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- Джордж Мартин
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Princess
Myrcella
and
Prince
Tommen
,
Arya
thought
.
A
septa
as
large
as
a
draft
horse
hovered
over
them
,
and
behind
her
two
big
men
in
crimson
cloaks
,
Lannister
house
guards
.
"
What
were
you
doing
to
that
cat
,
boy
?
"
Myrcella
asked
again
,
sternly
.
To
her
brother
she
said
,
"
He
's
a
ragged
boy
,
is
n't
he
?
Look
at
him
.
"
She
giggled
.
"
A
ragged
dirty
smelly
boy
,
"
Tommen
agreed
.
They
do
n't
know
me
,
Arya
realized
.
They
do
n't
even
know
I
'm
a
girl
.
Small
wonder
;
she
was
barefoot
and
dirty
,
her
hair
tangled
from
the
long
run
through
the
castle
,
clad
in
a
jerkin
ripped
by
cat
claws
and
brown
roughspun
pants
hacked
off
above
her
scabby
knees
.
You
do
n't
wear
skirts
and
silks
when
you
're
catching
cats
.
Quickly
she
lowered
her
head
and
dropped
to
one
knee
.
Maybe
they
would
n't
recognize
her
.
If
they
did
,
she
would
never
hear
the
end
of
it
.
Septa
Mordane
would
be
mortified
,
and
Sansa
would
never
speak
to
her
again
from
the
shame
.
The
old
fat
septa
moved
forward
.
"
Boy
,
how
did
you
come
here
?
You
have
no
business
in
this
part
of
the
castle
.
"
"
You
ca
n't
keep
this
sort
out
,
"
one
of
the
red
cloaks
said
.
"
Like
trying
to
keep
out
rats
.
"
"
Who
do
you
belong
to
,
boy
?
"
the
septa
demanded
.
"
Answer
me
.
What
's
wrong
with
you
,
are
you
mute
?
"
Arya
's
voice
caught
in
her
throat
.
If
she
answered
,
Tommen
and
Myrcella
would
know
her
for
certain
.
"
Godwyn
,
bring
him
here
,
"
the
septa
said
.
The
taller
of
the
guardsmen
started
down
the
alley
.
Panic
gripped
her
throat
like
a
giant
's
hand
.
Arya
could
not
have
spoken
if
her
life
had
hung
on
it
.
