她站在码头边，在雾气中颤抖，脸色苍白，浑身起了鸡皮疙瘩。手中的缝衣针仿佛在跟她讲悄悄话。第一课，用尖的那端去刺敌人，剑说，还有，无论如何……绝对……不要……告诉……珊莎！剑身有密肯的记号。只不过是把剑。假如她需要剑，神庙底下有上百把。缝衣针太小了，算不上真正的剑，比玩具强不了多少。琼恩让铁匠铸这把剑时，她还是个笨得无可救药的小女孩。“只不过是把剑。”她大声说出来……

She stood on the end of the dock, pale and goosefleshed and shivering in the fog. In her hand, Needle seemed to whisper to her. Stick them with the pointy end, it said, and, don’t tell Sansa! Mikken’s mark was on the blade. It’s just a sword. If she needed a sword, there were a hundred under the temple. Needle was too small to be a proper sword, it was hardly more than a toy. She’d been a stupid little girl when Jon had it made for her. “It’s just a sword,” she said, aloud this time …

……然而事实并非如此。

… but it wasn’t.

缝衣针是罗柏、布兰与瑞肯，是母亲和父亲，甚至是珊莎。缝衣针是临冬城灰色的墙垒，是城中众人的欢乐。它是夏天的雪花，是老奶妈的故事，是心树的红叶和吓人的脸庞，是玻璃花园中温暖的泥土气息，是将她房间的窗户吹得嗒嗒作响的北风。缝衣针是琼恩的微笑。他总爱弄乱我的头发，叫我“我的小妹”，她眼中忽然有了泪水。

Needle was Robb and Bran and Rickon, her mother and her father, even Sansa. Needle was Winterfell’s grey walls, and the laughter of its people. Needle was the summer snows, Old Nan’s stories, the heart tree with its red leaves and scary face, the warm earthy smell of the glass gardens, the sound of the north wind rattling the shutters of her room. Needle was Jon Snow’s smile. He used to mess my hair and call me “little sister,” she remembered, and suddenly there were tears in her eyes.

魔山的手下抓住她时，波利佛夺走了那柄剑，但当她和猎狗走进十字路口的客栈，它又物归原主。这是诸神给我的东西。不是七神，也不是千面之神，而是她父亲的神祗，北境古老的旧七神。千面之神可以拿走我所有的东西，她心想，但他拿不走这柄剑。

Polliver had stolen the sword from her when the Mountain’s men took her captive, but when she and the Hound walked into the inn at the crossroads, there it was. The gods wanted me to have it. Not the Seven, nor Him of Many Faces, but her father’s gods, the old gods of the north. The Many-Faced God can have the rest, she thought, but he can’t have this.

她像命名日一样裸着身子走上台阶，手中紧握缝衣针。走到一半时，脚下有块石头松了一下，艾莉亚跪下来，用手指去抠它的边缘。一开始纹丝不动，但她坚持不懈，指甲刮下碎泥灰，终于有了成果。她闷哼几声，双手用力，挖出一块石头。

She padded up the steps as naked as her name day, clutching Needle. Halfway up, one of the stones rocked beneath her feet. Arya knelt and dug around its edges with her fingers. It would not move at first, but she persisted, picking at the crumbling mortar with her nails. Finally, the stone shifted. She grunted and got both hands in and pulled. A crack opened before her.

“你在这儿会很安全，”她告诉缝衣针，“除了我，没人知道。”她将短剑连鞘推进台阶后面，再把石头塞回去，使它看起来跟其他阶梯一样。她边走回神庙边数台阶，牢牢记住剑的所在。总有一天她会需要它。“总有一天。”她轻声对自己承诺。

“You’ll be safe here,” she told Needle. “No one will know where you are but me.” She pushed the sword and sheath behind the step, then shoved the stone back into place, so it looked like all the other stones. As she climbed back to the temple, she counted steps, so she would know where to find the sword again. One day she might have need of it. “One day,” she whispered to herself.

她没告诉慈祥的人自己做了什么，但他就是知道。第二天晚饭后，他来到她房里。“孩子，”他说，“坐到我身边。我给你讲个故事。”

She never told the kindly man what she had done, yet he knew. The next night he came to her cell after supper. “Child,” he said, “come sit with me. I have a tale to tell you.”

