世界之脊第七章(页 1) - 文字翻译室 - 龙骑士城堡奇幻论坛奇幻文学,翻译,原创,龙与地下城

jarod 发表于 2005-4-6 00:54

世界之脊第七章

第二部分 走向黑暗之路   我曾经在好几个社会群体中生活过，从卓尔的魔索布莱城到地底侏儒的布灵登石城，身处十镇那些最为普通的人类移民者中间，同野蛮人部落一起经历他们那独特的生活方式，还有加入到凯恩巨锥秘银厅的那些矮人当中。我曾经也在海上待过一段时间，那里又是另一种完全不同的社会群落。所有这些地方都有着各自不同的风俗习惯及其他东西，它们都有着各色各样的政府机构、社会势力、教派和社会阶层。   那么那种社会系统更为优秀呢？你能够听到很多关于这个话题的争吵，绝大部分理由都是基于繁荣、神赋的权力，或者只是简单的命运。对卓尔而言，那只是一种简单的信仰态度－－他们为了使混乱的蛛后满足而构筑自己的社会结构，然后就是经常地发动战争来改变那种结构的个别部分，尽管改变的实际上并不是结构本身。对地底侏儒来说，他们的社会方式是对族中的那些年老者报以敬意和应有的尊重，接受着那些已经活了很多年的人的智慧。在十镇的人类移民者之中，领导者靠得是自己的声望，而野蛮人则纯粹通过身体力量来选择他们的首领。矮人，他们的领导关系是由血缘来决定的。布鲁诺成为国王的原因就是他父亲曾是国王，而且他父亲的父亲也是，还有他父亲的父亲的父亲。   我则是以一种不同的方式衡量任何这些社会体系的优劣－－完全基于每个个体的自由。在我所生活过的全部这些地方之中，我最喜欢的是秘银厅，但是我懂得，这仅仅是因为布鲁诺以他的智慧使得他的子民享受着自由，而不是因为矮人群落自身的政治结构。布鲁诺不是个积极的国王。他所热衷的是作为部族策略性事件的发言人，战斗的指挥者，还有就是在他所统治范围内发生的冲突争吵中充当调停人－－但只是在被请求时去做。其实布鲁诺仍然顽固地保留着对生活在凯恩巨锥时那种无拘无束快乐的认同。   我曾经听到过很多女王和国王、主母和牧师为了证明自己的领导地位，维持自己的所有利益，从而宣称那些为他们服务着的平民是有着被统治与领导的需要的。在一些已经存在了很长时间、经久不衰的社会中，可能的确是这样的，但是如果真是这样，那么唯一的原因就是这些代代相传的统治已经从被统治者的心灵与灵魂中偷走了一些重要的东西，因为层层的统治阶层已经抢走了那些平头百姓决定自己生活方式的自信心。所有的统治阶层通过以“社会”之名将某些条件强加到每一个公民的生活头上，一齐分享了明显是从被领导个体那偷来的自由。   那种“社会”的观点我已经耳熟能详了，可以很肯定地说，任何集团组织中的个体都必须因为这种大众利益和社会繁荣的名义而去接受这些不快乐，甚至做出牺牲。如果那些牺牲是出自每一个公民的内心而不是来自于长老、主母、国王或者女王的法令的话，那这个社会将会达到一种多么坚固稳定的程度啊。   自由就是这所有的钥匙。离去或者留下的自由，同他人一起融洽工作或者选择更属于个人方式的自由，对发生的大事件施以援手或者拒绝的自由，贫穷落魄或者营造一个幸福生活的自由，对任何事都进行尝试或者什么都不做的自由。   几乎没人会抗拒对自由的渴望；每一个我遇见的人都是如此，或者说我认为他是。但十分奇怪的是，又有那么多人拒绝为得到自由而应该付出的东西：责任。   一个理想的社会应该是运行完好的，因为个体成员都应该为彼此的幸福和社会整体的统一去承担他们的责任，不是由于他们都被命令这样去做，而是因为他们理解、接受这些选择为自己所带来的利益。因为事实上，对于我们决定要去做或者不想去做的每一件事，我们的每一个选择都很重要。我所担心的是，那些重要性并不是很明显。自私自利的人可能认为自己赚到了，但是每当这个人最需要他的朋友们的时候，他们可能都不会出现，而到最后，这个自私的人会被遗忘，谁也无法记起他来。他的贪婪可能可以为他带来物质上的奢华，但是却不能带给他真正的欢乐，因爱而存在的难以言明的欢乐。   对于那些可恨的人、懒惰的人、妒忌的人、小偷和泼皮、醉鬼和闲汉，都可以得出相同的结论。自由允许每一个人都有权去选择他面前的生活，但是自由同时也要求人们为这些选择而承担责任－－不论选择的结果是好是坏。   我以前听到过很多人这样认为：在他们死去那一瞬间一生中所有的事都会被回放，甚至是那些深埋在他们记忆中的片段。我相信，到最后在那些弥留之际，在死亡的神秘即将到来之前，在我们正被给予祝福，或者诅咒之时，于我们眼前回放的将会是自己作出的那些选择，看着它们赤裸裸地出现在意识之中，在这其中没有装饰在日复一日生活表面的混乱不安，没有模糊不清的辨别认知，也没有未被实现的空头承诺。   我想知道，有多少牧师会在他们对天堂和地狱的描述中提到这些赤裸裸的瞬间。 －－－－崔斯特·杜垩登 第七章卖友   那大个子仅一步就迈到了他的面前。裘西·帕杜斯看到他时已经太晚了。裘西神经质地靠向墙壁，试着想隐藏自己，但是沃夫加马上就捉住了他，将他用一只手拎了起来，另一只手则轻松地拍掉了他所有的无力抵抗。   然后，“呯”地一声，裘西被重重地掼到了墙上。   “我是来拿自己的东西的，”野蛮人冷冷地说道。对于可怜的裘西而言，也许沃夫加平静的嗓音与表情才是最为可怕的东西。   “你在找－－找什－－什么东西？”这小个子的家伙战战兢兢地回答。   仍然只用了一只胳膊，沃夫加将裘西拉了回来，又再次地将他掼到了墙上。“你知道我的意思，”他说道，“而我也知道是你拿了它。”   裘西耸耸肩、摇摇头，马上又迎来了他同墙壁的第三次亲密接触。   “你拿了艾吉斯之牙，”沃夫加把话进一步讲清楚，他把自己的怒容正对上裘西的脸，“你如果不还我的话，我就会把你撕成两半儿，然后将你的骨头组装起来做我的下一件武器。”   “我......我......我把它借给......”裘西刚刚开始的这句不着边际的解释马上就被另一记撞击给打断了。“我以为你会杀了艾伦，”这个小个子哭喊道，“我以为你会杀了我们所有的人。”   这些奇怪的话使得沃夫加停下了一会儿。“杀了艾伦？”他不信地重复着。   “在他要赶你走的时候，”裘西解释道，“我知道他要赶你走。在你睡觉的时候他都告诉我了。我以为你会因为生气而杀了他。”   “所以你就拿走了我的战锤？”   “是的，”裘西承认，“但是我是想去把它拿回来的。我曾试着去拿回来。”   “它在哪儿？”沃夫加问。   “我把它交给了一个朋友，”裘西回答，“他则将锤子给了一个女海盗保管，使它处于你的召唤范围之外。我曾试着去把它拿回来，但那个女海盗翻脸了。她还想要用它砸烂我的头，是的，她是想这么做来着！”   “谁？”沃夫加问。   “跳跃女士号的希拉·克瑞尔，”裘西脱口而出，“她拿了战锤，而且她还想据为己有。”   沃夫加停了一会儿，消化理解着这个消息，衡量着它的准确性。然后他再次看向裘西，脸上的怒气变成了原来的十倍。“我讨厌小偷，”他说道。野蛮人开始挤压裘西，而当这小个子挣扎着想要反抗时，更加强壮的沃夫加就将他一次又一次地狠掼向墙壁。   “在我的家乡我们用石头将小偷砸死。”沃夫加咆哮着将裘西撞向墙壁，力量大得连整幢建筑都开始摇晃起来。   “在路斯坎我们则是将他们扔到监狱里。”边上传来的一个声音，沃夫加和裘西一同转过头看到艾伦·贾德佩客越众而出，身后还跟着不少人。那些保镖远远地便站住了，尽管在沃夫加看来他们显然都不算什么，而艾伦则手拿着棍子小心翼翼地靠近。“把他放下。”酒馆老板说道。   沃夫加又狠撞了裘西一次，然后才将他双脚着地放了下来，但是仍然粗暴地摇晃着他不让他轻易离开。“他偷了我的战锤，我是来要回它的。”野蛮人坚定地说。   艾伦瞪向裘西。   “我试过了，”裘西哀号道，“但是希拉·克瑞尔－－对的，就是她，就是她拿着锤子，而且现在不想还的也是她。”   沃夫加又给了他一次剧烈的摇晃，把他的牙齿弄得咯咯直响。“她拿着锤子是因为你给了她。”他提醒裘西。   “但是他已经尽力尝试去拿回过了，”艾伦说道，“他做了所有他能做的。现在你还要把他撕成两半吗？那样做会使你感觉好些吗？沃夫加是这么残忍的人吗？这样做可没办法帮你拿回你的锤子。”   沃夫加盯着艾伦看了一会儿，然后再次低头看向可怜的裘西。“的确，是会使我感觉好些的，”他承认道，而裘西看上去则已经显然被吓得缩成一团了。   “那么你也就会不得不同我进行战斗了，”艾伦说道，“裘西是我的朋友，就像我认为你是我的朋友一样，我会为他战斗的。”   沃夫加对这个想法报以轻蔑的嘲笑。他那有力的手臂只轻轻地一甩，就将裘西仰面朝天地扔到了艾伦脚边。   “他已经告诉你到哪里去找你的锤子了。”艾伦说道。   沃夫加明白这个提示，开始离开，但当他回头瞥了一眼时，看到艾伦正在帮裘西站起来，然后把胳膊放在那人的肩上，领着他回到了短弯刀酒馆。   那最后的一幕，那一种真正的友情的感觉，深深地困扰着沃夫加。他曾经也懂得同那一样的友情，曾经也有一次，他祈祷着、期盼着朋友们能来救他－－甚至那种可能性看上去几乎为零。崔斯特和布鲁诺的样子、瑞吉斯和关海法的样子、还有占绝大部分的，是凯蒂布莉尔的样子，在他的脑海里迅速闪过。   但那都是谎言，来自沃夫加内心最深处一个更加黑暗地方的声音在提醒着他。野蛮人闭上双眼摇晃着，几乎要摔倒在地。那是个任何朋友都无法触及的地方，在那里一丝友情都无法被接受。都是谎言。友情，那不过是人类编造出来的一种表面关系罢了，最终只是一种出于对自身安全考虑的孩子气的需要罢了，将自己包裹在自欺欺人的希望之中。他了解这些，因为他看到过这种无益的行为，已经看见了真理，确切地讲，一个黑暗的真理。   几乎没有意识到自己动作的沃夫加跑向短弯刀酒馆的大门将门推开，力量如此之大使得撞击声吸引了里面所有人的注意力。只用了简单的一大步野蛮人就来到了艾伦同裘西面前，随手拍开了艾伦的木棍，一掌掴到裘西的脸上，将他打得翻了好几个跟头最后四脚朝天躺在了地板上。   艾伦走到他的身后挥舞着木棍，但是沃夫加单手就抓住了它，将它从酒馆老板手中拉了过来，随后又将艾伦推了回去。沃夫加捡起掉在了身前的木棍，另一只手握住它的尾端，然后随着一声咆哮以及他巨大脖子同肩膀的大幅动作，野蛮人将那坚硬的木头一折两段。   “你这么干算什么意思？”艾伦问他。   沃夫加没有回答，甚至都懒得再去看他们一眼。在他那漩涡一般绞动着的思绪中他已经感受到了一次小小的胜利，在这里，对厄图及他手下那帮恶魔的胜利。在这里的行动是他对友情这个谎言的一种拒绝和否认，也是对抗厄图的一种武器，这种最令他感到痛苦的武器。沃夫加将碎裂的木头扔到了地板上昂首阔步走出了短弯刀酒馆，他知道这些使他痛苦的家伙中没有一个胆敢跟出来。   他仍然在不断地咆哮着、喃喃地咒骂着，对厄图，对艾伦，对裘西·帕杜斯，直到来到码头甲板。他大步沿着码头走下去，重重地靴子在木板上发出沉闷的声响。   “喂，你有什么事吗？”有一个老妇人问他。   “那个跳跃女士号，”沃夫加问道，“在哪里？”   “克瑞尔的船？”妇人问，不过这句话与其说在问沃夫加还不如说是自言自语，“哦，她出海了。出海跑得远远的了，毫无疑问，因为害怕那个。”说完时她指了指停泊在码头另一边在黑暗中只露出了轮廓的一艘船。   沃夫加感到奇怪而靠近看了看时，他注意到了那三根桅杆，其中最后一条的帆是三角形的，这是他从没见过的一种设计。当他继续靠近时，终于记起了崔斯特和凯蒂布莉尔告诉过他的那些故事，这使他终于明白了。海灵号。   沃夫加站得笔直，这个名字使他从他那些乱七八载的想法中清醒了过来。他的眼睛沿着厚厚的木板望上去，从船名到船舷，那里站着一个水手，正在回望着他。   “沃夫加，”维兰·麦森招呼道，“你好啊！”   随着重重的脚步声，野蛮人转身跑开了。 *****   “也许他正需要我们的帮助。”杜德蒙船长分析着原因。   “看上去他更有可能只是迷路了，”罗毕拉以一种怀疑的口吻回答，“根据麦森的描述，野蛮人见到海灵号时的反应看起来更像是一种惊讶。”   “我们无法确定。”杜德蒙坚持道，开始动身向船舱门口走去。   “我们没必要去确定。”罗毕拉反驳道，他拉住了船长的胳膊阻止他。杜德蒙停下脚步转过身盯着法师的手，然后再望向这个男人坚定不移的眼睛。   “他不是你的孩子，”罗毕拉提醒着船长，“他仅仅是个熟识的人罢了，你不用对他承担什么责任。”   “崔斯特同凯蒂布莉尔都是我的朋友，”杜德蒙回答，“都是我们的朋友，而沃夫加则是他们的朋友。难道我们要贪图方便而忽略这条事实吗？”   希望落空的法师放开了船长的手臂。“为了安全，船长，”他更正道，“不是方便。”   “我要去见他。”   “你已经试过了，而且立刻就被拒绝了。”法师坦率地提醒他。   “但他在这启航的最后一晚来到了我们这儿，可能就是因为对那次拒绝重新进行了考虑。”   “或者是在甲板上迷路了。”   杜德蒙点点头，勉强承认了这种可能性。“如果我不回去问问沃夫加，对此我们是没法知道答案的。”他解释原因，再次向门走去。   “再带上一个人，”罗毕拉忽然说道，这个想法刚刚蹦进他的思路中，“也许该带上麦森先生。或者应该我去。”   “沃夫加既不认识你也不认识麦森。”   “那么就带上那些同沃夫加一起航过海的水手，”顽固的法师坚持自己的意见，“带上那些认识他的人。”   