fs.thefirstbookofswords-第37部分

按键盘上方向键 ← 或 → 可快速上下翻页，按键盘上的 Enter 键可回到本书目录页，按键盘上方向键 ↑ 可回到本页顶部！
————未阅读完？加入书签已便下次继续阅读！


at　he　spent　so　much　of　his　mental　time　away　somewhere；　maybe　thinking　about　things　like　minstrelsy　and　verse。
　　　At　last；　after　several　arguments；　or　debates；　Barbara　had　given　in　about　the　hunting；　at　least　temporarily。　〃Well　then；　if　we　can't；　we　can't。　If　Nestor　never　shows　up　at　Sir　Andrew's；　we'll　just　act　more　surprised　than　anyone　else；　and　wonder　aloud　what　could　have　happened　to　him。　Then　we'll　wait　around　at　Sir　Andrew's　for　a　little　while　after　the　fair's　over；　and　if　Nestor　still　isn't　there　we'll　pack　up　and　head　south　and　look　for　another　fair。　At　least　it'll　be　warmer　down　south　in　the　winter。　Anyway；　I　don't　suppose　Sir　Andrew　would　be　eager　to　hire　us　as　hunters　without　Nestor。〃
　　　〃I　don't　suppose；〃　Ben　agreed　with　some　relief。　Then　he　added；　as　if　in　afterthought：　〃Anyway；　if　Sir　Andrew　takes　me　on　as　a　minstrel；　you'll　be　going　south　without　me。〃
　　　He　looked　disappointed　when　Barbara　agreed　to　that　without　any　ment　or　hesitation。
　　　Mark　didn't　have　any　ment　to　make　either。　He　suspected　that　if　Nestor　didn't　appear；　Barbara　meant　to　sell　the　sword　if　she　couldn't　find　a　way　to　use　it。　He；　Mark；　would　just　have　to　decide　for　himself　when　the　time　came　what　he　wanted　to　try　to　do　about　that。　This　sword　wasn't　his。　But　he　felt　it　was　a　link；　of　sorts；　to　his　own　blade；　about　the　only　link　that　he　still　had。　If　Nestor　came　back　at　all；　it　would　be　with　the　idea　of　recovering　his　own　sword；　whatever　other　plans　he　might　have。
　　　Of　course；　he　might　not　have　Mark's　sword　with　him　when　he　showed　up。　And　if　he　did　have　it；　he　might　not　be　of　a　mind　to　give　it　back。
　　　Any　way　Mark　looked　at　the　current　situation；　his　chances　of　recovering　his　sword；　his　inheritance；　looked　pretty　poor。
　　　Three　hours　after　the　dragon…people　had　arrived；　the　carnival　was　showing　some　signs　of　winding　down　for　the　night；　though　the　grounds　were　by　no　means　pletely　quiet　as　yet。　Barbara　still　had　the　dragonexhibit　open；　though　business　had　slowed　down　to　the　point　where　Ben　was　able　to　put　on　his　plumed　hat；　collect　his　lute；　and　announce　to　his　partners　that　he　was　going　out　to　try　his　hand　at　minstrelsy。
　　　Mark's　help　was　not　needed　at　the　showtent　for　the　moment　either；　and　he　had　retired　to　the　wagon；　where　he　meant　to　get　something　to　eat；　meanwhile　casually　sitting　guard　over　the　concealed　sword。
　　　The　inside　of　the　wagon　looked　about　twice　as　big　now；　with　almost　everything　moved　out　of　it。　From　where　Mark　was　sitting　he　could　just　see　the　entrance　to　the　tent；　which　had　been　erected　at　right　angles　to　the　wagon。　Barbara　had　just　finished　conducting　one　small　group　of　paying　customers　into　the　tent　to　see　the　dragon　and　out　again；　and　she　was　presently　chatting　with　a　prospective　first　member　of　the　next　group。　This　potential　customer　was　a　chunkily…built　little　man；　evidently　of　some　importance；　for　he　was　dressed　in　fancier　clothes　than　any　Mark　had　seen　since　the　seneschal；　the　Duke's　cousin；　went　down。
　　　Mark　was　chewing　on　a　piece　of　boiled　fowl　…　Ben　had　laid　in　some　food　from　a　nearby　concession　before　he　left　…　and　thinking　gloomy　thoughts　about　his　missing　sword；　when　he　heard　a　faint　sound　just　behind　him；　right　inside　the　wagon。　He　turned　to　see　a　man　whom　he　had　never　seen　before；　who　was　standing　on　the　ground　outside　with　his　head　and　shoulders　in　the　rear　opening　of　the　wagon。　Knotted　on　the　maws　sleeve　was　what　looked　like　the　orange…and…black　insignia　of　an　assistant　marshal　of　the　fair。　He　was　looking　straight　at　Mark；　and　there　was　that　in　his　eyes　that　made　Mark　drop　his　drumstick　and　dive　right　out　of　the　front　of　the　wagon　without　a　moment's　hesitation。　Only　as　Mark　cleared　the　seat　did　it　fully　register　in　his　mind　that　the　man　had　been　holding　a　large　knife　unsheathed　in　his　right　hand。
