 into a corner of the building under the eaves, the chamber144 was fortunate in having two windows. One looked toward the Long Bridge and the black-walled heart of Old Volantis across the river. The other opened on the square below. Fishermonger’s Square, Mormont called it. As tight as the chains were, Tyrion found he could see out the latter by leaning sideways and letting the iron ring support his weight. Not as long a fall as the one from Lysa Arryn’s sky cells, but it would leave me just as dead. Perhaps if I were drunk …
Even at this hour the square was crowded, with sailors roistering, whores prowling for custom, and merchants going about their business. A red priestess scurried past, attended by a dozen acolytes with torches, their robes whisking about their ankles. Elsewhere a pair of cyvasse players waged war outside a tavern113. A slave stood beside their table, holding a lantern over the board. Tyrion could hear a woman singing. The words were strange, the tune7 was soft and sad. If I knew what she was singing, I might cry. Closer to hand, a crowd was gathering around a pair of jugglers throwing flaming torches at each other.
His captor returned shortly, carrying two tankards and a roasted duck. He kicked the door shut, ripped the duck in two, and tossed half of it to Tyrion. He would have snatched it from the air, but his chains brought him up short when he tried to lift his arms. Instead the bird struck his temple and slid hot and greasy162 down his face, and he had to hunker down and stretch for it with fetters clanking. He got it on the third try and tore into it happily with his teeth. “Some ale to wash this down?”
Mormont handed him a tankard. “Most of Volantis is getting drunk, why not you?”
The ale was sweet as well. It tasted of fruit. Tyrion drank a healthy swallow and belched163 happily. The tankard was pewter, very heavy. Empty it and fling it at his head, he thought. If I am lucky, it might crack his skull164. If I’m very lucky, it will miss, and he’ll beat me to death with his fists. He took another gulp165. “Is this some holy day?”
“Third day of their elections. They last for ten. Ten days of madness. Torchlight marches, speeches, mummers and minstrels and dancers, bravos fighting death duels166 for the honor of their candidates, elephants with the names of would-be triarchs painted on their sides. Those jugglers are performing for Methyso.”
“Remind me to vote for someone else.” Tyrion licked grease from his fingers. Below, the crowd was flinging coins at the jugglers. “Do all these would-be triarchs provide mummer shows?”
“They do whatever they think will win them votes,” said Mormont. “Food, drink, spectacle … Alios has sent a hundred pretty slave girls out into the streets to lie with voters.”
“I’m for him,” Tyrion decided167. “Bring me a slave girl.”
“They’re for freeborn Volantenes with enough property to vote. Precious few voters west of the river.”
“And this goes on for ten days?” Tyrion laughed. “I might enjoy that, though three kings is two too many. I am trying to imagine ruling the Seven Kingdoms with my sweet sister and brave brother beside me. One of us would kill the other two inside a year. I am surprised these triarchs don’t do the same.”
“A few have tried. Might be the Volantenes are the clever ones and us Westerosi the fools. Volantis has known her share of follies168, but she’s never suffered a boy triarch. Whenever a madman’s been elected, his colleagues restrain him until his year has run its course. Think of the dead who might still live if Mad Aerys only had two fellow kings to share the rule.”
Instead he had my father, Tyrion thought.
“Some in the Free Cities think that we’re all savages169 on our side of the narrow sea,” the knight went on. “The ones who don’t think that we’re children, crying out for a father’s strong hand.”
“Or a mother’s?” Cersei will love that. Especially when he presents her with my head. “You seem to know this city well.”
“I spent the best part of a year here.” The knight sloshed the dregs at the bottom of his tankard. “When Stark171 drove me into exile, I fled to Lys with my second wife. Braavos would have suited me better, but Lynesse wanted someplace warm. Instead of serving the Braavosi I fought them on the Rhoyne, but for every silver I earned my wife spent ten. By the time I got back to Lys, she had taken a lover, who told me cheerfully that I would be enslaved for debt unless I gave her up and left the city. That was how I came to Volantis … one step ahead of slavery, owning nothing but my sword and the clothes upon my back.”
“And now you want to run home.”
The knight drained the last of his ale. “On the morrow I’ll find us a ship. The bed is mine. You can have whatever piece of floor your chains will let you reach. Sleep if you can. If not, count your crimes. That should see you through till the morning.”
You have your crimes to answer for, Jorah Mormont, the dwarf thought, but it seemed wiser to keep that thought to himself.
Ser Jorah hung his sword belt on a bedpost, kicked off his boots, pulled his chain mail over his head, and stripped out of his wool and leather and sweat-stained undertunic to reveal a scarred, brawny173 torso covered with dark hair. If I could skin him, I could sell that pelt174 for a fur cloak, Tyrion thought as Mormont tumbled into the slightly smelly comfort of his sagging feather bed.
In no time at all the knight was snoring, leaving his prize alone with his chains. With both windows open wide, the light of the waning175 moon spilled across the bedchamber. Sounds drifted up from the square below: snatches of drunken song, the yowling of a cat in heat, the far-off ring of steel on steel. Someone’s about to die, thought Tyrion.
His wrist was throbbing176 where he’d torn the skin, and his fetters made it impossible for him to sit, let alone stretch out. The best he could do was twist sideways to lean against the wall, and before long he began to lose all feeling in his hands. When he moved to relieve the strain, sensation came flooding back as pain. He had to grind his teeth to keep from screaming. He wondered how much his father had hurt when the quarrel punched through his groin, what Shae had felt as he twisted the chain around her lying throat, what Tysha had been feeling as they raped177 her. His sufferings were nothing compared to their own, but that did not make him hurt any less. Just make it stop.
Ser Jorah had rolled onto one side, so all that Tyrion could see of him was a broad, hairy, muscular back. Even if I could slip these chains, I’d need to climb over him to reach his sword belt. Perhaps if I could ease the dagger loose … Or else he could try for the key, unlock the door, creep down the stairs and through the common room … and go where? I have no friends, no coin, I do not even speak the local tongue.