杜德蒙摇着头，那坚定的下颚代表了自己的决心。“海灵号上只有一个人能够说服沃夫加，”他说道，“我要再一次回去找他，如果可能的话，在我们启航出海之前。”   罗毕拉开始作出反对，但最终还是承认了不管怎么讲都是没用的，他甩了甩手表示放弃。“路斯坎码头区的那些街道可不是你朋友的避难所，船上，”他提醒，“注意每一道可能会带来危险的阴影。”   “我一直都是如此，”杜德蒙咧嘴笑道，而当罗毕拉走到他面前在他身上加上了不少魔法之时－－例如阻挡打击、防御投射物等，甚至还有一个是用来驱散魔法攻击的－－这道笑容使他的嘴咧得更大了。   “注意魔法的维持时间。”法师警告道。   杜德蒙点点头，对朋友为他所做的防范工作表示感谢，然后转身走出门去。   他一出门，罗毕拉便消沉地坐到了椅子上。他看着自己的水晶球，衡量着操作它所需要的能量。“没有必要的工作，”法师的自言自语中夹杂着一声带有怒气的叹息，“对船长和我而言都是。一次毫无必要的努力，为了一只不值得去拯救的水沟里的老鼠。”   这将是一个漫长的夜晚。 *****   “你真的很需要它吗？”莫里克担心地问道。考虑到沃夫加那糟糕的心情，他知道自己现在提出这个问题正是在冒一个大险。   沃夫加心烦意乱地没有去回答这个荒谬可笑的问题，只是看了莫里克一眼，这对于这个小盗贼来说就足够了。“那它肯定是个非常不错的武器。”莫里克说道，突然间将话题转向，为自己那明显的冒犯想法作掩护。当然莫里克早就知道了艾吉斯之牙是怎样的一件魔法武器，它的制作技术是多么得完美，它握在沃夫加那强壮的手中时是多么得合适。但在盗贼那讲究实际的脑子里，光凭这一点还不能成为出海去追残忍的希拉·克瑞尔的理由。   可能他对这件武器的感情要比自己想象得更深，莫里克惊讶地想。也许沃夫加在那把战锤上附加有自己某些脆弱的感情。毕竟，这是他那养父亲手为他做的。也许艾吉斯之牙上附着着它制造者的些许生命，正是这个在提醒着野蛮人不要忘记那个他曾见过的人。这是个莫里克没敢问出口的问题，因为就算沃夫加原谅他的这个问题，骄傲的野蛮人也是不会承认的－－虽然莫里克仍然认为自己更有可能被他扔上半天而不是得到问题的答案。   “你能安排一下吗？”带着不耐烦，沃夫加再次问道。他想让莫里克去雇一条足够快的船和一个知识足够丰富的船长去追赶希拉·克瑞尔，也许可以将她赶到另一个海港，或者只要追得足够近，可以让沃夫加驾着一条小船利用漆黑的夜晚悄悄地靠近海盗船。他在追回战锤时不想得到任何帮助，甚至在对付克瑞尔时也是。他从没考虑过自己需要帮助。   “那么你的那个船长朋友怎么样？”莫里克回答。   沃夫加怀疑地看着他。   “杜德蒙的海灵号是剑湾最著名的海盗追捕船，”莫里克坦率地说道，“如果说路斯坎有哪条船能够追上希拉·克瑞尔的话，那就是海灵号，而且换句话讲杜德蒙船长也邀请过你，我打赌他会接受这个任务的。”   沃夫加没有对莫里克的主张作出直接回答，他的一句话已经胜过了所有的回答：“安排一条别的船。”   莫里克盯着他看了好一会儿，然后点点头。“我尽量吧。”他承诺道。   “现在就去，”沃夫加命令，“在跳跃女士号走得足够远之前。”   “我们有工作要做了。”莫里克提醒他。为了积攒足够的租船钱，他两个已经以一个较低的价钱使一个旅馆主人同意今晚让他们帮他卸货－－一船刚刚宰掉的牛肉。   “肉我来卸吧。”沃夫加提议，这话莫里克听起来就像仙乐一样，因为说实话他对这个工作是一点都不喜欢。这个小个子盗贼对于到哪里去雇一条能够追上希拉·克瑞尔的船根本没什么头绪，因此相对而言他还是更热衷于寻找租船需要的资金，也许沿路走下去就可以“拣”到一些口袋，当然，从一大堆浸水发臭的咸肉里也能找到。 *****   罗毕拉盯着水晶球，观察着杜德蒙，此时船长正沿着一条宽阔而灯光明亮的大路走着，那里部署有很多城市警卫。他们中有很多人都停下脚步向船长表示敬意、奉上赞颂的言语。罗毕拉猜得到他们在说什么，即便他通过水晶球没法听到他们说话的声音而只能看到图象。   一段敲门声打断了法师的思考，使得水晶球上的图象变成了一团漩涡般的模糊雾气。他不得不立刻重新施法显示出图象，水晶球中的杜德蒙并没有遇到什么危险，相信在那段短短的未知时间里也是，尤其因为法师已经在他的身上施了不少防护魔法。但出于总是喜欢自己一个人待在的原因，罗毕拉仍然冲着门外发了脾气：“走开！”然后伸手拿过一杯浓烈的饮料一饮而尽。   另一道更为坚持不懈的敲门声响了起来。“你最后看看这个，罗毕拉先生。”一个罗毕拉认识的声音喊道。端着酒杯咕咕哝哝抗议着，罗毕拉打开门，发现有一个船员站在那里，正用目光向法师示意让他看船舷那边的甲板。   维兰·麦森同另一个海员站在那里，向下看着码头，显然正在同某人说着话。   “我们来了位客人。”那在罗毕拉门前的水手说道，法师随即立刻想到的是：肯定是沃夫加。罗毕拉边走向甲板边考虑着这到底是个好消息还是坏消息，然后马上停下来回去将自己房间的门关上，因为那个海员脸上的表情已经由于看到的景象而变得过度的惊奇了。   “你不能上来除非罗毕拉先生同意。”麦森向下喊着，而下面则传来恳求的声音。   罗毕拉走到麦森身边。法师向船舷外看下去时发现了一个可怜兮兮的家伙，身上裹着一条毯子，嘴里喃喃不休地冒出脏话，显然不是针对这个并不冷的夜晚的。   “想同杜德蒙船长说话。”维兰·麦森解释道。   “确实，”罗毕拉回答。他冲着码头上那个人说道：“你认为我们会让每一个想要出海的流浪汉都同杜德蒙船长说话吗？”   “你不明白，”下面那个人回答，他压低着自己的声音，一副神情紧张的样子，仿佛在担心有某个暗杀者会随时对他进行袭击似的。“我有你们想听到的消息。但不能在这里说。”他紧张地向四周看了看后继续说道，“不能在这种任何人都能听到的地方。”   “让他上来。”罗毕拉对麦森说道。当这个船员怀疑地看向他时，法师回转身盯着他看的表情提醒了麦森自己面前的男人是谁。这也表示法师认为担心这个可怜的矮小男人在罗毕拉那强大法力面前可能对他造成伤害的想法是荒谬可笑的。   “我在自己的房间见他。”法师走开时指示道。   过了一小会儿，维兰·麦森领着这个颤抖着的小个子男人迈进了罗毕拉的船舱门。有几个好奇的船员把头探进房间，但是还没等罗毕拉命令，麦森就把他们都赶走了，将门关上。   “你是杜德蒙船长？”那小个子问。   “我不是，”法师承认，“但我是现在船上最接近你要见的目标的人。”   “让我去见杜德蒙。”那小个子解释道。   “你叫什么名字？”法师问。   那人摇了摇头。“你只要去告诉杜德蒙，”他说道，“而不是问我这些，如果你能明白的话。”   罗毕拉不是个有耐心的人，也肯定自己不明白这个家伙所说的话。他弹了弹手指将一道能量箭射到那人身上将他震得摇摇晃晃向后退去。“你的名字？”法师再次问道，当那家伙表现的犹豫不决时，他让他又摇晃了一次。“还有很多等着你呢，我保证。”罗毕拉说道。   那小个子男人转身向门跑去，但是却一头撞进了一股用魔法制造出来的旋风中，那风撞击着他，将他转了一圈，再次面对着法师。   “你的名字？”罗毕拉冷冷地问道。   “裘西·帕杜斯，”裘西在能想到一个化名之前只能脱口而出。   罗毕拉用手指顶着下巴对这个名字思考了一会儿。随后他将背靠回椅子摆出了一个沉思的样子：“告诉我你的消息，帕杜斯先生。”   “那是关于杜德蒙船长的，”已经明显遭到了极大打击的裘西回答道，“他们正在找机会杀他。他们出钱雇了人要他的脑袋。”   “雇了谁？”   “一个大个子，”裘西回答，“一个叫沃夫加的大个子，还有他的朋友盗贼莫里克。”   罗毕拉很好地隐藏了自己的惊奇。“那么你是怎么知道这个的呢？”他问。   “都是在街道上听到的，”裘西回答道，“杀了杜德蒙就能拿到十万个金币，他们是这么说的。”   “还有什么吗？”罗毕拉问道，他的语气已经接近了一种威胁的边缘。   裘西耸耸肩，小眼睛滴溜乱转。   “你为什么要来告诉我们这个？”罗毕拉开始施压。   “我认为你们需要知道这些，”裘西回答，“如果有人雇了沃夫加同莫里克来杀我，那么我是会十分愿意知道的这些的。”   罗毕拉点点头，然后吃吃笑道：“这条船是这个码头上那些最危险的人口中最为声名狼藉的一条船－－一艘海盗猎捕船－－你来到这里警告一个素不相识的人，同时也明白这样做会给自己带来极大的危险。我的朋友，帕杜斯先生，我认为这可是一个很矛盾的地方啊。”   “我认为你们需要知道，”裘西再次说道，同时低下自己的目光，“就这些。”   “我不这样想，”罗毕拉冷冷地说道。裘西抬头看向他，他的表情充满了恐惧。“你要多少钱呢？”   这句话使得裘西的表情马上转变成了惊奇。   “一个聪明的人会在提供消息前先给出个价钱的，”罗毕拉解释道，“但我们不会那么不领情的。五十个金币够了吗？”   “是－－是的，是的，”裘西结结巴巴着，随后他说道，“不，我的意思是－－我想一百个－－”   “你可真是个不错的交易者啊，帕杜斯先生，”罗毕拉说着，他点头示意仍然留在这里的麦森去使这个已经越来越激动的人平静下来。“你的消息可能会被证实是很有价值的，当然，如果你没有说谎的话。”   “没有，先生，绝对没有！”   “那么那一百枚金币，”罗毕拉说道，“等你明天回来告诉杜德蒙船长时在付给你吧。”   裘西眼睛转了转，“我不会再回来了，如果您允许，罗毕拉先生。”他说道。   罗毕拉再次吃吃笑道。“当然，”他回答，同时将手伸进挂在脖子上的一个小袋子里，掏出了一把钥匙扔给了维兰·麦森。   “带他去吧，”他对那男人说，“你会在左边那个锁着的抽屉底部找到那笔数目的钱的。是个一捆地付给他。然后护送帕杜斯先生离开我们这艘好船，再派两个水手一路送他安全通过码头区。”   麦森几乎不能相信他所听到的话，但是他并不想同危险的法师发生争执。麦森托着裘西·帕杜斯的胳膊将他带离了房间。   过了一会儿当他回来时，发现罗毕拉靠在他那水晶球前面，专心地研究着里面的景象。   “你相信了他，”麦森说道，“根本不去验证消息的正确和可靠就付给了他这么多钱。”   “一百个铜钱可不是什么大数目。”罗毕拉回答。   “铜钱？”麦森问，“我看到的时金币。”   “看上去是这样的，”法师解释道，“但那实际上是铜币，甚至可以确定地告诉你，我能够通过那些钱追踪我们的帕杜斯先生－－可以惩罚他，如果需要的话，或者适当地奖励他，如果他的消息被证实是真实的。”   “他不会来向我们要求任何奖励的，”深明事理的麦森说道，“他也不是杜德蒙船长的什么朋友，这个我很肯定。不，在我看来我们的帕杜斯朋友并不是很喜欢沃夫加，或者是那个叫莫里克的伙伴。”   罗毕拉再次盯着他那水晶球，然后向后靠到椅子上，思考着。   “你找到船长了吗？”麦森斗胆问道。   “已经找到了，”法师回答，“来，看看这个。”   当麦森靠近罗毕拉时，他看到了水晶球中的景象已经从路斯坎的街道转变成了停在外海某个地方的一条船。“是船长？”他关心地问。   “不，不，”罗毕拉回答，“是沃夫加，也许，或者说，至少是他的魔法战锤。我知道那件武器。对它的描述给我造成了很深刻的映象。考虑到它会使我看到沃夫加，我的魔法帮我搜索到了这条船，名字是跳跃女士号。”   “海盗？”   “可能，”法师回答，“如果沃夫加的确在这艘船上，那么我们就应该还会同这个人碰面的。尽管我们的朋友－－如果他算是朋友的话－－帕杜斯先生的故事听起来是有些不太可靠。”   “你能告诉船长吗？”麦森问，他仍然很关心这件事，“把他带回到船上来？”   “他听不见的，”罗毕拉笑道，“我们那顽固的杜德蒙船长必须自己学会些什么。我会在很近的距离看着他的。去照顾船吧，将警卫增加到两倍，甚至三倍都可以，告诉每一个人仔细监视那些阴影处。如果有什么人想要刺杀杜德蒙船长－－如果有的话－－他们可能会相信他是在这里。”   罗毕拉再次变成独自一个人坐在那里，他转向面对着水晶球，把图象切换回到杜德蒙船长那儿。法师失望地叹了口气，尽管他原先十分抱有希望，但现在还是伤心地发现船长已经又一次走到了城市更为危险的区域。就在罗毕拉再次将目光投向船长时，杜德蒙正好走过半月街的街牌。 *****   如果罗毕拉能够更仔细地扫描这块广阔的地区的话，他就可能会注意到有两个身影潜进了同半月街平行的小巷，就在杜德蒙进入这条街的时候。   克里普·沙基和提阿尼尼一路潜行，然后在一条小巷中停了下来，从那里可以清楚地看到短弯刀酒馆旁边的半月街。他们冲了进去，因为沙基确信那里就是杜德蒙的目的地。两个人坐在了大门右侧角落的一张桌子边，把原来坐在那里的两个顾客用咆哮赶跑了。他们从黛丽·柯蒂那儿要了饮料，当杜德蒙跨进大门向吧台走去时他们脸上那得意的微笑就变得更大了。   “沃夫加不在，他待不长。”提阿尼尼说道。   克里普考虑着，首先破译了这句话的意思（译者：原文虽然字面意思同上述中文表示得一样，但提阿尼尼这句话存在英语语法错误，而且是初中生都不会犯的语法错误，无语了......），随后点点头对表示同意。他清楚地知道沃夫加和莫里克在哪里。夜晚早些时候一个海盗同伙曾在码头区见到他们。“给我盯着。”克里普这样指示。他拿出了一个自己早些时候准备好的钱袋，开始离开。   “太早了。”提阿尼尼提醒道，重申着他对克里普当天早些时候制定的这个计划的抱怨。   “是啊，但看看，多美丽的夜色啊，我的朋友，”克里普说道，“莫里克太自大太挑剔了，使得他孤注一掷。不，他会这么做的，他会的，我们的计划会使他行动得更快的。”   克里普步入夜色扫视着街道。他看到在街道的某些地方都有不少流浪儿潜伏在那里，正在观察着、或者传递着各种信息。   “喂，小子，”他冲着其中的一个喊道。那个流浪儿差不多也就十岁左右，正疑惑地看着他，但并没有走过来。“给你个活儿干。”克里普解释着，举了举钱袋。   那男孩试探着向着个看上去挺危险的海盗靠近。   “拿着这个，”克里普递过钱袋命令道，“别往里看！”当那男孩想要解开袋口偷偷瞥一眼时他又命令了一句。   但克里普立刻改变了注意，认识到这个流浪儿可能会认为那钱包里也许装着什么特殊的东西－－金币或者魔法品－－从而可能拿了就拔腿跑掉。于是他将那钱袋从孩子手中拉了回来，特地打开，显示出里边的内容：一些爪子，看上去像是猫爪子，一个装着透明液体的小瓶子，以及一块看起来寻常无比的石头。   “就这些，你都看到了，所以你知道没什么值得偷的东西。”克里普说道。   “我没想偷。”男孩争辩道。   “当然你没有，”克里普带着会心的吃吃笑声说，“你是个好孩子，难道不是吗？好了，你知道一个叫做沃夫加的人吗？一个黄头发的大个子，以前在短弯刀酒馆帮艾伦打人的家伙？”   男孩点点头。   “那你知道他的朋友吗？”   “盗贼莫里克，”男孩就像背书一样，“每个人都知道莫里克。”   “不错啊你，”克里普说道，“他们现在在码头上，或者就在这儿去码头的路上，我猜是这样。我想让你去找到他们，然后将这个交给莫里克。告诉他和沃夫加杜德蒙船长会在短弯刀酒馆门口等他们。是一件关于一把大锤子的事。你能做到吗？”   那男孩坏笑着就好像这个问题很愚蠢一样。   “那么你愿意去干吗？”克里普问。他将手伸进口袋掏出一小块银币，刚想递过去，但马上又改变了注意，将手放回了口袋，这一次掏出了好几枚银币。“你让你路斯坎的那些小朋友们都去找，”他命令道，将这些银币递给眼睛瞪得大大的流浪儿，“如果你能把沃夫加和莫里克带到短弯刀来，这里还有更多给你的，别不信。”   在克里普说第二句话前，那孩子便一把抢过了钱，转身消失在了小巷中。   当克里普与提阿尼尼再度会合时他微笑着，相信那孩子还有他十分了解的广大街道流浪儿网络很快就会完成所交给的任务的。   “他一直在等。”提阿尼尼解释道，他指的是杜德蒙，船长一直斜靠着吧台站在那里，慢慢地品着一杯酒。   “有耐心的家伙，”克里普说道，微笑间露出了他那黄绿相间的牙齿，“如果他知道自己还剩多少时间可以活的话，就可能会表现得更急迫些了。”他示意提阿尼尼，两人走出短弯刀。他们很快发现了一座很矮得屋顶，那里同酒馆靠得很近，给他们提供了一个观察酒馆前门得绝佳场所。   提阿尼尼从他衬衣背后拉出了一条长长的空管子，然后再从口袋里取出一枚猫爪，那上面系着一片羽毛以维持平衡。他蹲得低低的，动作非常小心，这个野蛮未开化的纹身半曲兰人同左手拿着猫爪，挤压着隐藏在右手腕戴着的手镯上的一个小包。慢慢地，慢慢地，这个纹身的人增加着压力，直到那包破裂开来，从里面流出一滴像是果浆一样的液体。他将大部分的液体都涂到了猫爪的尖端，然后把这枚已经饱浸了毒汁的刺塞进了吹管的底部。   “提阿尼尼，耐心的人，也是。”他说道，咧嘴露出一个邪恶的笑容。

jarod 发表于 2005-4-6 01:03

因为有朋友要求贴出原文，所以这里提供给大家，以后的几章也会贴出原文，翻译有不到位的地方希望大家能给以指正，谢谢支持。 Part 2 WALKING DOWN A DARK ROAD I have lived in many societies, from Menzoberranzan of the drow, to Blingdenstone of the deep gnomes, to Ten-Towns ruled as the most common human settlements, to the barbarian tribes and their own curious ways, to Mithral Hall of the Clan Battlehammer dwarves. I have lived aboard ship, another type of society altogether. All of these places have different customs and mores, all of them have varied government structures, social forces, churches and societies. Which is the superior system? You would hear many arguments concerning this, mostly based on prosperity, or god-given right, or simple destiny. For the drow, it is simply a religious matter-they structure their society to the desires of the chaotic Spider Queen, then wage war constantly to change the particulars of that structure, though not the structure itself. For the deep gnomes, it is a matter of paying homage and due respect to the elders of their race, accepting the wisdom of those who have lived for so many years. In the human settlement of Ten-Towns, leadership comes from popularity, while the barbarians choose their chieftains purely on physical prowess. For the dwarves, rulership is a matter of bloodline. Bruenor became king because his father was king, and his father's father before him, and his father's father's father before him. I measure the superiority of any society in a different manner, based completely on individual freedom. Of all the places I have lived, I favor Mithral Hall, but that, I understand, is a matter of Bruenor's wisdom in allowing his flock their freedom, and not because of the dwarven political structure. Bruenor is not an active king. He serves as spokesman for the clan in matters politic, as commander in matters martial, and as mediator in disputes among his subjects, but only when so asked. Bruenor remains fiercely independent and grants that joy to those of Clan Battlehammer. I have heard of many queens and kings, matron mothers and clerics, who justify rulership and absolve themselves of any ills by claiming that the commoners who serve them are in need of guidance. This might be true in many long-standing societies, but if it is, that is only because so many generations of conditioning have stolen something essential from the heart and soul of the subjects, because many generations of subordination have robbed the common folk of confidence in determining their own way. All of the governing systems share the trait of stealing freedom from the individual, of forcing certain conditions upon the lives of each citizen in the name of "community." That concept, "community," is one that I hold dear, and surely, the individuals within any such grouping must sacrifice and accept certain displeasures in the name of the common good to make any community thrive. How much stronger might that community be if those sacrifices came from the heart of each citizen and not from the edicts of the elders or matron mothers or kings and queens? Freedom is the key to it all. The freedom to stay or to leave, to work in harmony with others or to choose a more individual course. The freedom to help in the larger issues or to abstain. The freedom to build a good life or to live in squalor. The freedom to try anything, or merely to do nothing. Few would dispute the desire for freedom; everyone I have ever met desires free will, or thinks he does. How curious then, that so many refuse to accept the inverse cost of freedom: responsibility. An ideal community would work well because the individual members would accept their responsibility toward the welfare of each other and to the community as a whole, not because they are commanded to do so, but because they understand and accept the benefits to such choices. For there are, indeed, consequences to every choice we make, to everything we do or choose not to do. Those consequences are not so obvious, I fear. The selfish man might think himself gaining, but in times when that person most needs