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- Джордж Мартин
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An
hour
later
,
Tyrion
rode
from
the
Red
Keep
accompanied
by
a
dozen
Lannister
guardsmen
in
crimson
cloaks
and
lion
-
crested
half
-
helms
.
As
they
passed
beneath
the
portcullis
,
he
noted
the
heads
mounted
atop
the
walls
.
Black
with
rot
and
old
tar
,
they
had
long
since
become
unrecognizable
.
"
Captain
Vylarr
,
"
he
called
,
"
I
want
those
taken
down
on
the
morrow
.
Give
them
to
the
silent
sisters
for
cleaning
.
"
It
would
be
hell
to
match
them
with
the
bodies
,
he
supposed
,
yet
it
must
be
done
.
Even
in
the
midst
of
war
certain
decencies
needed
to
be
observed
.
Vylarr
grew
hesitant
.
"
His
Grace
has
told
us
he
wishes
the
traitors
’
heads
to
remain
on
the
walls
until
he
fills
those
last
three
empty
spikes
there
on
the
end
.
"
"
Let
me
hazard
a
wild
stab
.
One
is
for
Robb
Stark
,
the
others
for
Lords
Stannis
and
Renly
.
Would
that
be
right
?
"
"
Yes
,
my
lord
.
"
"
My
nephew
is
thirteen
years
old
today
,
Vylarr
.
Try
and
recall
that
.
I
’
ll
have
the
heads
down
on
the
morrow
,
or
one
of
those
empty
spikes
may
have
a
different
lodger
.
Do
you
take
my
meaning
,
Captain
?
"
"
I
’
ll
see
that
they
’
re
taken
down
myself
,
my
lord
.
"
"
Good
.
"
Tyrion
put
his
heels
into
his
horse
and
trotted
away
,
leaving
the
red
cloaks
to
follow
as
best
they
could
.
He
had
told
Cersei
he
intended
to
take
the
measure
of
the
city
.
That
was
not
entirely
a
lie
.
Tyrion
Lannister
was
not
pleased
by
much
of
what
he
saw
.
The
streets
of
King
’
s
Landing
had
always
been
teeming
and
raucous
and
noisy
,
but
now
they
reeked
of
danger
in
a
way
that
he
did
not
recall
from
past
visits
.
A
naked
corpse
sprawled
in
the
gutter
near
the
Street
of
Looms
,
being
torn
at
by
a
pack
of
feral
dogs
,
yet
no
one
seemed
to
care
.
Watchmen
were
much
in
evidence
,
moving
in
pairs
through
the
alleys
in
their
gold
cloaks
and
shirts
of
black
ringmail
,
iron
cudgels
never
far
from
their
hands
.
The
markets
were
crowded
with
ragged
men
selling
their
household
goods
for
any
price
they
could
get
.
.
.
and
conspicuously
empty
of
farmers
selling
food
.
What
little
produce
he
did
see
was
three
times
as
costly
as
it
had
been
a
year
ago
.
One
peddler
was
hawking
rats
roasted
on
a
skewer
.
"
Fresh
rats
,
"
he
cried
loudly
,
"
fresh
rats
.
"
Doubtless
fresh
rats
were
to
be
preferred
to
old
stale
rotten
rats
.
The
frightening
thing
was
,
the
rats
looked
more
appetizing
than
most
of
what
the
butchers
were
selling
.
On
the
Street
of
Flour
,
Tyrion
saw
guards
at
every
other
shop
door
.
When
times
grew
lean
,
even
bakers
found
sellswords
cheaper
than
bread
,
he
reflected
.
"
There
is
no
food
coming
in
,
is
there
?
"
he
said
to
Vylarr
.
