tw.togreenangeltower2-第80章
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Her worries about the slumbering Domitis were unfounded。 The old man was snoring thinly but emphatically； and did not even twitch as they padded by。 The great wall behind the altar； which had once been covered in a tiled representation of Saint Sutrin's martyrdom； was now only crumbling mortar witfi a few remaining spots of ceramic color。 At one end of the wall； tucked behind a rotting velvet drapery； stood a low door。 Binabik gave it a tug and it opened easily； as though it had been used with some frequency。 The troll peered inside； then turned。 〃Let us be taking some candles；〃 he murmured。 〃That way we can be saving the torches in our packs for a later time。〃
Miriamele went back and plucked two of the candles from the sconces。 She felt a little shame； since Domitis had been kind to them in his own strange way； but she reasoned that their greater goal outweighed the sin of theft； and would benefit the bishop as well…maybe one day he would even see his beloved cathedral rebuilt。 She could not help wondering if the ravens would be wele then。 She hoped not。
Each holding a candle； Miriamele and Binabik went carefully down the narrow staircase。 Centuries of human traffic had worn a groove like a dry river bed in the center of the stone steps。 They stepped off the stairs into the low…ceilinged catabs and stopped to look around。 The walls on either side were honeybed with niches； each containing a silent stone effigy of a figure in repose； most wearing the robes and other symbols of church office。 But for these； the narrow halls seemed entirely empty。
Binabik pointed at one turning that seemed less traveled。 〃This way； I am thinking。〃
Miriamele peered down the shadowy tunnel。 The pale plaster walls were unmarked； no would…be saints lay here； it seemed。 She took a deep breath。 〃Let's go。〃
In the cathedral above； a pair of ravens dropped down from the ceiling and； after circling briefly； settled on the altar。 They stood side by side； bright eyes glaring at the door to the catabs。 Nor were they the only observers。 A figure detached itself from the shadows along the wall and crept silently across the cathedral。 It moved past the altar； stepping just as carefully as had Miriamele and the troll； then paused for a while outside the vault door as though listening。 When a short time had passed； the dark shape slipped through the doorway and went pattering quietly down the stairs。
After that； nothing was heard in the dark cathedral but the bishop's even snoring and the faint rustle of wings。
16
Roots of the White Tree
Simon stared at the amazing thing for a long time。 He took a step closer； then danced back nervously。 How could it be？ It must be a dream…picture； like so many other illusions in these endless tunnels。
He rubbed his eyes and then opened them again： the plate still stood in the niche by the stair landing； chest…high。 On it； arranged as prettily as at a royal banquet； was a small green apple； an onion； and a heel of bread。 An unadorned bowl with a cover stood beside it。
Simon shrank back； looking wildly from side to side。 Who would do such a thing？ What would make someone leave a perfectly good supper in the middle of an empty stairwell in the depths of the earth？ He raised his guttering torch to inspect the magical offering once more。
It was hard to believe…no； it was impossible。 He had been wandering for hours since leaving the great pool； trying to stay on an upward course but not at all sure that the curving bridges； downsloping corridors； and oddly…constructed stairways were not taking him even further into the earth； no matter how many steps he climbed。 All that time the flame of his torch had been growing fainter； until it was little more than a wisp of blue and yellow which might be blown out by any errant breeze。 He had all but convinced himself that he would be lost forever； that he would starve and die in darkness…and then he had found this 。。。 this miracle。
It was not just the food itself； although the sight of it filled his mouth with saliva and made his fingers twitch。 No； it meant there must be people somewhere nearby； and likely light and fresh air as well。 Even the walls； which were rough…cobbled human work； spoke of the surface； of escape。 He was as good as saved！
Hold a moment。 He caught himself with hand outstretched； almost touching the skin of the apple。 What if it's a trap？ What if they know someone is down here； and they're trying to lure him out？
But who would 〃they〃 be？ No one could know he was down here but his friends and the bestial diggers and the shadowy ghosts of the Sithi in their dream…castle。 No； someone had brought supper down here； then for some reason had walked away； forgetting it。
If it was even real。
Simon reached； ready for the food to vanish； to turn to dust 。。。 but it did not。 His hand closed on the apple。 It was hard beneath his fingers。 He snatched it up； sniffed it briefly…what did poison smell like； anyway？…and then took a bite。
Thank you； merciful Usires。 Thank you。
It was 。。。 wonderful。 The fruit was far from ripe； the juice tan； even sour； but it felt like he held the living green earth in his hand again； that the life of the sun and wind and rain was crisping between his teeth and tongue； running down his throat。 For a moment he forgot all else； savoring the glory of it。
He lifted the cover from the bowl； sniffed to make sure it was water； then drank it down in thirsty gulps。 When the bowl was empty； he grabbed the plate of food and darted back down the corridor； searching for a place to hide and eat in safety。
Simon fought with himself to make the apple last； even though each bite seemed like a year of his life given back to him。 When he had finished it； and had licked every bit of juice from his fingers； he stared longingly at the bread and onion。 With masterful self…control； he tucked them both into the pockets of his breeches。 Even if he found his way back to the surface； even if he was near some place where people were； there was no guarantee he would be fed。 If he came up within Erchester or one of the small villages along the Kynslagh； he might find a place to hide and even some allies； if he came up in the Hayholt； all hands might be turned against him。 And if he was wrong about what the plate signified…well； he would be grateful to have the rest of the meal when the thrilling effect of an entire apple wore off。
He picked up the torch…it was even dimmer now； the flames a transparent azure…and stepped back out into the corridor； then paced forward until he reached the branching place。 A chill passed through him。 Which way had he turned？ He had been in such a hurry to put distance between himself and anyone who might return for the food that he had acted without his normal care。 Had he turned left； as he should have？ Somehow that did not seem correct。
Still； he could do nothing but trust to the way he had done it so far。 He took the rightward branching。 Within moments； he became convinced that he had chosen wrongly： this way led down。 He retraced his steps and took another of the corridors； but this one also sloped away downward。 A few moments' examination proved that all the branches went down。 He walked back toward where he had eaten the apple and found the stem he had dropped； but when he held the guttering torch close to the ground he saw that the only footprints on the dusty floor led back the way he had e。
Curse this place！ Curse this mad maze of a place！
Simon trudged back to the branching。 Something had happened； it was clear…the tunnels had shifted again in some strange way。 Resigned； he chose the downward path that seemed least steep and started on his way again。
The corridor twisted and turned； leading him back into the depths。 Soon the walls again showed signs of Sithi work； hints of twining carvings beneath the centuries of grime。 The passageway widened； then widened again。 He stepped out into a vast open area and knew it only from the far…ranging echoes of his bootheels： his torch was little more now than a smoldering glow。
This cavernous place seemed as hi