his friends, they likely will not be there, and in the end, in the legacy the selfish person leaves behind, he will not be remembered fondly if at all. The selfish person's greed might bring material luxuries, but cannot bring the true joys, the intangible pleasures of love. So it is with the hateful person, the slothful person, the envious person, the thief and the thug, the drunkard and the gossip. Freedom allows each the right to choose the life before him, but freedom demands that the person accept the responsibility for those choices, good and bad. I have often heard tales of those who believed they were about to die replaying the events of their lives, even long past occurrences buried deep within their memories. In the end, I believe, in those last moments of this existence, before the mysteries of what may come next, we are given the blessing, or curse, to review our choices, to see them bared before our consciousness, without the confusion of the trappings of day-to-day living, without blurring justifications or the potential for empty promises to make amends. How many priests, I wonder, would include this most naked moment in their descriptions of heaven and hell? -Drizzt Do'Urden Chapter 7 LETTING GO OF AN OLD FRIEND The big man was only a stride away. Josi Puddles saw him coming too late. Squeamish Josi hunched against the wall, trying to cover up, but Wulfgar had him in an instant, lifting him with one hand, batting away his feeble attempts to slap with the other. Then, slam, Josi went hard against the wall. "I want it back," the barbarian said calmly. To poor Josi, the measure of serenity in Wulfgar's voice and his expression was perhaps the most frightening thing of all. "Wh-what're ye lookin' t-to find?" the little man stuttered in reply. Still with just one arm, Wulfgar pulled Josi out from the wall and slammed him back against it. "You know what I mean," he said, "and I know you took it." Josi shrugged and shook his head, and that bought him another slam against the wall. "You took Aegis-fang," Wulfgar clarified, now bringing his scowl right up to Josi's face, "and if you do not return it to me, I will break you apart and assemble your bones to make my next weapon." "I . . . I . . . I borrowed it . . ." Josi started to say, his rambling interrupted by yet another slam. "I thought ye'd kill Arumn!" the little man cried. "I thought ye'd kill us all." Wulfgar calmed a bit at those curious words. "Kill Arumn?" he echoed incredulously. "When he kicked ye out," Josi explained. "I knew he was kickin' ye out. He told me as much while ye slept. I thought ye'd kill him in yer rage." "So you took my warhammer?" "I did," Josi admitted, "but I meant to get it back. I tried to get it back." "Where is it?" Wulfgar demanded. "I gave it to a friend," Josi replied. "He gave it to a sailor woman to hold, to keep it out of the reach of yer call. I tried to get it back, but the sailor woman won't give it up. She tried to squish me head, she did!" "Who?" Wulfgar asked. "Sheela Kree of Leapin' Lady," Josi blurted. "She got it, and she's meanin' to keep it." Wulfgar paused for a long moment, digesting the information, measuring its truth. He looked up at Josi again, and his scowl returned tenfold. "I am not fond of thieves," he said. He jostled Josi about, and when the little man tried to resist, even slapping Wulfgar, the barbarian brought him out from the wall and slammed him hard, once, then again. "We stone thieves in my homeland," Wulfgar growled as he smashed Josi so hard against the wall the building shook. "And in Luskan we shackle ruffians," came a voice to the side. Wulfgar and Josi turned their heads to see Arumn Gardpeck exit the establishment, along with several other men. Those others hung far back, though, obviously wanting nothing to do with Wulfgar, while Arumn, club in hand, approached cautiously. "Put him down," the tavernkeeper said. Wulfgar slammed Josi one more time, then brought him down to his feet, but shook him roughly and did not let go. "He stole my warhammer, and I mean to get it back," the barbarian said determinedly. Arumn glared at Josi. "I tried," Josi wailed, "but Sheela Kree-yeah, that's her. She got it and won't give it over." Wulfgar gave him another shake, rattling the teeth in his mouth. "She has it because you gave it to her," he reminded Josi. "But he tried to retrieve it," Arumn said. "He's done all he can. Now, are ye meanin' to bust him up for that? Is that to make ye feel better, Wulfgar the brute? For suren it won't help to get yer hammer back." Wulfgar glared at Arumn, then let the look fall over poor Josi. "It would, indeed, make me feel better," he admitted, and Josi seemed to shrink down, trembling visibly. "Then ye'll have to beat me, as well," Arumn said. "Josi's me friend, as I thought yerself to be, and I'll be fighting for him." Wulfgar scoffed at the notion. With a mere flick of his powerful arm, he sent Josi sprawling at Arumn's feet. "He telled ye where to find yer hammer," Arumn said. Wulfgar took the cue and started away, but he glanced back to see Arumn helping Josi from the ground, then putting his arm around the trembling man's shoulders, leading him into the Cutlass. That last image, a scene of true friendship, bothered the barbarian profoundly. He had known friendship like that, had once been blessed with friends who would come to his aid even when the odds seemed impossible. Images of Drizzt and Bruenor, of Regis and Guenhwyvar, and