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- Джордж Мартин
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- Стр. 162/751
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He
was
looking
better
.
A
shade
thinner
than
he
had
been
when
they
set
out
from
WhiteHarbor
,
but
almost
himself
again
.
The
strong
winds
in
the
Bite
and
the
roughness
of
the
narrow
sea
had
not
agreed
with
him
,
and
he
'd
almost
gone
over
the
side
when
the
storm
seized
them
unexpectedly
off
Dragonstone
,
yet
somehow
he
had
clung
to
a
rope
until
three
of
Moreo
's
men
could
rescue
him
and
carry
him
safely
below
decks
.
"
The
captain
was
just
telling
me
that
our
voyage
is
almost
at
an
end
,
"
she
said
.
Ser
Rodrik
managed
a
wry
smile
.
"
So
soon
?
"
He
looked
odd
without
his
great
white
side
whiskers
;
smaller
somehow
,
less
fierce
,
and
ten
years
older
.
Yet
back
on
the
Bite
it
had
seemed
prudent
to
submit
to
a
crewman
's
razor
,
after
his
whiskers
had
become
hopelessly
befouled
for
the
third
time
while
he
leaned
over
the
rail
and
retched
into
the
swirling
winds
.
"
I
will
leave
you
to
discuss
your
business
,
"
Captain
Moreo
said
.
He
bowed
and
took
his
leave
of
them
.
The
galley
skimmed
the
water
like
a
dragonfly
,
her
oars
rising
and
falling
in
perfect
time
.
Ser
Rodrik
held
the
rail
and
looked
out
over
the
passing
shore
.
"
I
have
not
been
the
most
valiant
of
protectors
.
"
Catelyn
touched
his
arm
.
"
We
are
here
,
Ser
Rodrik
,
and
safely
.
That
is
all
that
truly
matters
.
"
Her
hand
groped
beneath
her
cloak
,
her
fingers
stiff
and
fumbling
.
The
dagger
was
still
at
her
side
.
She
found
she
had
to
touch
it
now
and
then
,
to
reassure
herself
.
"
Now
we
must
reach
the
king
's
master-at-arms
,
and
pray
that
he
can
be
trusted
.
"
"
Ser
Aron
Santagar
is
a
vain
man
,
but
an
honest
one
.
"
Ser
Rodrik
's
hand
went
to
his
face
to
stroke
his
whiskers
and
discovered
once
again
that
they
were
gone
.
He
looked
nonplussed
.
"
He
may
know
the
blade
,
yes
...
but
,
my
lady
,
the
moment
we
go
ashore
we
are
at
risk
.
And
there
are
those
at
court
who
will
know
you
on
sight
.
"
Catelyn
's
mouth
grew
tight
.
"
Littlefinger
,
"
she
murmured
.
His
face
swam
up
before
her
;
a
boy
's
face
,
though
he
was
a
boy
no
longer
.
His
father
had
died
several
years
before
,
so
he
was
Lord
Baelish
now
,
yet
still
they
called
him
Littlefinger
.
Her
brother
Edmure
had
given
him
that
name
,
long
ago
at
Riverrun
.
His
family
's
modest
holdings
were
on
the
smallest
of
the
Fingers
,
and
Petyr
had
been
slight
and
short
for
his
age
.
Ser
Rodrik
cleared
his
throat
.
"
Lord
Baelish
once
,
ah
...
"
His
thought
trailed
off
uncertainly
in
search
of
the
polite
word
.
