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- Джордж Мартин
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"
Why
no
,
I
trust
you
implicitly
.
"
A
bitter
laugh
echoed
off
the
shuttered
windows
.
"
I
trust
you
like
one
of
my
own
blood
,
in
truth
.
Now
tell
me
how
Cortnay
Penrose
died
.
"
"
It
is
said
that
he
threw
himself
from
a
tower
.
"
"
Threw
himself
?
No
,
I
will
not
believe
that
!
"
"
His
guards
saw
no
man
enter
his
chambers
,
nor
did
they
find
any
within
afterward
.
"
"
Then
the
killer
entered
earlier
and
hid
under
the
bed
,
"
Tyrion
suggested
,
"
or
he
climbed
down
from
the
roof
on
a
rope
.
Perhaps
the
guards
are
lying
.
Who
’
s
to
say
they
did
not
do
the
thing
themselves
?
"
"
Doubtless
you
are
right
,
my
lord
.
"
His
smug
tone
said
otherwise
.
"
But
you
do
not
think
so
?
How
was
it
done
,
then
?
"
For
a
long
moment
Varys
said
nothing
.
The
only
sound
was
the
stately
clack
of
horseshoes
on
cobbles
.
Finally
the
eunuch
cleared
his
throat
.
"
My
lord
,
do
you
believe
in
the
old
powers
?
"
"
Magic
,
you
mean
?
"
Tyrion
said
impatiently
.
"
Bloodspells
,
curses
,
shapeshifting
,
those
sorts
of
things
?
"
He
snorted
.
"
Do
you
mean
to
suggest
that
Ser
Cortnay
was
magicked
to
his
death
?
"