mostly of Catti-brie flitted across his thoughts. But it was all a lie, a darker part of Wulfgar's deepest thoughts reminded him. The barbarian closed his eyes and swayed, near to falling over. There were places where no friends could follow, horrors that no amount of friendship could alleviate. It was all a lie, friendship, all a facade concocted by that so very human and ultimately childish need for security, to wrap oneself in false hopes. He knew it, because he had seen the futility, had seen the truth, and it was a dark truth indeed. Hardly conscious of the action, Wulfgar ran to the door of the Cutlass and shoved it open so forcefully that the slam drew the attention of every one in the place. A single stride brought the barbarian up to Arumn and Josi, where he casually swatted aside Arumn's club, then slapped Josi across the face, launching him several feet to land sprawling on the floor. Arumn came right back at him, swinging the club, but Wulfgar caught it in one hand, yanked it away from the tavernkeeper, then pushed Arumn back. He brought the club out in front of him, one hand on either end, and with a growl and a great flex of his huge neck and shoulders, he snapped the hard wood in half. "Why're ye doin' this?" Arumn asked him. Wulfgar had no answers, didn't even bother to look for them. In his swirling thoughts he had scored a victory here, a minor one, over Errtu and the demons. Here he had denied the lie of friendship, and by doing so, had denied Errtu one weapon, that most poignant weapon, to use against him. He tossed the splintered wood to the floor and stalked out of the Cutlass, knowing that none of his tormentors would dare follow. He was still growling, still muttering curses, at Errtu, at Arumn, at Josi Puddles, when he arrived at the docks. He stalked up and down the long pier, his heavy boots clunking against the wood. "Ere, what're you about?" one old woman asked him. "The Leaping Lady?" Wulfgar asked. "Where is it?" "That Kree's boat?" the woman asked, more to herself than to Wulfgar. "Oh, she's out. Out and running, not to doubt, fearing that one." As she finished, she pointed to the dark silhouette of a sleek vessel tied on the other side of the long wharf. Wulfgar, curious, moved closer, noting the three sails, the last one triangular, a design he had never seen before. When he crossed the boardwalk, he remembered the tales Drizzt and Catti-brie had told to him, and he understood. Sea Sprite. Wulfgar stood up very straight, the name sobering him from his jumbled thoughts. His eyes trailed up the planking, from the name to the deck rail, and there stood a sailor, staring back at him. "Wulfgar," Waillan Micanty hailed. "Well met!" The barbarian turned on his heel and stomped away. ***** "Perhaps he was reaching out to us," Captain Deudermont reasoned. "It seems more likely that he was merely lost," a skeptical Robillard replied. "By Micanty's description, the barbarian's reaction upon seeing Sea Sprite seemed more one of surprise." "We can't be certain." Deudermont insisted, starting for the cabin door. "We don't have to be certain," Robillard retorted, and he grabbed the captain by the arm to stop him. Deudermont did stop and turned to glare at the wizard's hand, then into the man's unyielding eyes. "He is not your child," Robillard reminded the captain. "He's barely an acquaintance, and you bear him no responsibility." "Drizzt and Catti-brie are my friends," Deudermont replied. "They're our friends, and Wulfgar is their friend. Are we to ignore that fact simply for convenience?" The frustrated wizard let go of the captain's arm. "For safety, Captain," he corrected, "not convenience." "I will go to him." "You already tried and were summarily rejected," the wizard bluntly reminded him. "Yet he came to us last night, perhaps rethinking that rejection." "Or lost on the docks." Deudermont nodded, conceding the possibility. "We'll never know if I don't return to Wulfgar and ask," he reasoned, and started for the door. "Send another," Robillard said suddenly, the thought just popping into his mind. "Send Mister Micanty, perhaps. Or I shall go." "Wulfgar knows neither you nor Micanty." "Certainly there are crewmen aboard who were with Wulfgar on that voyage long ago," the stubborn wizard persisted. "Men who know him." Deudermont shook his head, his jaw set determinedly. "There is but one man aboard Sea Sprite who can reach out to Wulfgar," he said. "I'll go back to him, then again, if necessary, before we put out to sea." Robillard started to respond but finally recognized the futility of it all and threw up his hands in defeat. "The streets of Luskan's dockside are no haven for your friends, Captain," he reminded. "Beware that every shadow might hold danger." "I always am and always have been," Deudermont said with a grin, a grin that widened as Robillard walked up to him and put several enchantments upon him, spells to stop blows or defeat missiles, and even one to diffuse certain magical attacks. "Take care of the duration," the wizard warned. Deudermont nodded, thankful for his friend's precautions, then turned back to the door. Robillard slumped into a chair as soon as the man had gone. He considered his crystal ball and the energy it would take for him to operate it. "Unnecessary work," he said with an exasperated sigh. "For the captain and for me. A useless effort for an undeserving gutter rat." It was going to be a long night. ***** "And do you need it so