Exhaustion178 finally overwhelmed his pains, and Tyrion drifted off into a fitful sleep. But every time another cramp took root inside his calf179 and twisted, the dwarf would cry out in his sleep, trembling in his chains. He woke with every muscle aching, to find morning streaming through the windows bright and golden as the lion of Lannister. Below he could hear the cries of fishmongers and the rumble180 of iron-rimmed wheels on cobblestones.
Jorah Mormont was standing over him. “If I take you off the ring, will you do as you’re told?”
“Will it involve dancing? I might find dancing difficult. I cannot feel my legs. They may have fallen off. Elsewise, I am your creature. On my honor as a Lannister.”
“The Lannisters have no honor.” Ser Jorah loosed his chains anyway. Tyrion took two wobbly steps and fell. The blood rushing back into his hands brought tears to his eyes. He bit his lip and said, “Wherever we’re going, you will need to roll me there.”
Instead the big knight carried him, hoisting181 him by the chain between his wrists.
The common room of the Merchant’s House was a dim labyrinth182 of alcoves and grottoes built around a central courtyard where a trellis of flowering vines threw intricate patterns across the flagstone floor and green and purple moss183 grew between the stones. Slave girls scurried through light and shadow, bearing flagons of ale and wine and some iced green drink that smelled of mint. One table in twenty was occupied at this hour of the morning.
One of those was occupied by a dwarf. Clean-shaved and pink-cheeked, with a mop of chestnut184 hair, a heavy brow, and a squashed nose, he perched on a high stool with a wooden spoon in hand, contemplating a bowl of purplish gruel185 with red-rimmed eyes. Ugly little bastard186, Tyrion thought.
The other dwarf felt his stare. When he raised his head and saw Tyrion, the spoon slipped from his hand.
“He saw me,” Tyrion warned Mormont.
“What of it?”
“He knows me. Who I am.”
“Should I stuff you in a sack, so no one will see you?” The knight touched the hilt of his longsword. “If he means to try and take you, he is welcome to try.”
Welcome to die, you mean, thought Tyrion. What threat could he pose to a big man like you? He is only a dwarf.
Ser Jorah claimed a table in a quiet corner and ordered food and drink. They broke their fast with warm soft flatbread, pink fish roe187, honey sausage, and fried locusts188, washed down with a bittersweet black ale. Tyrion ate like a man half-starved. “You have a healthy appetite this morning,” the knight observed.
“I’ve heard the food in hell is wretched.” Tyrion glanced at the door, where a man had just come in: tall and stooped, his pointed beard dyed a splotchy purple. Some Tyroshi trader. A gust190 of sound came with him from outside; the cries of gulls, a woman’s laughter, the voices of the fishmongers. For half a heartbeat he thought he glimpsed Illyrio Mopatis, but it was only one of those white dwarf elephants passing the front door.
Mormont spread some fish roe across a slice of flatbread and took a bite. “Are you expecting someone?”
Tyrion shrugged191. “You never know who the wind might blow in. My one true love, my father’s ghost, a duck.” He popped a locust189 into his mouth and crunched192 it. “Not bad. For a bug156.”
“Last night the talk here was all of Westeros. Some exiled lord has hired the Golden Company to win back his lands for him. Half the captains in Volantis are racing193 upriver to Volon Therys to offer him their ships.”
Tyrion had just swallowed another locust. He almost choked on it. Is he mocking me? How much could he know of Griff and Aegon? “Bugger,” he said. “I meant to hire the Golden Company myself, to win me Casterly Rock.” Could this be some ploy194 of Griff’s, false reports deliberately195 spread? Unless … Could the pretty princeling have swallowed the bait? Turned them west instead of east, abandoning his hopes of wedding Queen Daenerys? Abandoning the dragons … would Griff allow that? “I’ll gladly hire you as well, ser. My father’s seat is mine by rights. Swear me your sword, and once I win it back I’ll drown you in gold.”
“I saw a man drowned in gold once. It was not a pretty sight. If you ever get my sword, it will be through your bowels196.”
“A sure cure for constipation,” said Tyrion. “Just ask my father.” He reached for his tankard and took a slow swallow, to help conceal197 whatever might be showing on his face. It had to be a stratagem198, designed to lull199 Volantene suspicions. Get the men aboard with this false pretext200 and seize the ships when the fleet is out to sea. Is that Griff’s plan? It might work. The Golden Company was ten thousand strong, seasoned and disciplined. None of them seamen201, though. Griff will need to keep a sword at every throat, and should they come on Slaver’s Bay and need to fight …
The serving girl returned. “The widow will see you next, noble ser. Have you brought a gift for her?”
“Yes. Thank you.” Ser Jorah slipped a coin into the girl’s palm and sent her on her way.
Tyrion frowned. “Whose widow is this?”
“The widow of the waterfront. East of the Rhoyne they still call her Vogarro’s whore, though never to her face.”
The dwarf was not enlightened. “And Vogarro was …?”
“An elephant, seven times a triarch, very rich, a power on the docks. Whilst other men built the ships and sailed them, he built piers and storehouses, brokered202 cargoes203, changed money, insured shipowners against the hazards of the sea. He dealt in slaves as well. When he grew besotted with one of them, a bedslave trained at Yunkai in the way of seven sighs, it was a great scandal … and a greater scandal when he freed her and took her for his wife. After he died, she carried on his ventures. No freedman may dwell within the Black Wall, so she was compelled to sell Vogarro’s manse. She took up residence at the Merchant’s House. That was thirty-two years ago, and she remains204 here to this day. That’s her behind you, back by the courtyard, holding court at her customary table. No, don’t look. There’s someone with her now. When he’s done, it will be our turn.”
“And this old harridan205 will help you how?”
Ser Jorah stood. “Watch and see. He’s leaving.”
Tyrion hopped206 down off his chair with a rattle149 of iron. This should be enlightening.
