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- Джордж Мартин
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- Стр. 537/853
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Yet
by
evenfall
the
city
was
still
in
turmoil
,
though
Bronn
reported
that
the
fires
were
quenched
and
most
of
the
roving
mobs
dispersed
.
Much
as
Tyrion
yearned
for
the
comfort
of
Shae
’
s
arms
,
he
realized
he
would
go
nowhere
that
night
.
Ser
Jacelyn
Bywater
delivered
the
butcher
’
s
bill
as
he
was
supping
on
a
cold
capon
and
brown
bread
in
the
gloom
of
his
solar
.
Dusk
had
faded
to
darkness
by
then
,
but
when
his
servants
came
to
light
his
candles
and
start
a
fire
in
the
hearth
,
Tyrion
had
roared
at
them
and
sent
them
running
.
His
mood
was
as
black
as
the
chamber
,
and
Bywater
said
nothing
to
lighten
it
.
The
list
of
the
slain
was
topped
by
the
High
Septon
,
ripped
apart
as
he
squealed
to
his
gods
for
mercy
.
Starving
men
take
a
hard
view
of
priests
too
fat
to
walk
,
Tyrion
reflected
.
Ser
Preston
’
s
corpse
had
been
overlooked
at
first
;
the
gold
cloaks
had
been
searching
for
a
knight
in
white
armor
,
and
he
had
been
stabbed
and
hacked
so
cruelly
that
he
was
red
-
brown
from
head
to
heel
.
Ser
Aron
Santagar
had
been
found
in
a
gutter
,
his
head
a
red
pulp
inside
a
crushed
helm
.
Lady
Tanda
’
s
daughter
had
surrendered
her
maidenhood
to
half
a
hundred
shouting
men
behind
a
tanner
’
s
shop
.
The
gold
cloaks
found
her
wandering
naked
on
Sowbelly
Row
.
Tyrek
was
still
missing
,
as
was
the
High
Septon
’
s
crystal
crown
.
Nine
gold
cloaks
had
been
slain
,
two
score
wounded
.
No
one
had
troubled
to
count
how
many
of
the
mob
had
died
.
"
I
want
Tyrek
found
,
alive
or
dead
,
"
Tyrion
said
curtly
when
Bywater
was
done
.
"
He
’
s
no
more
than
a
boy
.
Son
to
my
late
uncle
Tygett
.
His
father
was
always
kind
to
me
.
"
"
We
’
ll
find
him
.
The
septon
’
s
crown
as
well
.
"