“什么故事？”她警惕地问。

“What kind of tale?” she asked, wary.

“关于我们起源的故事。既然你想成为我们的一员，就得了解我们是谁，我们从何而来。世上的人们会悄悄谈论布拉佛斯的无面者，他们不清楚的是，我们比秘之城本身更古老。我们出现在泰坦巨人兴起之前，在乌瑟罗揭开面具之前，在建城之前，我们跟着北方人在布拉佛斯兴旺繁盛，但我们的根在瓦雷利亚，诞生于悲惨的奴隶群中，我们的祖先在十四火峰地底深处的矿井里辛苦劳作，正是这些火峰照亮了古自由堡垒的夜晚。普通矿井是黑暗阴冷的场所，自冰冷死寂的石头中开凿出来，但十四火峰乃熔岩火山，终日熊熊燃烧着，因此古瓦雷利亚的矿井很热，随着井道越钻越深，温度也越升越高。奴隶们犹如在烤箱中劳作，周围的岩石烫得没法碰，空气弥漫着硫黄的味道，吸进肺里灼痛难耐，而即使穿上最厚的鞋子，脚底也会被烫出水泡。有时，他们为寻找金子破开洞壁，结果却遭遇蒸气、沸水或熔岩。有些井道凿得十分低矮，奴隶们无法站立，只能爬行或弯腰行走。那泛红的黑暗之中还有蠕虫。”

“The tale of our beginnings. If you would be one of us, you had best know who we are and how we came to be. Men may whisper of the Faceless Men of Braavos, but we are older than the Secret City. Before the Titan rose, before the Unmasking of Uthero, before the Founding, we were. We have flowered in Braavos amongst these northern fogs, but we first took root in Valyria, amongst the wretched slaves who toiled in the deep mines beneath the Fourteen Flames that lit the Freehold’s nights of old. Most mines are dank and chilly places, cut from cold dead stone, but the Fourteen Flames were living mountains with veins of molten rock and hearts of fire. So the mines of old Valyria were always hot, and they grew hotter as the shafts were driven deeper, ever deeper. The slaves toiled in an oven. The rocks around them were too hot to touch. The air stank of brimstone and would sear their lungs as they breathed it. The soles of their feet would burn and blister, even through the thickest sandals. Sometimes, when they broke through a wall in search of gold, they would find steam instead, or boiling water, or molten rock. Certain shafts were cut so low that the slaves could not stand upright, but had to crawl or bend. And there were wyrms in that red darkness too.”

“蚯蚓？”她皱眉问。

“Earthworms?” she asked, frowning.

“火蚯蚓。有人说它们是龙的远族，因为也会喷火。它们无法在天空中翱翔，只能在岩石土壤中钻洞。假如古老的传说可信的话，早在巨龙来到之前，十四火峰中就有火蚯蚓。幼虫跟你细瘦的胳膊差不多大，但它们可以长到巨大无比，而且极端不喜欢人类。”

“Firewyrms. Some say they are akin to dragons, for wyrms breathe fire too. Instead of soaring through the sky, they bore through stone and soil. If the old tales can be believed, there were wyrms amongst the Fourteen Flames even before the dragons came. The young ones are no larger than that skinny arm of yours, but they can grow to monstrous size and have no love for men.”

“它们会杀奴隶吗？”

“Did they kill the slaves?”

“那些被钻开的井道中通常会发现烧得焦黑的尸体。然而矿还是越挖越深，奴隶大量死亡，奴隶主却不在乎。他们认为红金、黄金和银子比奴隶的生命更珍贵，奴隶在古自由堡垒中本不值钱。每逢战争，瓦雷利亚人都会俘虏成千上万的奴隶，和平时期，他们让奴隶繁衍，其中最差的则被送入地底泛红的黑暗中等死。”

“Burnt and blackened corpses were oft found in shafts where the rocks were cracked or full of holes. Yet still the mines drove deeper. Slaves perished by the score, but their masters did not care. Red gold and yellow gold and silver were reckoned to be more precious than the lives of slaves, for slaves were cheap in the old Freehold. During war, the Valyrians took them by the thousands. In times of peace they bred them, though only the worst were sent down to die in the red darkness.”

