"Martin, George R.R. - Song Of Ice and Fire 03 - A Storm Of Swords" - читать интересную книгу автора (Martin George R R)

УHow good of him,Ф Tyrion said acidly. УDoes that mean youТve lost your taste for gold?Ф
УNot bloody likely.Ф
УGood,Ф said Tyrion, Уbecause as it happens, I still have need of you. What do you know of Ser Mandon Moore?Ф
Bronn laughed. УI know heТs bloody well drowned.Ф
УI owe him a great debt, but how to pay it?Ф He touched his face, feeling the scar. УI know precious little of the man, if truth be told.
УHe had eyes like a fish and he wore a white cloak. What else do you need to know?Ф
УEverything,Ф said Tyrion, Уfor a start.Ф What he wanted was proof that Ser Mandon had been CerseiТs, but he dare not say so aloud. In the Red Keep a man did best to hold his tongue. There were rats in the walls, and little birds who talked too much, and spiders. УHelp me up,Ф he said, struggling with the bedclothes. УItТs time I paid a call on my father, and past time I let myself be seen again.Ф
УSuch a pretty sight,Ф mocked Bronn.
УWhatТs half a nose, on a face like mine? But speaking of pretty, is Margaery Tyrell in KingТs Landing yet?Ф
УNo. SheТs coming, though, and the cityТs mad with love for her. The Tyrells have been carting food up from Highgarden and giving it away in her name. Hundreds of wayns each day. ThereТs thousands of Tyrell men swaggering about with little golden roses sewn on their doublets, and not a one is buying his own wine. Wife, widow, or whore, the women are all giving up their virtue to every peach-fuzz boy with a gold rose on his teat.Ф
They spit on me, and buy drinks for the Tyrells. Tyrion slid from the bed to the floor. His legs turned wobbly beneath him, the room spun, and he had to grasp BronnТs arm to keep from pitching headlong into the rushes. УPod!Ф he shouted. УPodrick Payne! Where in the seven hells are you?Ф Pain gnawed at him like a toothless dog. Tyrion hated weakness, especially his own. It shamed him, and shame made him angry. УPod, get in here!Ф
The boy came running. When he saw Tyrion standing and clutching BronnТs arm, he gaped at them. УMy lord. You stood. Is that . . . do you . . . do you need wine? Dreamwine? Should I get the maester? He said you must stay. Abed, I mean.Ф
УI have stayed abed too long. Bring me some clean garb.Ф
УGarb?Ф
How the boy could be so clearheaded and resourceful in battle and so confused at all other times Tyrion could never comprehend. УClothing,Ф he repeated. УTunic, doublet, breeches, hose. For me. To dress in. So I can leave this bloody cell.Ф
It took all three of them to clothe him. Hideous though his face might be, the worst of his wounds was the one at the juncture of shoulder and arm, where his own mail had been driven back into his armpit by an arrow. Pus and blood still seeped from the discolored flesh whenever Maester Frenken changed his dressing, and any movement sent a stab of agony through him.
In the end, Tyrion settled for a pair of breeches and an oversized bed robe that hung loosely about his shoulders. Bronn yanked his boots onto his feet while Pod went in search of a stick for him to lean on. He drank a cup of drearnwine to fortify himself. The wine was sweetened with honey, with just enough of the poppy to make his wounds bearable for a time.
Even so, he was dizzy by the time he turned the latch, and the descent down the twisting stone steps made his legs tremble. He walked with the stick in one hand and the other on PodТs shoulder. A serving girl was coming up as they were going down. She stared at them with wide white eyes, as if she were looking at a ghost. The dwarf has risen from the dead, Tyrion thought. And look, heТs uglier than ever, run tell your friends.
MaegorТs Holdfast was the strongest place in the Red Keep, a castle within the castle, surrounded by a deep dry moat lined with spikes. The drawbridge was up for the night when they reached the door. Ser Meryn Trant stood before it in his pale armor and white cloak. УLower the bridge,Ф Tyrion commanded him.
УThe queenТs orders are to raise the bridge at night.Ф Ser Meryn had always been CerseiТs creature.
УThe queenТs asleep, and I have business with my father.Ф
There was magic in the name of Lord Tywin Lannister. Grumbling, Ser Meryn Trant gave the command, and the drawbridge was lowered. A second Kingsguard knight stood sentry across the moat. Ser Osmund Kettleblack managed a smile when he saw Tyrion waddling toward him. УFeeling stronger, mТlord?Ф
УMuch. WhenТs the next battle? I can scarcely wait.Ф
When Pod and he reached the serpentine steps, however, Tyrion could only gape at them in dismay. I will never climb those by myself, he confessed to himself. Swallowing his dignity, he asked Brorm to carry him, hoping against hope that at this hour there would be no one to see and smile, no one to tell the tale of the dwarf being carried up the steps like a babe in arms.