　　　Mark　landed　on　hands　and　knees　on　the　worn　turf　just　outside　the　wagon。　He　somersaulted　once；　and　came　up　on　his　feet　already　running。　As　he　reached　the　doorway　of　the　tent　he　was　drawing　in　a　deep　breath　to　yell　for　help。　Inside　the　tent；　the　small　dragon　was　already　yowling　continuously；　and　this　perhaps　served　as　a　subliminal　warning；　Mark　did　not　yell。　When　he　looked　into　the　tent　he　saw　by　the　light　of　the　guttering　single　torch　how　Barbara　lay　limp　in　the　grasp　of　a　second　man　in　marshal's　insignia；　how　the　dragons　cage　had　been　tipped　over　backwards；　and　how　the　well…dressed　stranger；　who　a　moment　ago　had　been　chatting　innocently　with　Barbara；　was　now　frantically　digging　with　his　dagger　into　the　ground　where　the　cage　had　been；　uncovering　and　scattering　fine　valuable　crossbow　bolts　and　bits　of　armor。
　　　Mark　did　not　yell。　But　the　men　inside　the　tent　both　yelled　when　they　saw　him；　and　turned　and　rushed　in　his　direction。　He　was　just　barely　too　quick　for　them；　as　he　darted　away　and　then　rolled　under　the　flimsily　paneled　side　of　the　fire…eater's　construction　on　the　adjoining　lot。
　　　The　inside　of　that　shelter　was　as　dark　as　the　toe　of　a　boot；　no　flames　were　being　ingested　at　the　moment。　But　there　came　a　quick　stir　in　the　blackness；　an　alarmed　fumbling　as　of　bedclothes；　an　urgent　muttering　of　voices。　Mark　somehow　stumbled　and　crashed　his　way　through　the　darkness；　once　tripping　over　something　and　falling　at　full　length。　When　he　had　e　to　the　opposite　wall　he　went　out　under　it；　in　the　same　manner　he　had　e　in。　There　was　no　one　waiting　in　the　grass　outside　to　seize　him；　for　the　moment　he　had　foiled　his　pursuers。　But　for　the　moment　only；　he　could　hear　them　somewhere　behind　him；　yelling；　raising　an　alarm。
　　　He　made　an　effort　to　get　in　under　the　wall　of　the　next　shelter；　which　was　a　tent；　found　his　way　blocked；　and　slid　around　the　tent　instead。　Now　a　deep　ditch　offered　some　hope　of　concealment；　and　he　slid　down　into　the　ditch　to　scramble　in　knee…deep　water　at　the　bottom。　When　he　had　his　feet　more　or　less　solidly　under　him　he　followed　the　ditch　around　a　turn；　where　he　paused　to　look　and　listen　for　pursuit。　He　heard　none；　but　realized　that　he'd　already　lost　his　bearings。　This　fairground　was　certainly　the　biggest　of　the　two　or　three　that　Mark　had　ever　seen。　There；　the　dark　bulk　of　the　castle　loomed；　enormous　on　its　small　rise；　with　lights　visible　in　a　few　windows。　But　to　Mark　in　his　bewildered　state　the　castle　was　just　where　it　ought　not　to　have　been；　and　at　the　moment　it　gave　him　no　help　in　getting　his　bearings。
　　　Now　people　were　yelling　something　in　the　distance。　But　he　couldn't　tell　whether　or　not　the　cries　had　anything　to　do　with　him。　What　was　he　going　to　do　now？　If　only；　he　thought；　Kind　Sir　Andrew　himself　could　be　made　to　hear　the　truth。。。
　　　Mark　followed　the　ditch　for　a　few　more　splashing　strides；　then　climbed　from　it　into　the　deeper　darkness　behind　another　row　of　tents　and　shelters。　He　was　moving　toward　lights　and　the　sounds　of　cheerful　music。　It　was　in　fact　better　music　than　Ben　was　ever　going　to　be　able　to　make；　if　he　practiced　for　a　hundred　years。　If　only　he　could　at　least　find　Ben；　and　warn　him。。。
　　　With　this　vague　purpose　of　locating　Ben；　Mark　looked　out　into　the　lighted　carnival　lanes　while　keeping　himself　as　much　as　possible　in　the　shadows。　He　crawled　under　someone's　wagon；　then　behind　a　booth；　seeking　different　vantage　points。　In　another　open　way　were　clowns　and　jugglers；　drawing　a　small　crowd；　laughter　and　applause。　Mark　tried　to　see　if　Ben　was　in　the　group　somewhere；　but　was　unable　to　tell。　He　moved　briefly　into　the　open　again；　until　orange　and　black　tied　on　a　sleeve　ahead　sent　him　crawling　back　into　hiding；　through　the　partly　open　back　door　of　a　deserted…looking　hut。　Once　more　his　entry　roused　an　unseen　sleeper；　a　man's　voice　muttered　alarm；　and　half…drunken；　halfcoherent　threats。
　　　Mark　darted　out　of　the　but　again；　and　went　trotting　away　from　people；　along　a　half…darkened　traffic　lane。　Brighter　torchlight　shone　round　the　castle's　lowered　drawbridge；　now　not　far　ahead　of　him。　More　suits　of　orange　and　black　were　there；　gathered　as　if　in　conference。　To　avoid　them；　Mark　turned　a　corner；　toward　more　music。　This　time　there　were　drums；　and　roistering　voices。　Maybe　this　crowd　would　be　big　enough　to　hide　him　for　a　while。　And　there；　a　few　meters　ahead；　stood　Ben；　plumed　hat　tipped　on　the　back　of　his　head；　his　lute　temporarily　forgotten　under　one　a