preston&child.thecabinetofcuriosities-第39部分

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g　of　anxiety；　harder　to　fight　down　this　time。　And　then；　once　again；　she　heard…or　thought　she　heard…a　noise　from　behind。　This　time　it　wasn't　a　pattering；　so　much　as　the　scrape　of　a　foot　on　stone。
　〃Who's　there？〃　she　demanded；　spinning　around。　〃Mr。　Puck？〃
　Nothing　save　the　hiss　of　steam　and　the　drip　of　water。
　She　began　walking　again；　a　little　faster　now；　telling　herself　not　to　be　afraid；　that　the　noises　were　merely　the　incessant　shiftings　and　settlings　of　an　old；　decrepit　building。　The　very　corridors　seemed　watchful。　The　click　of　her　heels　was　unbearably　loud。
　She　turned　a　corner　and　stepped　in　another　puddle　of　water。　She　pulled　back　in　disgust。　Why　didn't　they　do　something　about　these　old　pipes？
　She　looked　at　the　puddle　again。　The　water　was　black；　greasy…not；　in　fact；　water　at　all。　Oil　had　leaked　on　the　floor；　or　maybe　some　chemical　preservative。　It　had　a　strange；　sour　smell。　But　it　didn't　look　like　it　had　leaked　from　anywhere：　she　was　surrounded　by　shelves　covered　with　mounted　birds；　beaks　open；　eyes　wide；　wings　upraised。
　What　a　mess；　she　thought；　turning　her　expensive　Bally　shoe　sideways　to　find　that　the　oily　liquid　had　soiled　the　sole　and　part　of　the　stitching。　This　place　was　a　disgrace。　She　pulled　an　oversized　handkerchief　from　her　pocket…a　necessary　accoutrement　to　working　in　a　dusty　museum…and　wiped　it　along　the　edge　of　the　shoe。　And　then；　abruptly；　she　froze。　Against　the　white　background　of　the　handkerchief；　the　liquid　was　not　black。　It　was　a　deep；　glistening　red。
　She　dropped　the　handkerchief　and　took　an　involuntary　step　back；　heart　hammering。　She　looked　at　the　pool；　stared　at　it　with　sudden　horror。　It　was　blood…a　whole　lot　of　blood。　She　looked　around　wildly：　where　had　it　e　from？　Had　it　leaked　out　of　a　specimen？　But　it　seemed　to　be　just　sitting　there；　all　alone…a　large　pool　of　blood　in　the　middle　of　the　aisle。　She　glanced　up；　but　there　was　nothing：　just　the　dim　ceiling　thirty　feet　above；　crisscrossed　with　pipes。
　Then　she　heard　what　sounded　like　another　footfall；　and；　through　a　shelf　of　specimens；　she　glimpsed　movement。　Then；　silence　returned。
　But　she　had　definitely　heard　something。　Move；　move；　all　her　instincts　cried　out。
　Nora　turned　and　walked　quickly　down　the　long　aisle。　Another　sound　came…fast　footsteps？　The　rustle　of　fabric？…and　she　paused　again　to　listen。　Nothing　but　the　faint　drips　from　the　pipes。　She　tried　to　stare　through　the　isolated　gaps　in　the　shelves。　There　was　a　wall　of　specimen　jars；　snakes　coiled　in　formaldehyde；　and　she　strained　to　see　through。　There　seemed　to　be　a　shape　on　the　other　side；　large　and　black；　rippled　and　distorted　by　the　stacks　of　glass　jars。　She　moved　。　。　。　and　it　moved　in　turn。　She　was　sure　of　it。
　She　backtracked　quickly；　breath　ing　faster；　and　the　dark　shape　moved　as　well。　It　seemed　to　be　pacing　her　in　the　next　aisle…perhaps　waiting　for　her　to　reach　either　one　end　or　the　other。
　She　slowed　and；　struggling　to　master　her　fear；　tried　walking　as　calmly　as　she　could　toward　the　end　of　the　aisle。　She　could　see；　hear；　the　shape…so　near　now…moving　as　well；　keeping　pace。
　〃Mr。　Puck？〃　she　ventured；　voice　quavering。
　There　was　no　answer。
　Suddenly；　Nora　found　herself　running。　She　arrowed　down　the　aisle；　sprinting　as　fast　as　she　could。　Swift　footfalls　sounded　in　the　adjoining　aisle。
　Ahead　was　a　gap；　where　her　aisle　joined　the　next。　She　had　to　get　past；　outrun　the　person　in　the　adjoining　aisle。
