It is possible I already had some presentiment of my future. The locked and rusted gate that stood before us, with wisps of river fog threading its spikes like the mountain paths, remains in my mind now as the symbol of my exile. That is why I have begun this account of it with the aftermath of our swim, in which I, the torturer's apprentice Severian, had so nearly drowned.
"The guard has gome" Thus my friend Roche spoke to Drotte, who had already seen it for himself.
Doubtfully, the boy Eata suggested that we go around. A lift of his thin, freckled arm indicated the thousands of paces of wall stretching across the slum and sweeping up the hill until at last they met the high curtain wall of the Citadel. It was a walk I would take, much later.
"And try to get through the barbican without a safe-conduct? They'd send to Master Gurloes"
"But why would the guard leave?"
"It doesn't matter" Drotte rattled the gate. "Eata, see if you canslip between the bars"
Drotte was ur captain, and Eata put an arm and a leg through the iron palings, but it was immediately clear that there was no hope of his getting his body to follow.
"Someone's coming" Roche whispered. Drotte jerked Eata out.
I looked down the street. Lanterns swung there among the fog-muffled sounds of feet and voices. I would have hidden, but Roche held me, saying, "Wait, i see spikes"
"Do you think it's the guard returning?"
He shook his head. "Too many"
"A dozen men at least" Drotte said.
Still wet from Gyoll we waited. In the recesses of my mind we stand shivering there even now. Just as alla that appears imperishable tends toward its own destruction, those moments that at the time seem the most fleeting recreate themselves - not only in memory (which in the final accounting loses nothing) but in the throbbling of my heart and the prickling of my hair, making themselves new just as our Commonwealth reconstitutes itself each morning in the shrill tones of its own clarions.
The men had no armor, ad ai could soon see by the sickly yellow light of the lanterns; but they had pikes, as Drotte had said, and staves and hatchets. Their leader wore long, double-edged knife in his belt. What interested me more was the massive ky threaded on a cord around his neck; it looked as if it might fit the lock in of the gate.
The shadow of the torturer - Gene Wolfe
"The guard has gome" Thus my friend Roche spoke to Drotte, who had already seen it for himself.
Doubtfully, the boy Eata suggested that we go around. A lift of his thin, freckled arm indicated the thousands of paces of wall stretching across the slum and sweeping up the hill until at last they met the high curtain wall of the Citadel. It was a walk I would take, much later.
"And try to get through the barbican without a safe-conduct? They'd send to Master Gurloes"
"But why would the guard leave?"
"It doesn't matter" Drotte rattled the gate. "Eata, see if you canslip between the bars"
Drotte was ur captain, and Eata put an arm and a leg through the iron palings, but it was immediately clear that there was no hope of his getting his body to follow.
"Someone's coming" Roche whispered. Drotte jerked Eata out.
I looked down the street. Lanterns swung there among the fog-muffled sounds of feet and voices. I would have hidden, but Roche held me, saying, "Wait, i see spikes"
"Do you think it's the guard returning?"
He shook his head. "Too many"
"A dozen men at least" Drotte said.
Still wet from Gyoll we waited. In the recesses of my mind we stand shivering there even now. Just as alla that appears imperishable tends toward its own destruction, those moments that at the time seem the most fleeting recreate themselves - not only in memory (which in the final accounting loses nothing) but in the throbbling of my heart and the prickling of my hair, making themselves new just as our Commonwealth reconstitutes itself each morning in the shrill tones of its own clarions.
The men had no armor, ad ai could soon see by the sickly yellow light of the lanterns; but they had pikes, as Drotte had said, and staves and hatchets. Their leader wore long, double-edged knife in his belt. What interested me more was the massive ky threaded on a cord around his neck; it looked as if it might fit the lock in of the gate.
The shadow of the torturer - Gene Wolfe
Nessun commento:
Posta un commento