“奴隶们不起来反抗吗？”

“Didn’t the slaves rise up and fight?”

“有些人反抗过，”他说，“矿井里起义很常见，但收获甚微。古自由堡垒的龙王们拥有强大的巫术，弱者挑战他们是很危险的。第一个无面者就是反抗者之一。”

“Some did,” he said. “Revolts were common in the mines, but few accomplished much. The dragonlords of the old Freehold were strong in sorcery, and lesser men defied them at their peril. The first Faceless Man was one who did.”

“他是谁？”艾莉亚不及细想便脱口而出。

“Who was he?” Arya blurted, before she stopped to think.

“无名之辈，”他回答。“有人认为他本身就是个奴隶，有人坚持说他是自由堡垒的公民，出身于贵族世家，有人甚至会告诉你，他是个同情手下奴隶的监工。事实上，没人真正清楚他的来历，大家只知道，他在奴隶中活动，聆听他们的祈祷。上百个国家的子民被抓来在矿井中劳作，每个人都用自己的语言向自己的神祷告，然而祈求的都是同一件事——解脱，终结痛苦，一件极为普通极其简单的小事，却得不到神的回应。煎熬无止境地继续着。难道世上的神们全聋了吗？他疑惑地想……直到有天晚上，在泛红的黑暗中，他明白了。”

“No one,” he answered. “Some say he was a slave himself. Others insist he was a freeholder’s son, born of noble stock. Some will even tell you he was an overseer who took pity on his charges. The truth is, no one knows. Whoever he was, he moved amongst the slaves and would hear them at their prayers. Men of a hundred different nations labored in the mines, and each prayed to his own god in his own tongue, yet all were praying for the same thing. It was release they asked for, an end to pain. A small thing, and simple. Yet their gods made no answer, and their suffering went on. Are their gods all deaf? he wondered … until a realization came upon him, one night in the red darkness.

“所有神祗都有自己的工具，为其效力的善男信女在世间执行他们的意志。表面上，奴隶是在向上百个不同的神灵哭喊，其实那是同一个神，有着上百张不同的脸孔而已……而他即是这个神的工具。就在当晚，他选择了一个景况最悲惨、祈求解脱最迫切的奴隶，将他从痛苦中解放了出来。这就是首次恩赐的由来。”

“All gods have their instruments, men and women who serve them and help to work their will on earth. The slaves were not crying out to a hundred different gods, as it seemed, but to one god with a hundred different faces … and he was that god’s instrument. That very night he chose the most wretched of the slaves, the one who had prayed most earnestly for release, and freed him from his bondage. The first gift had been given.”

艾莉亚向后退开。“他杀了那奴隶？”这不对，“他应该杀奴隶主才对！”

Arya drew back from him. “He killed the slave?” That did not sound right. “He should have killed the masters!”

“他也将恩赐带给了他们……这个故事改天再讲，它只属于不为人知的无名之辈。”他昂起头，“你是谁，孩子？”

“He would bring the gift to them as well … but that is a tale for another day, one best shared with no one.” He cocked his head. “And who are you, child?”

“无名之辈。”

“No one.”

“你撒谎。”

“A lie.”

“你怎么这么肯定？是魔法吗？”

“How do you know? Is it magic?”

“用你的眼睛去看，无须魔法就能分辨真伪。你要学习如何解读表情，如何看眼睛，看嘴巴，看下巴的动作，还有肩颈连接处的肌肉。”他用两根手指轻轻碰了碰她。“有些人说谎时会眨眼睛，有些人会张大眼睛，有些人会将视线转向别处，有些人会舔嘴唇，还有许多人撒谎前会捂住嘴，仿佛要掩盖自己的欺骗行为。其他征兆或许更隐蔽，但总是存在。虚假的微笑和真实的微笑在此刻的你眼中也许差不多，实际上它们的区别犹如黄昏与清晨。你能分辨黄昏与清晨吗？”

“A man does not need to be a wizard to know truth from falsehood, not if he has eyes. You need only learn to read a face. Look at the eyes. The mouth. The muscles here, at the corners of the jaw, and here, where the neck joins the shoulders.” He touched her lightly with two fingers. “Some liars blink. Some stare. Some look away. Some lick their lips. Many cover their mouths just before they tell a lie, as if to hide their deceit. Other signs may be more subtle, but they are always there. A false smile and a true one may look alike, but they are as different as dusk from dawn. Can you tell dusk from dawn?”