　She　dashed　through　the　gap；　glimpsing　for　a　split　second　a　huge　black　figure；　metal　flashing　in　its　gloved　hand。　She　sprinted　down　the　next　aisle；　through　another　gap；　and　on　down　the　aisle　again。　At　the　next　gap；　she　veered　sharply　right；　heading　down　a　new　corridor。　Selecting　another　aisle　at　random；　she　turned　into　it　and　ran　on　through　the　dimness　ahead。
　Halfway　to　the　next　intersection；　she　stopped　again；　heart　pounding。　There　was　silence；　and　for　a　moment　relief　surged　through　her：　she　had　managed　to　lose　her　pursuer。
　And　then　she　caught　the　sound　of　faint　breathing　from　the　adjoining　aisle。
　Relief　disappeared　as　quickly　as　it　had　e。　She　had　not　outrun　him。　No　matter　what　she　did；　no　matter　where　she　ran；　he　had　continued　to　pace　her；　one　aisle　over。
　〃Who　are　you？〃　she　asked。
　There　was　a　faint　rustle；　then　an　almost　silent　laugh。
　Nora　looked　to　the　left　and　right；　fighting　back　panic；　desperately　trying　to　determine　the　best　way　out。　These　shelves　were　covered　with　stacks　of　folded　skins；　parchment…dry；　smelling　fearfully　of　decay。　Nothing　looked　familiar。
　Twenty　feet　farther　down　the　aisle；　she　spied　a　gap　in　the　shelving；　on　the　side　away　from　the　unknown　presence。　She　sprinted　ahead　and　turned　into　the　gap；　then　doubled　back　into　yet　another　adjoining　aisle。　She　stopped；　crouched；　waited。
　Footfalls　sounded　several　aisles　over；　ing　closer；　then　receding　again。　He　had　lost　her。
　Nora　turned　and　began　moving；　as　stealthily　as　possible；　through　the　aisles；　trying　to　put　as　much　distance　as　possible　between　herself　and　the　pursuer。　But　no　matter　which　way　she　turned；　or　how　fast　she　ran；　whenever　she　stopped　she　could　hear　the　footfalls；　rapid　and　purposeful；　seeming　to　keep　pace。
　She　had　to　figure　out　where　she　was。　If　she　kept　running　around　aimlessly；　eventually　he…it…would　catch　her。
　She　looked　around。　This　aisle　ended　in　a　wall。　She　was　at　the　edge　of　the　Archives。　Now；　at　least；　she　could　follow　the　wall；　make　her　way　to　the　front。
　Crouching；　she　moved　along　as　quickly　as　she　could；　listening　intently　for　the　sound　of　footsteps；　her　eye　scanning　the　dimness　ahead。　Suddenly；　something　yawned　out　from　the　gloom：　it　was　a　triceratops　skull；　mounted　on　the　wall；　its　outlines　shadowy　and　vague　in　the　poor　light。
　Relief　flooded　through　her。　Puck　must　be　around　here　somewhere；　the　intruder　wouldn't　dare　approach　them　simultaneously。
　She　opened　her　mouth　to　call　out　softly。　But　then　she　paused；　looking　more　closely　at　the　dim　outline　of　the　dinosaur。　Something　was　odd…the　silhouette　was　all　wrong。　She　began　to　move　cautiously　toward　it。　And　then；　abruptly；　she　stopped　once　again。
　There；　impaled　on　the　horns　of　the　triceratops；　hung　a　body；　naked　from　the　waist　up；　arms　and　legs　hanging　loose。　Three　bloody　horns　stuck　right　through　the　man's　back。　It　looked　as　if　the　triceratops　had　gored　the　person；　hoisting　him　into　the　air。
　Nora　took　a　step　back。　Her　mind　took　in　the　details；　as　if　from　a　long　distance　away：　the　balding　head　with　a　fringe　of　gray　hair；　the　flabby　skin；　the　withered　arms。　Where　the　horns　had　speared　through　the　lower　back；　the　flesh　was　one　long；　open　wound。　Blood　had　collected　around　the　base　of　the　horns；　running　in　dark　rivulets　around　the　torso　and　dripping　onto　the　marble。
　I'm　on　the　triceratops　in　the　back。
　In　the　back。
　She　heard　a　scream；　realized　that　it　had　e　from　her　own　throat。