badly?" Morik dared to ask. Given Wulfgar's foul mood, he knew that he was indeed taking a great risk in even posing the question. Wulfgar didn't bother to answer the absurd question, but the look he gave Morik told the little thief well enough. "It must be a wondrous weapon, then," Morik said, abruptly shifting the subject to excuse his obviously sacrilegious thinking. Of course Morik had known all along how magnificent a weapon Aegis-fang truly was, how perfect the craftsmanship and how well it fit Wulfgar's strong hands. In the pragmatic thief's mind, even that didn't justify an excursion onto the open sea in pursuit of Sheela Kree's cutthroat band. Perhaps the emotions went deeper, Morik wondered. Perhaps Wulfgar held a sentimental attachment to the warhammer. His adoptive father had crafted it for him, after all. Perhaps Aegis-fang was the one remaining piece of his former life, the one reminder of who he had been. It was a question Morik didn't dare ask aloud, for even if Wulfgar agreed with him the proud barbarian would never admit it, though he might launch Morik through the air for even asking. "Can you make the arrangements?" an impatient Wulfgar asked again. He wanted Morik to charter a ship fast enough and with a captain knowledgeable enough to catch Sheela Kree, to shadow her into another harbor perhaps, or merely to get close enough so that Wulfgar could take a small boat in the dark of night and quietly board the privateer. He didn't expect any help in retrieving the warhammer once delivered to Kree. He didn't think he'd need any. "What of your captain friend?" Morik replied. Wulfgar looked at him incredulously. "Deudermont's Sea Sprite is the most reputable pirate chaser on the Sword Coast," Morik stated bluntly. "If there is a boat in Luskan that can catch Sheela Kree, it's Sea Sprite, and from the way Captain Deudermont greeted you, I'll wager he would take on the task." Wulfgar had no direct answer to Morik's claims other than to say, "Arrange for a different boat." Morik eyed him for a long while, then nodded. "I will try," he promised. "Now," Wulfgar instructed. "Before the Leaping Lady gets too far out." "We have a job," Morik reminded him. Running a bit low on funds, the pair had agreed to help an innkeeper unload a ship's hold of slaughtered cattle that night. "I'll unload the meat," Wulfgar offered, and those words sounded like music to Morik, who never really liked honest work. The little thief had no idea where to begin chartering a boat that could catch Sheela Kree, but he much preferred searching for that answer, and perhaps finding a few pockets to pick along the way, to getting soggy and smelly under tons of salted meat. ***** Robillard stared into the crystal ball, watching Deudermont as the captain made his way along one wide and well-lit boulevard, heavily patrolled by city guards. Most of them stopped to greet the captain and offer praise. Robillard understood their intent though he couldn't hear their words through the crystal ball, which granted images only and no sound. A knock on the door broke the wizard's concentration and sent the image in his crystal ball into a swirl of foggy grayness. He could have retrieved the scene immediately but figured that Deudermont was in no danger at that time, especially with the multitude of defensive spells the wizard had cast over the man. Still, always preferring his privacy, he called out a gruff, "Be gone!" then moved to pour himself a strong drink. Another knock sounded, this one more insistent. "Ye must see this, Master Robillard," came a call, a voice Robillard recognized. With a grunt of protest and drink in hand, Robillard opened the door to find a crewman standing there, glancing back over his shoulder to the rail by the boarding plank. Waillan Micanty and another seaman stood there, looking down at the docks, apparently speaking to someone. "We've a guest," the crewman at Robillard's door remarked, and the wizard immediately thought it must be Wulfgar. Not sure if that was a good thing or bad, Robillard started across the deck, pausing only to turn back and shut his door in the face of the overly curious crewman. "You're not to come up until Master Robillard says so," Micanty called down, and there came a plea for quiet from below in response. Robillard moved to Micanty's side. The wizard looked down to see a pitiful figure huddled under a blanket, a tell-tale sign, for the night surely wasn't cold. "Wants to speak to Captain Deudermont," Waillan Micanty explained. "Indeed," Robillard replied. To the man on the wharf he said, "Are we to let every vagabond who wanders in come aboard to speak with Captain Deudermont?" "Ye don't understand," the man below answered, lowering his voice and glancing nervously about as if expecting a murderer to descend upon him at any moment. "I got news ye're needin' to hear. But not here," he went on, glancing about yet again. "Not where any can hear." "Let him up," Robillard instructed Micanty. When the crewman looked at him skeptically, the wizard returned the stare with an expression that reminded Micanty of who he was. It also demonstrated that Robillard thought it absurd to worry that this pitiful little man might cause mischief in the face of Robillard's wizardly power. "I will see him in my quarters," the wizard instructed as he walked away. A few moments later, Waillan Micanty led the shivering little man through Robillard's cabin door. Several other curious crewmen