There was something vulpine about the way the woman sat in her corner by the courtyard, something reptilian207 about her eyes. Her white hair was so thin that the pink of her scalp showed through. Under one eye she still bore faint scars where a knife had cut away her tears. The remnants of her morning meal littered the table—sardine heads, olive pits, chunks208 of flatbread. Tyrion did not fail to note how well chosen her “customary table” was; solid stone at her back, a leafy alcove142 to one side for entrances and exits, a perfect view of the inn’s front door, yet so steeped in shadow that she herself was nigh invisible.
The sight of him made the old woman smile. “A dwarf,” she purred, in a voice as sinister209 as it was soft. She spoke the Common Tongue with only a trace of accent. “Volantis has been overrun with dwarfs210 of late, it seems. Does this one do tricks?”
Yes, Tyrion wanted to say. Give me a crossbow, and I’ll show you my favorite. “No,” Ser Jorah answered.
“A pity. I once had a monkey who could perform all sorts of clever tricks. Your dwarf reminds me of him. Is he a gift?”
“No. I brought you these.” Ser Jorah produced his pair of gloves, and slapped them down on the table beside the other gifts the widow had received this morning: a silver goblet211, an ornate fan carved of jade leaves so thin they were translucent212, and an ancient bronze dagger marked with runes. Beside such treasures the gloves looked cheap and tawdry.
“Gloves for my poor old wrinkled hands. How nice.” The widow made no move to touch them.
“I bought them on the Long Bridge.”
“A man can buy most anything on the Long Bridge. Gloves, slaves, monkeys.” The years had bent her spine213 and put a crone’s hump upon her back, but the widow’s eyes were bright and black. “Now tell this old widow how she may be of service to you.”
“We need swift passage to Meereen.”
One word. Tyrion Lannister’s world turned upside down.
One word. Meereen. Or had he misheard?
One word. Meereen, he said Meereen, he’s taking me to Meereen. Meereen meant life. Or hope for life, at least.
“Why come to me?” the widow said. “I own no ships.”
“You have many captains in your debt.”
Deliver me to the queen, he says. Aye, but which queen? He isn’t selling me to Cersei. He’s giving me to Daenerys Targaryen. That’s why he hasn’t hacked214 my head off. We’re going east, and Griff and his prince are going west, the bloody fools.
Oh, it was all too much. Plots within plots, but all roads lead down the dragon’s gullet. A guffaw215 burst from his lips, and suddenly Tyrion could not stop laughing.
“Your dwarf is having a fit,” the widow observed.
“My dwarf will be quiet, or I’ll see him gagged.”
Tyrion covered his mouth with his hands. Meereen!
The widow of the waterfront decided to ignore him. “Shall we have a drink?” she asked. Dust motes216 floated in the air as a serving girl filled two green glass cups for Ser Jorah and the widow. Tyrion’s throat was dry, but no cup was poured for him. The widow took a sip11, rolled the wine round her mouth, swallowed. “All the other exiles are sailing west, or so these old ears have heard. And all those captains in my debt are falling over one another to take them there and leach217 a little gold from the coffers of the Golden Company. Our noble triarchs have pledged a dozen warships218 to the cause, to see the fleet safely as far as the Stepstones. Even old Doniphos has given his assent219. Such a glorious adventure. And yet you would go the other way, ser.”
“My business is in the east.”
“And what business is that, I wonder? Not slaves, the silver queen has put an end to that. She has closed the fighting pits as well, so it cannot be a taste for blood. What else could Meereen offer to a Westerosi knight? Bricks? Olives? Dragons? Ah, there it is.” The old woman’s smile turned feral. “I have heard it said that the silver queen feeds them with the flesh of infants while she herself bathes in the blood of virgin girls and takes a different lover every night.”
Ser Jorah’s mouth had hardened. “The Yunkai’i are pouring poison in your ears. My lady should not believe such filth220.”
“I am no lady, but even Vogarro’s whore knows the taste of falsehood. This much is true, though … the dragon queen has enemies … Yunkai, New Ghis, Tolos, Qarth … aye, and Volantis, soon enough. You would travel to Meereen? Just wait a while, ser. Swords will be wanted soon enough, when the warships bend their oars90 eastward221 to bring down the silver queen. Tigers love to bare their claws, and even elephants will kill if threatened. Malaquo hungers for a taste of glory, and Nyessos owes much of his wealth to the slave trade. Let Alios or Parquello or Belicho gain the triarchy, and the fleets will sail.”
Ser Jorah scowled222. “If Doniphos is returned …”
“Vogarro will be returned first, and my sweet lord has been dead these thirty years.”
Behind them, some sailor was bellowing223 loudly. “They call this ale? Fuck. A monkey could piss better ale.”
“And you would drink it,” another voice replied.
Tyrion twisted around for a look, hoping against hope that it was Duck and Haldon he was hearing. Instead he saw two strangers … and the dwarf, who was standing a few feet away staring at him intently. He seemed somehow familiar.
The widow sipped224 daintily at her wine. “Some of the first elephants were women,” she said, “the ones who brought the tigers down and ended the old wars. Trianna was returned four times. That was three hundred years ago, alas225. Volantis has had no female triarch since, though some women have the vote. Women of good birth who dwell in ancient palaces behind the Black Walls, not creatures such as me. The Old Blood will have their dogs and children voting before any freedman. No, it will be Belicho, or perhaps Alios, but either way it will be war. Or so they think.”
“And what do you think?” Ser Jorah asked.
Good, thought Tyrion. The right question.
“Oh, I think it will be war as well, but not the war they want.” The old woman leaned forward, her black eyes gleaming. “I think that red R’hllor has more worshipers in this city than all the other gods together. Have you heard Benerro preach?”
“Last night.”
“Benerro can see the morrow in his flames,” the widow said. “Triarch Malaquo tried to hire the Golden Company, did you know? He meant to clean out the red temple and put Benerro to the sword. He dare not use tiger cloaks. Half of them worship the Lord of Light as well. Oh, these are dire96 days in Old Volantis, even for wrinkled old widows. But not half so dire as in Meereen, I think. So tell me, ser … why do you seek the silver queen?”
“That is my concern. I can pay for our passage and pay well. I have the silver.”