艾莉亚点点头，尽管她不太确定。

Arya nodded, though she was not certain that she could.

“那么你就可以学习分辨谎言……学成之后，没有任何秘密能瞒过你。”

“Then you can learn to see a lie … and once you do, no secret will be safe from you.”

“教我。”她愿意当无名之辈，愿意承受这个代价。无名之辈心中没有空洞。

“Teach me.” She would be no one if that was what it took. No one had no holes inside her.

“她会教你。”流浪儿出现在门外，“从布拉佛斯语开始。若是你既不会说又听不懂，那还从何做起呢？你也要把你的语言教给她。你们俩互相学习。你愿不愿意？”

“She will teach you,” said the kindly man as the waif appeared outside her door. “Starting with the tongue of Braavos. What use are you if you cannot speak or understand? And you shall teach her your own tongue. The two of you shall learn together, each from the other. Will you do this?”

“愿意。”她回答。于是从此刻起，她成了黑白之院的学徒。她的仆人衣服被取走，得到一件黑白相间的长袍，如同黄油般柔软，令她想起临冬城的旧红毯子。长袍下面，她穿着精纺白亚麻布内衣和悬垂过膝的黑衬袍。

“Yes,” she said, and from that moment she was a novice in the House of Black and White. Her servant’s garb was taken away, and she was given a robe to wear, a robe of black and white as buttery soft as the old red blanket she’d once had at Winterfell. Beneath it she wore smallclothes of fine white linen, and a black undertunic that hung down past her knees.

从此以后，她成天和流浪儿在一起，摸摸这个东西，指指那个东西，互相教授语言。起初是简单词汇，例如杯子、蜡烛、鞋子，然后逐渐变难，最后是句子。西里欧·佛瑞尔曾让艾莉亚单腿站立，直到站不住为止，后来又让她去抓猫。她也曾手握木剑在树枝上舞蹈。那些都很难，但现在更难。

Thereafter she and the waif spent their time together touching things and pointing, as each tried to teach the other a few words of her own tongue. Simple words at first, cup and candle and shoe; then harder words; then sentences. Once Syrio Forel used to make Arya stand on one leg until she was trembling. Later he sent her chasing after cats. She had danced the water dance on the limbs of trees, a stick sword in her hand. Those things had all been hard, but this was harder.

连针线活都比学语言有趣，她心想，因为前天晚上，她忘了一半自以为已经掌握的词语，剩下的一半发音也糟糕得很，结果被流浪儿嘲笑。我学句子就像从前缝针脚一样乱七八糟。假如那女孩不是饿得如此瘦小，艾莉亚或许会揍她那张笨脸蛋，现下只能咬紧嘴唇。我笨得什么都学不会，我笨得不知道放弃。

Even sewing was more fun than tongues, she told herself, after a night when she had forgotten half the words she thought she knew, and pronounced the other half so badly that the waif had laughed at her. My sentences are as crooked as my stitches used to be. If the girl had not been so small and starved, Arya would have smashed her stupid face. Instead she gnawed her lip. Too stupid to learn and too stupid to give up.

流浪儿学通用语却比较快。某天晚餐时，她忽然扭头问艾莉亚，“你是谁？”

The Common Tongue came to the waif more quickly. One day at supper she turned to Arya, and asked, “Who are you?”

“无名之辈。”艾莉亚用布拉佛斯语回答。

“No one,” Arya answered, in Braavosi.

“你撒谎，”流浪儿道，“你必须撒得更好。”

“You lie,” said the waif. “You must lie gooder.”

艾莉亚笑出来，“撒得更好？你的意思是，说谎说得更好吧，真笨。”

Arya laughed. “Gooder? You mean better, stupid.”

“说谎说得更好吧真笨。我来教你撒谎。”

“Better stupid. I will show you.”