The outer ward was crowded with tents and pavilions, dozens of them. УTyrell men,Ф Podrick Payne explained as they threaded their way through a maze of silk and canvas. УLord RowanТs too, and Lord RedwyneТs. There wasnТt room enough for all. In the castle, I mean. Some took rooms. Rooms in the city. In inns and all. TheyТre here for the wedding. The kingТs wedding, King JoffreyТs. Will you be strong enough to attend, my lord?Ф
УRavening weasels could not keep me away.Ф There was this to be said for weddings over battles, at least; it was less likely that someone would cut off your nose.
Lights still burned dimly behind shuttered windows in the Tower of the Hand. The men on the door wore the crimson cloaks and lion-crested helms of his fatherТs household guard. Tyrion knew them both, and they admitted him on sight . . . though neither could bear to look long at his face, he noted.
Within they came upon Ser Addam Marbrand, descending the turnpike stair in the ornate black breastplate and clothof -gold cloak of an officer in the City Watch. УMy lord,Ф he said, Уhow good to see you on your feet. IТd heardЧФ
УЧrumors of a small grave being dug? Me too. Under the circumstances it seemed best to get up. I hear youТre commander of the City Watch. Shall I offer congratulations or condolences?Ф
УBoth, I fear.Ф Ser Addam smiled. УDeath and desertion have left me with some forty-four hundred. Only the gods and Littlefinger know how we are to go on paying wages for so many, but your sister forbids me to dismiss any.Ф
Still anxious, Cersei? The battleТs done, the gold cloaks wonТt help you now УDo you come from my father?Ф he asked.
УAye. I fear I did not leave him in the best of moods. Lord Tywin feels forty-four hundred guardsmen more than sufficient to find one lost squire, but your cousin Tyrek remains missing.Ф
Tyrek was the son of his late Uncle Tygett, a boy of thirteen. He had vanished in the riot, not long after wedding the Lady Ermesande, a suckling babe who happened to be the last surviving heir of House Hayford. And likely the first bride in the history of the Seven Kingdoms to be widowed before she was weaned. УI couldnТt find him either,Ф confessed Tyrion.
УHeТs feeding worms,Ф said Bronn with his usual tact. УIronhand looked for him, and the eunuch rattled a nice fat purse. They had no more luck than we did. Give it up, ser.Ф
Ser Addam gazed at the sellsword with distaste. УLord Tywin is stubborn where his blood is concerned. He will have the lad, alive or dead, and I mean to oblige him.Ф He looked back to Tyrion. УYou will find your father in his solar.Ф
My solar, thought Tyrion. УI believe I know the way.Ф
The way was up more steps, but this time he climbed under his own power, with one hand on PodТs shoulder. Bronn opened the door for him. Lord Tywin Lannister was seated beneath the window, writing by the glow of an oil lamp. He raised his eyes at the sound of the latch. УTyrion.Ф Calmly, he laid his quill aside.
УIТm pleased you remember me, my lord.Ф Tyrion released his grip on Pod, leaned his weight on the stick, and waddled closer. Something is wrong, he knew at once.
УSer Bronn,Ф Lord Tywin said, УPodrick. Perhaps you had best wait without until we are done.Ф
The look Bronn gave the Hand was little less than insolent; nonetheless, he bowed and withdrew, with Pod on his heels. The heavy door swung shut behind them, and Tyrion Lannister was alone with his father. Even with the windows of the solar shuttered against the night, the chill in the room was palpable. What sort of lies has Cersei been telling him?
The Lord of Casterly Rock was as lean as a man twenty years younger, even handsome in his austere way. Stiff blond whiskers covered his cheeks, framing a stem face, a bald head, a hard mouth. About his throat he wore a chain of golden hands, the fingers of each clasping the wrist of the next. УThatТs a handsome chain,Ф Tyrion said. Though it looked better on me.
Lord Tywin ignored the sally. УYou had best be seated. Is it wise for you to be out of your sickbed?Ф
УI am sick of my sickbed.Ф Tyrion knew how much his father despised weakness. He claimed the nearest chair. УSuch pleasant chambers you have. Would you believe it, while I was dying, someone moved me to a dark little cell in MaegorТs?Ф
УThe Red Keep is overcrowded with wedding guests. Once they depart, we will find you more suitable accommodations.Ф
УI rather liked these accommodations. Have you set a date for this great wedding?Ф
УJoffrey and Margaery shall marry on the first day of the new year, which as it happens is also the first day of the new century. The ceremony will herald the dawn of a new era.Ф
A new Lannister era, thought Tyrion. УOh, bother, I fear IТve made other plans for that day.Ф
УDid you come here just to complain of your bedchamber and make your lame japes? I have important letters to finish.Ф
УImportant letters. To be sure.Ф
УSome battles are won with swords and spears, others with quills and ravens. Spare me these coy reproaches, Tyrion. I visited your sickbed as often as Maester Ballabar would allow it, when you seemed like to die.Ф He steepled his fingers under his chin. УWhy did you dismiss Ballabar?Ф