Fool, thought Tyrion. It’s not coin she wants, it’s respect. Haven’t you heard a word she’s said? He glanced back over his shoulder again. The dwarf had moved closer to their table. And he seemed to have a knife in his hand. The hairs on the back of Tyrion’s neck began to prickle.
“Keep your silver. I have gold. And spare me your black looks, ser. I am too old to be frightened of a scowl. You are a hard man, I see, and no doubt skilled with that long sword at your side, but this is my realm. Let me crook226 a finger and you may find yourself traveling to Meereen chained to an oar91 in the belly227 of a galley228.” She lifted her jade fan and opened it. There was a rustle229 of leaves, and a man slid from the overgrown archway to her left. His face was a mass of scars, and in one hand he held a sword, short and heavy as a cleaver230. “Seek the widow of the waterfront, someone told you, but they should have also warned you, beware the widow’s sons. It is such a sweet morning, though, I shall ask again. Why would you seek Daenerys Targaryen, whom half the world wants dead?”
Jorah Mormont’s face was dark with anger, but he answered. “To serve her. Defend her. Die for her, if need be.”
That made the widow laugh. “You want to rescue her, is that the way of it? From more enemies than I can name, with swords beyond count … this is what you’d have the poor widow believe? That you are a true and chivalrous231 Westerosi knight crossing half the world to come to the aid of this … well, she is no maiden232, though she may still be fair.” She laughed again. “Do you think your dwarf will please her? Will she bathe in his blood, do you think, or content herself with striking off his head?”
Ser Jorah hesitated. “The dwarf is—”
“—I know who the dwarf is, and what he is.” Her black eyes turned to Tyrion, hard as stone. “Kinslayer, kingslayer, murderer, turncloak. Lannister.” She made the last a curse. “What do you plan to offer the dragon queen, little man?”
My hate, Tyrion wanted to say. Instead he spread his hands as far as the fetters would allow. “Whatever she would have of me. Sage138 counsel, savage170 wit, a bit of tumbling. My cock, if she desires it. My tongue, if she does not. I will lead her armies or rub her feet, as she desires. And the only reward I ask is I might be allowed to rape21 and kill my sister.”
That brought the smile back to the old woman’s face. “This one at least is honest,” she announced, “but you, ser … I have known a dozen Westerosi knights and a thousand adventurers of the same ilk, but none so pure as you would paint yourself. Men are beasts, selfish and brutal233. However gentle the words, there are always darker motives234 underneath. I do not trust you, ser.” She flicked235 them off with her fan, as if they were no more than flies buzzing about her head. “If you want to get to Meereen, swim. I have no help to give you.”
Then seven hells broke out at once.
Ser Jorah started to rise, the widow snapped her fan closed, her scarred man slid out of the shadows … and behind them a girl screamed. Tyrion spun236 just in time to see the dwarf rushing toward him. She’s a girl, he realized all at once, a girl dressed up in man’s clothes. And she means to gut77 me with that knife.
For half a heartbeat Ser Jorah, the widow, and the scarred man stood still as stone. Idlers watched from nearby tables, sipping ale and wine, but no one moved to interfere237. Tyrion had to move both hands at once, but his chains had just enough give for him to reach the flagon on the table. He closed his fist around it, spun, dashed its contents into the face of the charging dwarf girl, then threw himself to one side to avoid her knife. The flagon shattered underneath him as the floor came up to smack238 him in the head. Then the girl was on him once again. Tyrion rolled on one side as she buried the knife blade in the floorboards, yanked it free, raised it again …
… and suddenly she was rising off the floor, legs kicking wildly as she struggled in Ser Jorah’s grasp. “No!” she wailed239, in the Common Tongue of Westeros. “Let go!” Tyrion heard her tunic172 rip as she fought to free herself.
Mormont had her by the collar with one hand. With the other he wrenched240 the dagger from her grasp. “Enough.”
The landlord made his appearance then, a cudgel in his hand. When he saw the broken flagon, he uttered a blistering241 curse and demanded to know what had happened here. “Dwarf fight,” replied the Tyroshi with the purple beard, chuckling242.
Tyrion blinked up at the dripping girl twisting in the air. “Why?” he demanded. “What did I ever do to you?”
“They killed him.” All the fight went out of her at that. She hung limply in Mormont’s grasp as her eyes filled with tears. “My brother. They took him and they killed him.”
“Who killed him?” asked Mormont.
“Sailors. Sailors from the Seven Kingdoms. There were five of them, drunk. They saw us jousting243 in the square and followed us. When they realized I was a girl they let me go, but they took my brother and killed him. They cut his head off.”
Tyrion felt a sudden shock of recognition. They saw us jousting in the square. He knew who the girl was then. “Did you ride the pig?” he asked her. “Or the dog?”
“The dog,” she sobbed244. “Oppo always rode the pig.”
The dwarfs from Joffrey’s wedding. It was their show that had started all the trouble that night. How strange, to encounter them again half a world away. Though perhaps not so strange as that. If they had half the wits of their pig, they would have fled King’s Landing the night Joff died, before Cersei could assign them some share of blame in her son’s death. “Let her down, ser,” he told Ser Jorah Mormont. “She won’t do us any harm.”
Ser Jorah dumped the dwarf girl on the floor. “I am sorry for your brother … but we had no part in his murder.”
“He did.” The girl pushed herself to her knees, clutching her torn, wine-drenched tunic to small, pale breasts. “It was him they wanted. They thought Oppo was him.” The girl was weeping, begging for help from anyone who would listen. “He should die, the way my poor brother died. Please. Someone help me. Someone kill him.” The landlord seized her roughly by one arm and wrenched her back to her feet, shouting in Volantene, demanding to know who was going to pay for this damage.
The widow of the waterfront gave Mormont a cool look. “Knights defend the weak and protect the innocent, they say. And I am the fairest maid in all Volantis.” Her laugh was full of scorn. “What do they call you, child?”
“Penny.”
The old woman called out to the landlord in the tongue of Old Volantis. Tyrion knew enough to understand that she was telling him to take the dwarf girl up to her rooms, give her wine, and find some clothes for her to wear.