第二天，她们便开始了撒谎游戏，彼此轮流问问题。有时候如实回答，有时候则撒谎，提问者必须尝试分辨真伪。艾莉亚只能靠猜。大多数时候她都猜错。

The next day they began the lying game, asking questions of one another, taking turns. Sometimes they would answer truly, sometimes they would lie. The questioner had to try and tell what was true and what was false. The waif always seemed to know. Arya had to guess. Most of the time she guessed wrong.

“你几岁了？”有一次流浪儿用通用语问她。“十岁。”艾莉亚边说边伸出十根手指。她认为自己仍然是十岁，但很难确定。布拉佛斯计算日子的方法跟维斯特洛不同。不过她知道自己的命名日已经过了。

“How many years have you?” the waif asked her once, in the Common Tongue. “Ten,” said Arya, and raised ten fingers. She thought she was still ten, though it was hard to know for certain. The Braavosi counted days differently than they did in Westeros. For all she knew her name day had come and gone.

流浪儿点点头。艾莉亚也点头回应，并用自己最流利的布拉佛斯语问，“你几岁了？”

The waif nodded. Arya nodded back, and in her best Braavosi said, “How many years have you?”

流浪儿伸出十根手指。然后伸了第二遍，第三遍。接着是六根手指。她的脸仍然静如止水。她不可能有三十六岁，艾莉亚心想，她是个小女孩。“你撒谎。”她说。流浪儿摇摇头，又给她演示了一次：十，十，十，六。她告诉艾莉亚“三十六”怎么说，并让艾莉亚重复。

The waif showed ten fingers. Then ten again, and yet again. Then six. Her face remained as smooth as still water. She can’t be six-and-thirty, Arya thought. She’s a little girl. “You’re lying,” she said. The waif shook her head and showed her once again: ten and ten and ten and six. She said the words for six-and-thirty, and made Arya say them too.

第二天，她把事情告诉慈祥的人。“她没撒谎，”牧师呵呵笑道，“被你称做‘流浪儿’的人是个成年女子，终生侍奉千面之神。她将自己的一切都交给了神，一切可能的未来，一切体内的活力。”

The next day she told the kindly man what the waif had claimed. “She did not lie,” the priest said, chuckling. “The one you call waif is a woman grown who has spent her life serving Him of Many Faces. She gave Him all she was, all she ever might have been, all the lives that were within her.”

艾莉亚咬紧嘴唇，“我会跟她一样吗？”

Arya bit her lip. “Will I be like her?”

“不会，”他说，“除非你希望如此。是毒药让她变成现在这个样子。”

“No,” he said, “not unless you wish it. It is the poisons that have made her as you see her.”

毒药。她明白了。每晚祈祷之后，流浪儿都要将一个石壶倒空至黑水池中。

Poisons. She understood then. Every evening after prayer the waif emptied a stone flagon into the waters of the black pool.

流浪儿与慈祥的人并非千面之神仅有的仆人。时不时会有其他牧师造访黑白之院。胖子有一双凶狠的黑眼睛和一只鹰钩鼻，宽大的嘴里满是黄板牙；古板脸从来不笑，他的眼睛是白色，嘴唇又厚又黑；美男子每次来都会变化胡子的颜色，鼻子也不相同，但始终不失英俊。这三个来得最频繁，偶而也有别的人：斜眼，领主和饿鬼。有回胖子跟斜眼一起来，乌玛派艾莉亚给他们倒酒。“没倒酒时，你必须站得跟石像一样，”慈祥的人告诉她，“能做到吗？”

The waif and kindly man were not the only servants of the Many-Faced God. From time to time others would visit the House of Black and White. The fat fellow had fierce black eyes, a hook nose, and a wide mouth full of yellow teeth. The stern face never smiled; his eyes were pale, his lips full and dark. The handsome man had a beard of a different color every time she saw him, and a different nose, but he was never less than comely. Those three came most often, but there were others: the squinter, the lordling, the starved man. One time the fat fellow and the squinter came together. Umma sent Arya to pour for them. “When you are not pouring, you must stand as still as if you had been carved of stone,” the kindly man told her. “Can you do that?”