poked their heads into the room, but Micanty, without waiting for Robillard's permission, moved over and closed them out. "Ye're Deudermont?" the little man asked. "I am not," the wizard admitted, "but rest assured that I am the closest you will ever get to him." "Got to see Deudermont," the little man explained. "What is your name?" the wizard asked. The little man shook his head. "Just got to tell Deudermont," he said. "But it don't come from me, if ye understand." Never a patient man, Robillard certainly did not understand. He flicked his finger and sent a bolt of energy into the little man that jolted him backward. "Your name?" he asked again, and when the man hesitated, he hit him with another jolt. "There are many more waiting, I assure you," Robillard said. The little man turned for the door but got hit in the face with a tremendous magical gust of wind that nearly knocked him over and sent him spinning to again face the wizard. "Your name?" Robillard asked calmly. "Josi Puddles," Josi blurted before he could think to create an alias. Robillard pondered the name for a moment, putting his finger to his chin. He leaned back in his chair and struck a pensive pose. "Do tell me your news, Mister Puddles." "For Captain Deudermont," an obviously overwhelmed Josi replied. "They're looking to kill 'im. Lots o' money for his head." "Who?" "A big man," Josi replied. "Big man named Wulfgar and his friend Morik the Rogue." Robillard did well to hide his surprise. "And how do you know this?" he asked. "All on the street know," Josi answered. "Lookin' to kill Deudermont for ten thousand pieces o' gold, so they're sayin'." "What else?" Robillard demanded, his voice taking on a threatening edge. Josi shrugged, little eyes darting. "Why have you come?" Robillard pressed. "I was thinkin' ye should know," Josi answered. "I know I'd want to be knowin' if people o' Wulfgar's and Morik's reputation was hunting me." Robillard nodded, then chuckled. "You came to a ship-a pirate hunter-infamous among the most dangerous folk along the docks, to warn a man you have never met, knowing full well that to do so could put you in mortal danger. Your pardon, Mister Puddles, but I sense an inconsistency here." "I thinked ye should know," Josi said again, lowering his eyes. "That's all." "I think not," Robillard said calmly. Josi looked back at him, his expression fearful. "How much do you desire?" Josi's expression turned curious. "A wiser man would have bargained before offering the information," Robillard explained, "but we are not ungrateful. Will fifty gold pieces suffice?" "W-well, yes," Josi stuttered, then he said, "Well, no. Not really, I mean. I was thinkin' a hunnerd." "You are a powerful bargainer, Mister Puddles," Robillard said, and he nodded at Micanty to calm the increasingly agitated sailor. "Your information may well prove valuable, if you aren't lying, of course." "No, sir, never that!" "Then a hundred gold it is," Robillard said. "Return tomorrow to speak with Captain Deudermont, and you shall be paid." Josi glanced all around. "I'm not comin' back, if ye please, Master Robillard," he said. Robillard chuckled again. "Of course," he replied as he reached into a neck purse. He produced a key and tossed it to Waillan Micanty. "See to it," he told the man. "You will find the sum in the left locker, bottom. Pay him in pieces of ten. Then escort Mister Puddles from our good ship and send a pair of crewmen along to get him safely off the docks." Micanty could hardly believe what he was hearing, but he wasn't about to argue with the dangerous wizard. He took Josi Puddles by the arm and left the room. When he returned a short while later, he found Robillard leaning over his crystal ball, studying the image intently. "You believe him," Micanty stated. "Enough to pay him without any proof." "A hundred copper pieces is not so great a sum," Robillard replied. "Copper?" Micanty replied. "It was gold by my own eyes." "So it seemed," the wizard explained, "but it was copper, I assure you, and coins that I can trace easily to find our Mister Puddles-to punish him if necessary, or to properly reward him if his information proves true." "He did not come to us searching for any reward," the observant Micanty remarked. "Nor is he any friend of Captain Deudermont, surely. No, it seems to me that our friend Puddles isn't overly fond of Wulfgar or this Morik fellow." Robillard glanced in his crystal ball again, then leaned back in his chair, thinking. "Have you found the captain?" Micanty dared to ask. "I have," the wizard answered. "Come, see this." When Micanty got near to Robillard, he saw the scene in the crystal ball shift from Luskan's streets to a ship somwhere out on the open ocean. "The captain?" he said with concern. "No, no," Robillard replied. "Wulfgar, perhaps, or at least his magical warhammer. I know of the weapon. It was described to me in depth. Thinking that it would show me Wulfgar, my magical search took me to this boat, Leaping Lady by name." "Pirate?" "Likely," the wizard answered. "If Wulfgar is indeed on her, we shall likely meet up with the man again. Though, if he is, our friend Puddles's story seems a bit unlikely." "Can you call to the captain?" Micanty asked, still concerned. "Bring him home?" "He'd not listen," Robillard said with a smirk. "Some things our stubborn Captain Deudermont must learn for himself. I will watch him closely. Go and secure the ship. Double the guard, triple it even, and