When they were gone, the widow studied Tyrion, her black eyes shining. “Monsters should be larger, it seems to me. You are worth a lordship back in Westeros, little man. Here, I fear, your worth is somewhat less. But I think I had best help you after all. Volantis is no safe place for dwarfs, it seems.”
“You are too kind.” Tyrion gave her his sweetest smile. “Perhaps you would remove these charming iron bracelets245 as well? This monster has but half a nose, and it itches246 most abominably247. The chains are too short for me to scratch it. I’ll make you a gift of them, and gladly.”
“How generous. But I have worn iron in my time, and now I find that I prefer gold and silver. And sad to say, this is Volantis, where fetters and chains are cheaper than day-old bread and it is forbidden to help a slave escape.”
“I’m no slave.”
“Every man ever taken by slavers sings that same sad song. I dare not help you … here.” She leaned forward again. “Two days from now, the cog Selaesori Qhoran will set sail for Qarth by way of New Ghis, carrying tin and iron, bales of wool and lace, fifty Myrish carpets, a corpse248 pickled in brine, twenty jars of dragon peppers, and a red priest. Be on her when she sails.”
“We will,” said Tyrion, “and thank you.”
Ser Jorah frowned. “Qarth is not our destination.”
“She will never reach Qarth. Benerro has seen it in his fires.” The crone smiled a vulpine smile.
“As you say.” Tyrion grinned. “If I were Volantene, and free, and had the blood, you’d have my vote for triarch, my lady.”
“I am no lady,” the widow replied, “just Vogarro’s whore. You want to be gone from here before the tigers come. Should you reach your queen, give her a message from the slaves of Old Volantis.” She touched the faded scar upon her wrinkled cheek, where her tears had been cut away. “Tell her we are waiting. Tell her to come soon.”
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1
lashed
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| adj.具睫毛的v.鞭打( lash的过去式和过去分词 )；煽动；紧系；怒斥 | |
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imp
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| n.顽童 | |
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grumbling
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| adj. 喃喃鸣不平的, 出怨言的 | |
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wagon
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| n.四轮马车，手推车，面包车；无盖运货列车 | |
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laden
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| adj.装满了的；充满了的；负了重担的；苦恼的 | |
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knight
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| n.骑士，武士；爵士 | |
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tune
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| n.调子；和谐，协调；v.调音，调节，调整 | |
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dwarf
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| n.矮子，侏儒，矮小的动植物；vt.使…矮小 | |
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determined
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| adj.坚定的；有决心的 | |
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gratitude
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| adj.感激，感谢 | |
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sip
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| v.小口地喝，抿，呷；n.一小口的量 | |
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sipping
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| v.小口喝，呷，抿( sip的现在分词 ) | |
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flutes
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| 长笛( flute的名词复数 )； 细长香槟杯（形似长笛） | |
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cedars
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| 雪松，西洋杉( cedar的名词复数 ) | |
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junction
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| n.连接，接合；交叉点，接合处，枢纽站 | |
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noted
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| adj.著名的，知名的 | |
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imposing
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| adj.使人难忘的，壮丽的，堂皇的，雄伟的 | |
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plodded
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| v.沉重缓慢地走（路）( plod的过去式和过去分词 )；努力从事；沉闷地苦干；缓慢进行（尤指艰难枯燥的工作） | |
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stumps
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| （被砍下的树的）树桩( stump的名词复数 )； 残肢； （板球三柱门的）柱； 残余部分 | |
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gaping
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| adj.口的；张口的；敞口的；多洞穴的v.目瞪口呆地凝视( gape的现在分词 )；张开，张大 | |
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rape
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| n.抢夺，掠夺，强奸；vt.掠夺，抢夺，强奸 | |
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mused
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| v.沉思，冥想( muse的过去式和过去分词 )；沉思自语说（某事） | |
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alley
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| n.小巷，胡同；小径，小路 | |
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alleys
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| 胡同，小巷( alley的名词复数 )； 小径 | |
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shrill
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| adj.尖声的；刺耳的；v尖叫 | |
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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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din
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| n.喧闹声，嘈杂声 | |
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bent
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| n.爱好，癖好；adj.弯的；决心的，一心的 | |
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tattoo
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| n.纹身，(皮肤上的)刺花纹；vt.刺花纹于 | |
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tattooed
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| v.刺青，文身( tattoo的过去式和过去分词 )；连续有节奏地敲击；作连续有节奏的敲击 | |
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scurried
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| v.急匆匆地走( scurry的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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cockroaches
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| n.蟑螂( cockroach的名词复数 ) | |
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mighty
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| adj.强有力的；巨大的 | |
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populous
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| adj.人口稠密的，人口众多的 | |
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stagnant
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| adj.不流动的，停滞的，不景气的 | |
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pervasive
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| adj.普遍的；遍布的，(到处)弥漫的；渗透性的 | |
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sagging
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| 下垂[沉，陷]，松垂，垂度 | |
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drenched
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| adj.湿透的；充满的v.使湿透( drench的过去式和过去分词 )；在某人（某物）上大量使用（某液体） | |
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privy
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| adj.私用的；隐密的 | |
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virgin
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| n.处女，未婚女子；adj.未经使用的；未经开发的 | |
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41
scowl
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| vi.(at)生气地皱眉，沉下脸，怒视；n.怒容 | |
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42
swollen
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| adj.肿大的，水涨的；v.使变大，肿胀 | |
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43
thoroughly
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| adv.完全地，彻底地，十足地 | |
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44
doorways
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| n.门口，门道( doorway的名词复数 ) | |
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45
sumptuously
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| 奢侈地，豪华地 | |
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46
slit
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| n.狭长的切口；裂缝；vt.切开，撕裂 | |
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47
domes
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| n.圆屋顶( dome的名词复数 )；像圆屋顶一样的东西；圆顶体育场 | |
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48
gathering
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| n.集会，聚会，聚集 | |
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49
wharves
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| n.码头，停泊处( wharf的名词复数 ) | |
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50
teemed
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| v.充满( teem的过去式和过去分词 )；到处都是；（指水、雨等）暴降；倾注 | |
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51
catered
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| 提供饮食及服务( cater的过去式和过去分词 )； 满足需要，适合 | |
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52
lapsed
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| adj.流失的，堕落的v.退步( lapse的过去式和过去分词 )；陷入；倒退；丧失 | |
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53
contemplating
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| 深思，细想，仔细考虑( contemplate的现在分词 )； 注视，凝视； 考虑接受（发生某事的可能性）； 深思熟虑，沉思，苦思冥想 | |
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54