“能。”习动先习静，西里欧·佛瑞尔很久以前在君临城教导她，这也成为了她的信条之一。她曾在赫伦堡当过卢斯·波顿的侍酒，要是把他的酒洒了，他会剥你的皮。

“Yes.” Before you can learn to move you must learn to be still, Syrio Forel had taught her long ago at King’s Landing, and she had. She had served as Roose Bolton’s cupbearer at Harrenhal, and he would flay you if you spilled his wine.

“好，”慈祥的人说，“你还是瞎子和聋子。你也许会听到一些事，但必须一只耳朵进一只耳朵出。不能听进去。”

“Good,” the kindly man said. “It would be best if you were blind and deaf as well. You may hear things, but you must let them pass in one ear and out the other. Do not listen.”

艾莉亚那天晚上听到许多对话，大多是布拉佛斯语，她能理解的连十分之一都不到。不动如石，她告诉自己，于是最难的部分成了竭力遏制打哈欠。晚餐还没结束，她便开始精神恍惚。她手捧酒壶，梦到自己是一头狼，在月光下的森林里自由奔驰，身后跟着的庞大狼群发出阵阵嗥叫。

Arya heard much and more that night, but almost all of it was in the tongue of Braavos, and she hardly understood one word in ten. Still as stone, she told herself. The hardest part was struggling not to yawn. Before the night was done, her wits were wandering. Standing there with the flagon in her hands, she dreamed she was a wolf, running free through a moonlit forest with a great pack howling at her heels.

“其他人也是牧师吗？”第二天早晨她问慈祥的人，“他们都以真面目示人吗？”

“Are the other men all priests?” she asked the kindly man the next morning. “Were those their real faces?”

“你怎么想，孩子？”

“What do you think, child?”

她认为不是。“贾昆·赫加尔是牧师吗？贾昆会不会回布拉佛斯？”

She thought no. “Is Jaqen H’ghar a priest too? Do you know if Jaqen will be coming back to Braavos?”

“谁？”他完全一无所知。

“Who?” he said, all innocence.

“贾昆·赫加尔。他给了我那枚铁币。”

“Jaqen H’ghar. He gave me the iron coin.”

“我不认识叫这个名字的人，孩子。”

“I know no one by this name, child.”

“我问他怎么变脸，他说跟换名字一样简单，只要你了解方法。”

“I asked him how he changed his face, and he said it was no harder than taking a new name, if you knew the way.”

“是吗？”

“Did he?”

“你能不能教我变脸？”

“Will you show me how to change my face?”

“没问题。”他说着托起她的下巴，将她的头转过来。“鼓起腮帮子，伸出舌头。”

“If you wish.” He cupped her chin in his hand and turned her head. “Puff up your cheeks and stick out your tongue.”

艾莉亚鼓起腮帮子，伸出舌头。

Arya puffed up her cheeks and stuck out her tongue.

“好。你变脸了。”

“There. Your face is changed.”

“我不是这个意思。贾昆用了魔法。”

“That’s not how I meant. Jaqen used magic.”

“巫术都是有代价的，孩子。获取真正的魔力需要多年的祈祷、奉献和学习。”

“All sorcery comes at a cost, child. Years of prayer and sacrifice and study are required to work a proper glamor.”

“多年？”她沮丧地说。

“Years?” she said, dismayed.

“若是容易的话，任何人都能做到。对你而言，奔跑之前先学走路，在戏子的把戏就能达到目的的场合，何必求助魔法？”

“If it were easy all men would do it. You must walk before you run. Why use a spell, where mummer’s tricks will serve?”

“我连戏子的把戏都不会。”

“I don’t know any mummer’s tricks either.”

“从扮鬼脸开始练习。皮肤下面是肌肉。学着运用它们。你的脸长在你身上。脸颊，嘴唇，耳朵。微笑和愤怒不该像风暴一样忽去忽来。笑容应是仆人，当你召唤时才出现。学习控制你的脸。

“Then practice making faces. Beneath your skin are muscles. Learn to use them. It is your face. Your cheeks, your lips, your ears. Smiles and scowls should not come upon you like sudden squalls. A smile should be a servant, and come only when you call it. Learn to rule your face.”

“教我怎样做。”

“Show me how.”