tell every man to watch the shadows closely. If there are, indeed, some determined to assassinate Captain Deudermont, they might believe him to be here." Robillard was alone again, and he turned to the crystal ball, returning the image to Captain Deudermont. He sighed in disappointment. He expected as much, but he was still sad to discover that the captain had again traveled to the rougher section of town. As Robillard focused in on him again, Deudermont passed under the sign for Half-Moon Street. ***** Had Robillard been able to better scan the wide area, he might have noticed two figures slipping into an alley paralleling the avenue Deudermont had just entered. Creeps Sharky and Tee-a-nicknick rushed along, then cut down an alley, emerging onto Half-Moon Street right beside the Cutlass. They dashed inside, for Sharky was convinced that was where Deudermont was headed. The pair took the table in the corner to the right of the door, evicting the two patrons sitting there with threatening growls. They sat back, ordering drinks from Delly Curtie. Their smug smiles grew wider when Captain Deudermont walked through the door, making his way to the bar. "He no stay long witout Wufgar here," Tee-a-nicknick remarked. Creeps considered that, deciphered the words first, then the thought behind them and nodded. He had a fair idea of where Wulfgar and Morik might be. A comrade had spotted them along the dock area earlier that night. "Keep a watch on him," Creeps instructed. He held up a pouch he had prepared earlier, then started to leave. "Too easy," Tee-a-nicknick remarked, reiterating his complaints about the plan Creeps had former earlier that day. "Aye, but that's the beauty of it, my friend," said Creeps, "Morik's too cocky and too curious to cast it away. No, he'll have it, he will, and it'll bring him runnin' to us all the faster." Creeps went out into the night and scanned the street. He had little trouble locating one of the many street children who lurked in the area, serving as lookouts or couriers. " 'Ere boy," he called to one. The waif, a lad of no more than ten winters, eyed him suspiciously but did not approach. "Got a job for ye," Creeps explained, holding up the bag. The boy made his way tentatively toward the dangerous-looking pirate. "Take this," Creeps instructed, handing the little bag over. "And don't look in it!" he commanded when the boy started to loosen the top to peek inside. Creeps had a change of mind immediately, realizing that the waif might then think there was something special in the bag-gold or magic-and might just run off with it. He pulled it back from the boy and tugged it open, revealing its contents: a few small claws, like those from a cat, a small vial filled with a clear liquid, and a seemingly unremarkable piece of stone. "There, ye seen it, and so ye're knowin' it's nothing worth stealin'," Creeps said. "I'm not for stealin'," the boy argued. "Course ye're not," said Creeps with a knowing chuckle. "Ye're a good boy, now ain't ye? Well, ye know o' one called Wulfgar? A big fellow with yellow hair who used to beat up people for Arumn at the Cutlass?" The boy nodded. "And ye know his friend?" "Morik the Rogue," the boy recited. "Everybody's knowin' Morik." "Good enough for ye," said Creeps. "They're down at the docks, or between here and there, by my guess. I want ye to find 'em and give this to Morik. Tell him and Wulfgar that a Captain Deudermont's lookin' to meet them outside the Cutlass. Somethin' about a big hammer. Can ye do that?" The boy smirked as if the question were ridiculous. "And will ye do it?" Creeps asked. He reached into a pocket and produced a silver piece. Creeps started to hand it over, then changed his mind, and his hand went in again, coming back out with several of the glittering silver coins. "Ye get yer little friends lookin' all over Luskan," he instructed, handing the coins to the wide eyed waif. "There'll be more for ye, don't ye doubt, if ye bring Wulfgar and Morik to the Cutlass." Before Creeps could say another word, the boy snatched the coins, turned, and disappeared into the alleyway. Creeps was smiling when he rejoined Tee-a-nicknick a few moments later, confident that the lad and the extensive network of street urchins he would tap would complete the task in short order. "He just wait," Tee-a-nicknick explained, motioning to Deudermont, who stood leaning on the bar, sipping a glass of wine. "A patient man," said Creeps, flashing that green-and-yellow toothy smile. "If he knew how much time he got left to live, he might be a bit more urgent, he might." He motioned to Tee-a-nicknick to exit the Cutlass. They soon found a low rooftop close enough to afford them a fine view of the tavern's front door. Tee-a-nicknick pulled a long hollow tube out of the back of his shirt, then took a cat's claw, tied with a small clutch of feathers, from his pocket. Kneeling low and moving very carefully, the tattooed half-qullan savage turned his right hand palm up, then, taking the cat's claw in his left hand, squeezed a secret packet on the bracelet about his right wrist. Slowly, slowly, the tattooed man increased the pressure until the packet popped open and a drop of molasseslike syrup oozed out. He caught most of it on the tip of the cat's claw, then stuffed the dart into the end of his blowgun. "Tee-a-nicknick patient man, too," he said with a wicked grin.

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龙骑士城堡奇幻论坛's Archiver

世界之脊第七章