uncommon
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| adj.罕见的，非凡的，不平常的 | |
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55
shovel
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| n.铁锨，铲子，一铲之量；v.铲，铲出 | |
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56
swarms
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| 蜂群，一大群( swarm的名词复数 ) | |
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57
throng
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| n.人群，群众；v.拥挤，群集 | |
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58
throngs
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| n.人群( throng的名词复数 )v.成群，挤满( throng的第三人称单数 ) | |
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59
plaza
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| n.广场，市场 | |
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60
buttresses
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| n.扶壁，扶垛( buttress的名词复数 )v.用扶壁支撑，加固( buttress的第三人称单数 ) | |
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61
chiseled
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| adj.凿刻的，轮廓分明的v.凿，雕，镌( chisel的过去式 ) | |
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62
loomed
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| v.隐约出现，阴森地逼近( loom的过去式和过去分词 )；隐约出现，阴森地逼近 | |
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63
hues
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| 色彩( hue的名词复数 )； 色调； 信仰； 观点 | |
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64
lesser
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| adj.次要的，较小的；adv.较小地，较少地 | |
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65
acolytes
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| n.助手( acolyte的名词复数 )；随从；新手；（天主教）侍祭 | |
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66
scrap
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| n.碎片；废料；v.废弃，报废 | |
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67
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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68
drawn
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| v.拖，拉，拔出；adj.憔悴的，紧张的 | |
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69
warriors
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| 武士，勇士，战士( warrior的名词复数 ) | |
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70
pointed
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| adj.尖的，直截了当的 | |
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71
writhing
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| （因极度痛苦而）扭动或翻滚( writhe的现在分词 ) | |
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72
fiery
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| adj.燃烧着的，火红的；暴躁的；激烈的 | |
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73
defenders
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| n.防御者( defender的名词复数 )；守卫者；保护者；辩护者 | |
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74
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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75
kindled
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| （使某物）燃烧，着火( kindle的过去式和过去分词 )； 激起（感情等）； 发亮，放光 | |
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76
gutters
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| （路边）排水沟( gutter的名词复数 )； 阴沟； （屋顶的）天沟； 贫贱的境地 | |
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77
gut
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| n.[pl.]胆量；内脏；adj.本能的；vt.取出内脏 | |
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78
crescendo
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| n.(音乐)渐强，高潮 | |
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79
whoosh
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| v.飞快地移动，呼 | |
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80
gasp
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| n.喘息，气喘；v.喘息；气吁吁他说 | |
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81
doom
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| n.厄运，劫数；v.注定，命定 | |
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82
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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83
spike
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| n.长钉，钉鞋；v.以大钉钉牢，使...失效 | |
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84
peril
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| n.(严重的)危险；危险的事物 | |
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85
minions
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| n.奴颜婢膝的仆从( minion的名词复数 )；走狗；宠儿；受人崇拜者 | |
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86
conspiring
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|
| 密谋( conspire的现在分词 )； 搞阴谋； （事件等）巧合； 共同导致 | |
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87
foretold
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| v.预言，预示( foretell的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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88
followers
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| 追随者( follower的名词复数 )； 用户； 契据的附面； 从动件 | |
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89
trot
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| n.疾走，慢跑；n.老太婆；现成译本；(复数）trots:腹泻（与the 连用）；v.小跑，快步走，赶紧 | |
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90
oars
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| n.桨，橹( oar的名词复数 )；划手v.划（行）( oar的第三人称单数 ) | |
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91
oar
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| n.桨，橹，划手；v.划行 | |
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92
haggle
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| vi.讨价还价，争论不休 | |
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93
haggled
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| v.讨价还价( haggle的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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94
immediate
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| adj.立即的；直接的，最接近的；紧靠的 | |
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95
slung
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| 抛( sling的过去式和过去分词 )； 吊挂； 遣送； 押往 | |
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96
dire
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| adj.可怕的，悲惨的，阴惨的，极端的 | |
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97
squint
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| v. 使变斜视眼, 斜视, 眯眼看, 偏移, 窥视; n. 斜视, 斜孔小窗; adj. 斜视的, 斜的 | |
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98
dagger
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| n.匕首，短剑，剑号 | |
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99
stunted
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|
| adj.矮小的；发育迟缓的 | |
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100
chuckled
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| 轻声地笑( chuckle的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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101
fetters
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| n.脚镣( fetter的名词复数 )；束缚v.给…上脚镣，束缚( fetter的第三人称单数 ) | |
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102
fixed
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| adj.固定的，不变的，准备好的；(计算机)固定的 | |
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103
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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104
clattering
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| 发出咔哒声（clatter的现在分词形式） | |
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105
hopping
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| n. 跳跃 动词hop的现在分词形式 | |
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106
barbarians
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| n.野蛮人( barbarian的名词复数 )；外国人；粗野的人；无教养的人 | |
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107
uncouth
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| adj.无教养的，粗鲁的 | |
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108
gateway
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| n.大门口，出入口，途径，方法 | |
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109
piers
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| n.水上平台( pier的名词复数 )；（常设有娱乐场所的）突堤；柱子；墙墩 | |
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110
abreast
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| adv.并排地；跟上(时代)的步伐，与…并进地 | |
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111
eels
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| abbr. 电子发射器定位系统（=electronic emitter location system） | |
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112
tangled
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| adj. 纠缠的，紊乱的 动词tangle的过去式和过去分词 | |
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113
tavern
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| n.小旅馆，客栈；小酒店 | |
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114
taverns
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| n.小旅馆，客栈，酒馆( tavern的名词复数 ) | |
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115
parlors
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| 客厅( parlor的名词复数 )； 起居室； （旅馆中的）休息室； （通常用来构成合成词）店 | |
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116
weavers
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| 织工，编织者( weaver的名词复数 ) | |
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117
wares
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| n. 货物, 商品 | |
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118
oysters