“鼓起脸颊。”她鼓起脸颊。“抬起眉毛。不，再高点。”她又抬起眉毛。“好。看你能保持多久。现在还长不了。明天早上再试。地窖里有块密尔镜子。每天在它面前练习一小时。眼睛，鼻孔，脸颊，耳朵，嘴唇，学习控制所有这一切。”他托起她下巴。“你是谁？”

“Puff up your cheeks.” She did. “Lift your eyebrows. No, higher.” She did that too. “Good. See how long you can hold that. It will not be long. Try it again on the morrow. You will find a Myrish mirror in the vaults. Train before it for an hour every day. Eyes, nostrils, cheeks, ears, lips, learn to rule them all.” He cupped her chin. “Who are you?”

“无名之辈。”

“No one.”

“谎言。可悲的谎言，孩子。”

“A lie. A sad little lie, child.”

第二天她找到那块密尔镜子，然后每天早晚都坐在它面前扮鬼脸，两边各点上一支蜡烛照明。控制你的脸，她告诉自己，你就能撒谎。

She found the Myrish mirror the next day, and every morn and every night she sat before it with a candle on each side of her, making faces. Rule your face, she told herself, and you can lie.

此后不久，慈祥的人命她去帮侍僧处理尸体。其实这比替威斯擦楼梯轻松多了：有的尸体肥胖高大，她铆足劲才搬得动，然而大多数死者都是皮包骨头，干干瘦瘦的老人。艾莉亚一边清洗，一边观察，琢磨着他们为何会来到黑水池边。她还记得老奶妈讲的一个故事，故事里说，在某个漫长的冬季，一群活得太久的人宣布自己要去打猎。他们的女儿呜咽哭泣，他们的儿子将脸转向火堆，她仿佛仍能听到老奶妈的声音，但没人阻拦，也没人询问他们打算在这深深的积雪和呼号的寒风中捕什么猎。她不知这些布拉佛斯老人在前往黑白之院前是如何跟子女们说的。

Soon thereafter the kindly man commanded her to help the other acolytes prepare the corpses. The work was not near as hard as scrubbing steps for Weese. Sometimes if the corpse was big or fat she would struggle with the weight, but most of the dead were old dry bones in wrinkled skins. Arya would look at them as she washed them, wondering what brought them to the black pool. She remembered a tale she had heard from Old Nan, about how sometimes during a long winter men who’d lived beyond their years would announce that they were going hunting. And their daughters would weep and their sons would turn their faces to the fire, she could hear Old Nan saying, but no one would stop them, or ask what game they meant to hunt, with the snows so deep and the cold wind howling. She wondered what the old Braavosi told their sons and daughters, before they set off for the House of Black and White.

月亮一轮又一轮地变换形状，但艾莉亚完全看不到。她在黑白之院中侍奉，清洗死者，学习布拉佛斯语，就着镜子扮鬼脸，试图记住自己是无名之辈。

The moon turned and turned again, though Arya never saw it. She served, washed the dead, made faces at the mirrors, learned the Braavosi tongue, and tried to remember that she was no one.

有一天，慈祥的人传唤她。“你的口音太糟糕，”他说，“但积累的词汇已勉强能让别人明白意思。该是让你暂时离开我们的时候了。要想真正掌握我们的语言，只有每天从早到晚地讲，不停地讲。你走吧。”

One day the kindly man sent for her. “Your accent is a horror,” he said, “but you have enough words to make your wants understood after a fashion. It is time that you left us for a while. The only way you will ever truly master our tongue is if you speak it every day from dawn to dusk. You must go.”

“什么时候？”她问他，“去哪儿？”

“When?” she asked him. “Where?”

“现在，”他回答，“去神庙之外。布拉佛斯是海中的上百岛屿，你已经学会怎么说蚌壳、扇贝、蛤蜊，对不对？”

“Now,” he answered. “Beyond these walls you will find the hundred isles of Braavos in the sea. You have been taught the words for mussels, cockles, and clams, have you not?”

“对。”她用自己最好的布拉佛斯语重复了一遍这些名词。

“Yes.” She repeated them, in her best Braavosi.

