Игра престолов

Arya

           TheBottomhadastenchtoit,astinkofpigstiesandstablesandtanner’ssheds,mixedinwiththesoursmellofwinesinksandcheapwhorehouses.Aryawoundherwaythroughthemazedully.Itwasnotuntilshecaughtawhiffofbubblingbrowncomingthroughapot-shopdoorthatsherealizedherpigeonwasgone.Itmusthaveslippedfromherbeltassheran,orsomeonehadstolenitandshe’dnevernoticed.Foramomentshewantedtocryagain.She’dhavetowalkallthewaybacktotheStreetofFlourtofindanotheronethatplump.

           Faracrossthecity,bellsbegantoring.

           Aryaglancedup,listening,wonderingwhattheringingmeantthistime.

           "What’sthisnow?"afatmancalledfromthepot-shop.

           "Thebellsagain,godsha’mercy,"wailedanoldwoman.

           Ared-hairedwhoreinawispofpaintedsilkpushedopenasecond-storywindow."Isittheboykingthat’sdiednow?"sheshouteddown,leaningoutoverthestreet."Ah,that’saboyforyou,theyneverlastlong."Asshelaughed,anakedmanslidhisarmsaroundherfrombehind,bitingherneckandrubbingtheheavywhitebreaststhathungloosebeneathhershift.

           "Stupidslut,"thefatmanshoutedup."Theking’snotdead,that’sonlysummoningbells.Onetowertolling.Whenthekingdies,theyringeverybellinthecity."

           "Here,quityourbiting,orI’llringyourbells,"thewomaninthewindowsaidtothemanbehindher,pushinghimoffwithanelbow."Sowhoisitdied,ifnottheking?"

           "It’sasummoning,"thefatmanrepeated.

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