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| 牡蛎( oyster的名词复数 ) | |
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119
briny
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| adj.盐水的；很咸的；n.海洋 | |
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120
severed
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| v.切断，断绝( sever的过去式和过去分词 )；断，裂 | |
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121
strings
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| n.弦 | |
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122
scrawled
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| 乱涂，潦草地写( scrawl的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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123
underneath
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| adj.在...下面，在...底下；adv.在下面 | |
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124
jade
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| n.玉石；碧玉；翡翠 | |
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125
gulls
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| n.鸥( gull的名词复数 )v.欺骗某人( gull的第三人称单数 ) | |
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126
carrion
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| n.腐肉 | |
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127
inscriptions
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| （作者）题词( inscription的名词复数 )； 献词； 碑文； 证劵持有人的登记 | |
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128
fomenting
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| v.激起，煽动（麻烦等）( foment的现在分词 ) | |
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129
briefly
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| adv.简单地，简短地 | |
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130
velvet
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| n.丝绒，天鹅绒；adj.丝绒制的，柔软的 | |
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131
respites
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| v.延期（respite的第三人称单数形式） | |
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132
puffing
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| v.使喷出( puff的现在分词 )；喷着汽（或烟）移动；吹嘘；吹捧 | |
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133
chafed
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| v.擦热（尤指皮肤）( chafe的过去式 )；擦痛；发怒；惹怒 | |
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134
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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135
lumbered
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| 砍伐（lumber的过去式与过去分词形式） | |
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136
passersby
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| n. 过路人(行人,经过者) | |
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137
waddled
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| v.（像鸭子一样）摇摇摆摆地走( waddle的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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138
sage
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| n.圣人，哲人；adj.贤明的，明智的 | |
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139
squatted
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| v.像动物一样蹲下( squat的过去式和过去分词 )；非法擅自占用（土地或房屋）；为获得其所有权；而占用某片公共用地。 | |
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140
warehouses
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| 仓库，货栈( warehouse的名词复数 ) | |
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141
maze
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| n.迷宫，八阵图，混乱，迷惑 | |
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142
alcove
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| n.凹室 | |
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143
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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144
chamber
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| n.房间，寝室；会议厅；议院；会所 | |
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145
slanting
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| 倾斜的，歪斜的 | |
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146
sojourn
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| v./n.旅居，寄居；逗留 | |
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147
amenity
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| n.pl.生活福利设施，文娱康乐场所；（不可数）愉快，适意 | |
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148
rattling
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| adj. 格格作响的, 活泼的, 很好的 adv. 极其, 很, 非常 动词rattle的现在分词 | |
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149
rattle
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| v.飞奔，碰响；激怒；n.碰撞声；拨浪鼓 | |
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150
rattled
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| 慌乱的，恼火的 | |
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151
odds
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| n.让步，机率，可能性，比率；胜败优劣之别 | |
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152
loyalties
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| n.忠诚( loyalty的名词复数 )；忠心；忠于…感情；要忠于…的强烈感情 | |
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153
farce
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| n.闹剧，笑剧，滑稽戏；胡闹 | |
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154
gaol
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| n.(jail)监狱；(不加冠词)监禁；vt.使…坐牢 | |
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155
tugging
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| n.牵引感v.用力拉，使劲拉，猛扯( tug的现在分词 ) | |
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156
bug
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| n.虫子；故障；窃听器；vt.纠缠；装窃听器 | |
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157
slumping
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| 大幅度下降，暴跌( slump的现在分词 )； 沉重或突然地落下[倒下] | |
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158
cramp
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| n.痉挛；[pl.](腹)绞痛；vt.限制，束缚 | |
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159
stifling
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| a.令人窒息的 | |
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160
shutters
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| 百叶窗( shutter的名词复数 )； （照相机的）快门 | |
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161
cramped
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| a.狭窄的 | |
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162
greasy
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| adj. 多脂的，油脂的 | |
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163
belched
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| v.打嗝( belch的过去式和过去分词 )；喷出，吐出；打（嗝）；嗳（气） | |
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164
skull
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| n.头骨；颅骨 | |
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165
gulp
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| vt.吞咽，大口地吸（气）；vi.哽住；n.吞咽 | |
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166
duels
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| n.两男子的决斗( duel的名词复数 )；竞争，斗争 | |
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167
decided
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| adj.决定了的，坚决的；明显的，明确的 | |
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168
follies
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| 罪恶，时事讽刺剧； 愚蠢，蠢笨，愚蠢的行为、思想或做法( folly的名词复数 ) | |
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169
savages
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| 未开化的人，野蛮人( savage的名词复数 ) | |
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170
savage
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| adj.野蛮的；凶恶的，残暴的；n.未开化的人 | |
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171
stark
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| adj.荒凉的；严酷的；完全的；adv.完全地 | |
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172
tunic
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| n.束腰外衣 | |
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173
brawny
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| adj.强壮的 | |
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174
pelt
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| v.投掷，剥皮，抨击，开火 | |
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175
waning
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| adj.（月亮）渐亏的，逐渐减弱或变小的n.月亏v.衰落( wane的现在分词 )；（月）亏；变小；变暗淡 | |
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176
throbbing
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| a. 跳动的,悸动的 | |
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177
raped
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| v.以暴力夺取，强夺( rape的过去式和过去分词 )；强奸 | |
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178
exhaustion
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| n.耗尽枯竭，疲惫，筋疲力尽，竭尽，详尽无遗的论述 | |
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179
calf
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| n.小牛，犊，幼仔，小牛皮 | |
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180
rumble
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| n.隆隆声；吵嚷；v.隆隆响；低沉地说 | |
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181
hoisting
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| 起重，提升 | |
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182
labyrinth
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| n.迷宫；难解的事物；迷路 | |
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183
moss
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| n.苔，藓，地衣 | |
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184