她最好的布拉佛斯语让他露出笑容。“行了。去水淹镇下面的码头，找一个叫布鲁斯科的鱼贩，他是个好人，可惜背不大好使，他需要一个女孩，推着他的小车售卖蚌壳、扇贝和蛤蜊给船上下来的水手。你就是那个女孩。明白吗？”

Her best Braavosi made him smile. “It will serve. Along the wharves below the Drowned Town you will find a fishmonger named Brusco, a good man with a bad back. He has need of a girl to push his barrow and sell his cockles, clams, and mussels to the sailors off the ships. You shall be that girl. Do you understand?”

“明白。”

“Yes.”

“假如布鲁斯科问起你，你是谁？”

“And when Brusco asks, who are you?”

“无名之辈。”

“No one.”

“不。那不行，在黑白之院外不行。”

“No. That will not serve, outside this House.”

她犹豫片刻。“我是阿盐，来自盐场镇。”

She hesitated. “I could be Salty, from Saltpans.”

“特尼西奥·特里斯和泰坦之女号上的人们认识阿盐。你的口音很特别，因此肯定来自维斯特洛……但我想应该是另一个女孩。”

“Salty is known to Ternesio Terys and the men of the Titan’s Daughter. You are marked by the way you speak, so you must be some girl of Westeros … but a different girl, I think.”

她咬紧嘴唇，“可以叫我凯特吗？也就是‘猫儿’？”

She bit her lip. “Could I be Cat?”

“凯特。猫儿。”他考虑了一会儿。“好。布拉佛斯到处是猫。多一只也不会引人注目。你就是猫儿，一个孤儿，来自……”

“Cat.” He considered. “Yes. Braavos is full of cats. One more will not be noticed. You are Cat, an orphan of …”

“君临。”她曾随父亲两次造访白港，但更熟悉君临。

“King’s Landing.” She had visited White Harbor with her father twice, but she knew King’s Landing better.

“就是这样。你父亲是一艘划桨船上的桨手长。你母亲死后，他带你一起出海，接着他也死了，船长觉得你没用，就在布拉佛斯把你赶下了船。那艘船叫什么名字？”

“Just so. Your father was oarmaster on a galley. When your mother died, he took you off to sea with him. Then he died as well, and his captain had no use for you, so he put you off the ship in Braavos. And what was the name of the ship?”

“娜梅莉亚。”她立刻接道。

“Nymeria,” she said at once.

当晚，她便离开了黑白之院，右腰插着一把长长的铁匕首，隐藏在斗篷下面，那是一件打过补丁，又褪了色的斗篷，适合孤儿穿。她的鞋子夹脚，漏风的上衣破旧不堪，但想到展现在眼前的布拉佛斯，一切都无所谓了。夜晚的空气中有烟尘、盐和鱼的味道，运河曲折蜿蜒，街巷更加离奇，人们好奇地看着她经过，乞儿们朝她叫喊。她听不懂，完全迷了路。

That night she left the House of Black and White. A long iron knife rode on her right hip, hidden by her cloak, a patched and faded thing of the sort an orphan might wear. Her shoes pinched her toes and her tunic was so threadbare that the wind cut right through it. But Braavos lay before her. The night air smelled of smoke and salt and fish. The canals were crooked, the alleys crookeder. Men gave her curious looks as she went past, and beggar children called out words she could not understand. Before long she was completely lost.

“格雷果爵士，”她一边念诵，一边踏上四拱石桥。在桥中央，她看到旧衣贩码头的船桅。“邓森，‘甜嘴’拉夫，伊林爵士，马林爵士，瑟曦太后。”雨水哗啦啦地下，艾莉亚仰头望天，让雨点落在脸颊上，犹如愉快的舞蹈。“Valar morghulis.”她说，“Valar morghulis，Valar morghulis.”

“Ser Gregor,” she chanted, as she crossed a stone bridge supported by four arches. From the center of its span she could see the masts of ships in the Ragman’s Harbor. “Dunsen, Raff the Sweetling, Ser Ilyn, Ser Meryn, Queen Cersei.” Rain began to fall. Arya turned her face up to let the raindrops wash her cheeks, so happy she could dance. “Valar morghulis,” she said, “valar morghulis, valar morghulis.”