　Blindly；　she　wheeled　away　and　ran；　veering　once；　and　again；　and　then　again；　racing　down　the　aisles　as　quickly　as　she　could　move　her　legs。　And　then；　abruptly；　she　found　herself　in　a　cul…de…sac。　She　spun　to　retrace　her　steps…and　there；　blocking　the　end　of　the　row；　stood　an　antique；　black…hatted　figure。
　Something　gleamed　in　his　gloved　hands。
　There　was　nowhere　to　go　but　up。　Without　an　instant's　thought；　she　turned；　grabbed　the　edge　of　a　shelf；　and　began　climbing。
　The　figure　came　flying　down　the　aisle；　black　cloak　billowing　behind。
　Nora　was　an　experienced　rock　climber。　Her　years　as　an　archaeologist　in　Utah；　climbing　to　caves　and　Anasazi　cliff　dwellings；　were　not　forgotten。　In　a　minute　she　had　reached　the　top　shelf；　which　swayed　and　groaned　under　the　unexpected　weight。　She　turned　frantically；　grabbed　the　first　thing　that　came　to　hand…a　stuffed　falcon…and　looked　down　once　again。
　The　black…hatted　man　was　already　below；　climbing；　face　obscured　in　deep　shadow。　Nora　aimed；　then　threw。
　The　falcon　bounced　harmlessly　off　one　shoulder。
　She　looked　around　desperately　for　something　else。　A　box　of　papers；　another　stuffed　animal；　more　boxes。　She　threw　one；　then　another。　But　they　were　too　light；　useless。
　Still　the　man　climbed。
　With　a　sob　of　terror；　she　swung　over　the　top　shelf　and　started　descending　the　other　side。　Abruptly；　a　gloved　hand　darted　between　the　shelving；　caught　hold　of　her　shirt。　Nora　screamed；　ripping　herself　free。　A　dim　flash　of　steel　and　a　tiny　blade　swept　past　her；　missing　her　eye　by　inches。　She　swung　away　as　the　blade　made　another　glittering　arc　toward　her。　Pain　abruptly　blossomed　in　her　right　shoulder。
　She　cried　out；　lost　her　grip。　Landing　on　her　feet；　she　broke　her　fall　by　rolling　to　one　side。
　On　the　far　side　of　the　shelving；　the　man　had　quickly　climbed　back　down　to　the　ground。　Now　he　began　climbing　directly　through　the　shelf；　kicking　and　knocking　specimen　jars　and　boxes　aside。
　Again　she　ran；　running　wildly；　blindly；　from　aisle　to　aisle。
　Suddenly；　a　vast　shape　rose　out　of　the　dimness　before　her。　It　was　a　woolly　mammoth。　Nora　recognized　it　immediately：　she'd　been　here；　once　before；　with　Puck。
　But　which　direction　was　out？　As　she　looked　around；　Nora　realized　she　would　never　make　it…the　pursuer　would　be　upon　her　in　a　matter　of　seconds。
　Suddenly；　she　knew　there　was　only　one　thing　to　do。
　Reaching　for　the　light　switches　at　the　end　of　the　aisle；　she　brushed　them　off　with　a　single　movement；　plunging　the　surrounding　corridors　once　again　into　darkness。　Quickly；　she　felt　beneath　the　mammoth's　scratchy　belly。　There　it　was：　a　wooden　lever。　She　tugged；　and　the　trap　door　fell　open。
　Trying　to　make　as　little　noise　as　possible；　she　climbed　into　the　hot；　stuffy　belly；　pulling　the　trapdoor　up　behind　her。
　Then　she　waited；　inside　the　mammoth。　The　air　stank　of　rot；　dust；　jerked　meat；　mushrooms。
　She　heard　a　rapid　series　of　clicks。　The　lights　came　back　on。　A　stray　beam　worked　through　a　small　hole　in　the　animal's　chest：　an　eyehole；　for　the　circus　worker。
　Nora　looked　out；　trying　to　control　her　rapid　breathing；　to　push　away　the　panic　that　threatened　to　overwhelm　her。　The　man　in　the　derby　hat　stood　not　five　feet　away；　back　turned。　Slowly；　he　rotated　himself　through　360　degrees；　looking；　listening　intently。　He　was　holding　a　strange　instrument　in　his　hands：　two　polished　ivory　handles　joined　by　a　thin；　flexible　steel　saw　with　tiny　serrations。　It　looked　like　some　kind　of　dreadful　antique　surgical