chestnut
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| n.栗树，栗子 | |
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185
gruel
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| n.稀饭，粥 | |
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186
bastard
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| n.坏蛋，混蛋；私生子 | |
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187
roe
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| n.鱼卵；獐鹿 | |
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188
locusts
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| n.蝗虫( locust的名词复数 )；贪吃的人；破坏者；槐树 | |
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189
locust
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| n.蝗虫；洋槐，刺槐 | |
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190
gust
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| n.阵风，突然一阵（雨、烟等），（感情的）迸发 | |
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191
shrugged
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| vt.耸肩（shrug的过去式与过去分词形式） | |
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192
crunched
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| v.嘎吱嘎吱地咬嚼( crunch的过去式和过去分词 )；嘎吱作响；（快速大量地）处理信息；数字捣弄 | |
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193
racing
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| n.竞赛，赛马；adj.竞赛用的，赛马用的 | |
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194
ploy
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| n.花招，手段 | |
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195
deliberately
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| adv.审慎地；蓄意地；故意地 | |
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196
bowels
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| n.肠，内脏，内部；肠( bowel的名词复数 )；内部，最深处 | |
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197
conceal
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| v.隐藏，隐瞒，隐蔽 | |
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198
stratagem
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| n.诡计，计谋 | |
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199
lull
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| v.使安静，使入睡，缓和，哄骗；n.暂停，间歇 | |
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200
pretext
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| n.借口，托词 | |
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201
seamen
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| n.海员 | |
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202
brokered
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| adj.由权力经纪人安排（或控制）的v.做掮客（或中人等）( broker的过去式和过去分词 )；作为权力经纪人进行谈判；以中间人等身份安排… | |
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203
cargoes
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| n.（船或飞机装载的）货物( cargo的名词复数 )；大量，重负 | |
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204
remains
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| n.剩余物，残留物；遗体，遗迹 | |
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205
harridan
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| n.恶妇；丑老大婆 | |
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206
hopped
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| 跳上[下]( hop的过去式和过去分词 )； 单足蹦跳； 齐足（或双足）跳行； 摘葎草花 | |
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207
reptilian
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| adj.（像）爬行动物的；（像）爬虫的；卑躬屈节的；卑鄙的n.两栖动物；卑劣的人 | |
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208
chunks
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| 厚厚的一块( chunk的名词复数 )； （某物）相当大的数量或部分 | |
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209
sinister
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| adj.不吉利的，凶恶的，左边的 | |
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210
dwarfs
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| n.侏儒，矮子（dwarf的复数形式）vt.（使）显得矮小（dwarf的第三人称单数形式） | |
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211
goblet
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| n.高脚酒杯 | |
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212
translucent
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| adj.半透明的；透明的 | |
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213
spine
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| n.脊柱，脊椎；(动植物的)刺；书脊 | |
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214
hacked
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| 生气 | |
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215
guffaw
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| n.哄笑；突然的大笑 | |
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216
motes
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| n.尘埃( mote的名词复数 )；斑点 | |
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217
leach
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| v.分离，过滤掉；n.过滤；过滤器 | |
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218
warships
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| 军舰，战舰( warship的名词复数 )； 舰只 | |
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219
assent
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| v.批准，认可；n.批准，认可 | |
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220
filth
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| n.肮脏，污物，污秽；淫猥 | |
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221
eastward
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| adv.向东；adj.向东的；n.东方，东部 | |
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222
scowled
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| 怒视，生气地皱眉( scowl的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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223
bellowing
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| v.发出吼叫声，咆哮（尤指因痛苦）( bellow的现在分词 )；（愤怒地）说出（某事），大叫 | |
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224
sipped
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| v.小口喝，呷，抿( sip的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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225
alas
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| int.唉(表示悲伤、忧愁、恐惧等) | |
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226
crook
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| v.使弯曲；n.小偷，骗子，贼；弯曲(处) | |
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227
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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228
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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229
rustle
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| v.沙沙作响；偷盗(牛、马等)；n.沙沙声声 | |
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230
cleaver
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| n.切肉刀 | |
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231
chivalrous
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| adj.武士精神的；对女人彬彬有礼的 | |
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232
maiden
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| n.少女，处女；adj.未婚的，纯洁的，无经验的 | |
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233
brutal
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| adj.残忍的，野蛮的，不讲理的 | |
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234
motives
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| n.动机，目的( motive的名词复数 ) | |
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235
flicked
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| （尤指用手指或手快速地）轻击( flick的过去式和过去分词 )； （用…）轻挥； （快速地）按开关； 向…笑了一下（或瞥了一眼等） | |
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236
spun
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| v.纺，杜撰，急转身 | |
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237
interfere
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| v.(in)干涉，干预；(with)妨碍，打扰 | |
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238
smack
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| vt.拍，打，掴；咂嘴；vi.含有…意味；n.拍 | |
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239
wailed
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| v.哭叫，哀号( wail的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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240
wrenched
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| v.（猛力地）扭( wrench的过去式和过去分词 )；扭伤；使感到痛苦；使悲痛 | |
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241
blistering
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| adj.酷热的；猛烈的；使起疱的；可恶的v.起水疱；起气泡；使受暴晒n.[涂料] 起泡 | |
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242
chuckling
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| 轻声地笑( chuckle的现在分词 ) | |
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243
jousting
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| （骑士）骑马用长矛比武( joust的现在分词 ) | |
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244
sobbed
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| 哭泣，啜泣( sob的过去式和过去分词 )； 哭诉，呜咽地说 | |
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245
bracelets
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| n.手镯，臂镯( bracelet的名词复数 ) | |
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246
itches
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| n.痒( itch的名词复数 )；渴望，热望v.发痒( itch的第三人称单数 ) | |
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247
abominably
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| adv. 可恶地，可恨地，恶劣地 | |
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248
corpse
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| n.尸体，死尸 | |
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