sk.thetalisman-第101部分

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up；　that's　enough！'
　　'Jason！'　Smack！　'A'　wi'　be　well！'　Smack…smack！
　　And　a'　manner　a'　things　wi'　be　well；　Jack　thought　crazily；　giggling　as　the　old　man　kissed　his　toes　through　the　sandals。　I　didn't　know　they　read　Robert　Burns　over　here　in　the　Territories；　but　I　guess　they　must…
　　Smack…smack…smack。
　　Oh；　no　more　of　this；　I　really　can't　stand　it。
　　'RISE！'　he　bellowed　at　the　top　of　his　voice；　and　the　old　man　finally　stood　before　him；　trembling　and　weeping；　unable　to　meet　Jack's　eye。　But　his　amazingly　broad　shoulders　had　e　up　a　bit；　had　lost　that　broken　look；　and　Jack　was　obscurely　glad　of　that。
　　　
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　　It　was　an　hour　or　better　before　Jack　could　manage　a　coherent　run　of　conversation　with　the　old　man。　They　would　begin　talking；　and　then　Anders；　who　was　a　liveryman　by　trade；　would　go　off　on　another　of　his　O…Jason…my…Jason…how…great…thou…art　jags　and　Jack　would　have　to　quiet　him　down　as　quickly　as　he　could　。　。　。　certainly　before　the　feet…kissing　started　again。　Jack　liked　the　old　man；　however；　and　sympathized。　In　order　to　sympathize；　all　he　had　to　do　was　imagine　how　he　would　feel　if　Jesus　or　Buddha　turned　up　at　the　local　car…wash　or　in　the　school　lunch　line。　And　he　had　to　acknowledge　one　other　clear　and　present　fact：　there　was　a　part　of　him　which　was　not　entirely　surprised　by　Anders's　attitude。　Although　he　felt　like　Jack；　he　was　ing　more　and　more　to　also　feel　like　。　。　。　the　other　one。
　　But　he'd　died。
　　That　was　true；　undeniably　true。　Jason　had　died；　and　Morgan　of　Orris　had　probably　had　something　to　do　with　his　death。　But　guys　like　Jason　had　a　way　of　ing　back；　didn't　they？
　　Jack　considered　the　time　it　took　to　get　Anders　talking　well　spent　if　only　because　it　allowed　him　to　be　sure　that　Richard　wasn't　shamming；　that　he　really　had　gone　back　to　sleep　again。　This　was　good；　because　Anders　had　a　lot　to　say　about　Morgan。
　　Once；　he　said；　this　had　been　the　last　stage　depot　in　the　known　world…it　went　by　the　euphonious　name　of　Outpost　Depot。　Beyond　here；　he　said；　the　world　became　a　monstrous　place。
　　'Monstrous　how？'　Jack　asked。
　　'I　don't　know；'　Anders　said；　lighting　his　pipe。　He　looked　out　into　the　darkness；　and　his　face　was　bleak。　'There　are　stories　about　the　Blasted　Lands；　but　each　is　apt　to　be　different　from　each；　and　they　always　begin　something　like　'I　know　a　man　who　met　a　man　who　was　lost　on　the　edge　of　the　Blasted　Lands　for　three　days　and　he　said　。　。　。'　But　I　never　heard　a　story　that　begun　'I　was　lost　on　the　edge　of　the　Blasted　Lands　for　three　days　and　I　say　。　。　。'　Ye　ken　the　difference；　Jason　my　Lord？'
　　'I　ken　it；'　Jack　said　slowly。　The　Blasted　Lands。　Just　the　sound　of　that　had　raised　the　hairs　on　his　arms　and　the　nape　of　his　neck。　'No　one　knows　what　they　are；　then？'
　　'Not　for　sure；'　Anders　said。　'But　if　even　a　quarter　of　what　I've　heard　is　true…'
　　'What　have　you　heard？'
　　'That　there　are　monstrosities　out　there　that　makes　the　things　in　Orris's　ore…pits　look　almost　normal。　That　there　are　balls　of　fire　that　go　rolling　across　the　hills　and　empty　places；　leaving　long　black　trails　behind　them…the　trails　are　black　in　the　daytime；　anyway；　but　I've　heard　they　glow　at　night。　And　if　a　man　gets　too　close　to　one　of　those　fireballs；　he　gets　turrible　sick。　He　loses　his　hair；　and　sores're　apt　to　raise　all　over　his　body；　and　then　he　begins　to　vomit；　and　mayhap　he　gets　better；　but　more　often　he　only　vomits　and　vomits　until　his　stomach　ruptures　and　his　throat　bursts　and　then　。　。　。'　
　　Anders　rose。
　　'My　Lord！　Why　d'ye　look　so？　Have　y'seen　something　out　the　window？　Have　y'seen　a　spook　along　those　double…damned　tracks？'　
　　Anders　looked　wildly　toward　the　window。
　　Radiation　poisoning；　Jack　thought。　He　doesn't　know　it；　but　he's　described　the　symptoms　of　radiation　poisoning　almost　to　a　T。
　　They　had　studied　both　nuclear　weapons　and　the　consequences　of　exposure　to　radiation　in　a　physical　science　mod　the　year　before…because　his　mother　was　at　least　casually　involved　in　both　the　nuclear…freeze　movement　and　the　movement　to　prevent　the　proliferation　of　nuclear　power　plants；　Jack　had　paid　very　close　attention。
　　How　well；　he　thought；　how　well　radiation　poisoning　fit　with　the　whole　idea　of　the　Blasted　Lands！　And　then　he　realized　something　else；　as　well：　the　west　was　where　the　first　tests　had　been　carried　out…where　the　prototype　of　the　Hiroshima　bomb　had　been　hung　from　a　tower　and　then　exploded；　where　any　number　of　suburbs　inhabited　only　by　department…store　mannequins　had　been　destroyed　so　the　Army　could　get　a　more　or　less　accurate　idea　of　what　a　nuclear　explosion　and　the　resulting　firestorm　would　really　do。　And　in　the　end　they　had　returned　to　Utah　and　Nevada；　among　the　last　of　the　real　American　Territories；　and　had　simply　resumed　testing　underground。　There　was；　he　knew；　a　lot　of　government　land　out　there　in　those　great　wastes；　those　tangles　of　buttes　and　mesas　and　crenellated　badlands；　and　bombs　were　not　all　they　were　testing　out　there。
　　How　much　of　that　shit　would　Sloat　bring　over　here　if　the　Queen　died？　How　much　of　that　shit　had　he　already　brought？　Was　this　stageline…cum…railhead　part　of　the　shipping　system　for　it？
　　'Ye　don't　look　good；　my　Lord；　not　at　all。　Ye　look　as　white　as　a　sheet；　I'll　take　an　oath　that　ye　do！'
　　'I'm　fine；'　Jack　said　slowly。　'Sit　down。　Go　on　with　your　story。　And　light　your　pipe；　it's　gone　out。'　
　　Anders　took　his　pipe　from　his　mouth；　relit　it；　and　looked　from　Jack　to　the　window　again　。　。　。　and　now　his　face　was　not　just　bleak；　it　was　haggard　with　fright。　'But　I'll　know　soon　enough　if　the　stories　are　true；　I　suppose。'
　　'Why　is　that？'
　　'Because　I　start　through　the　Blasted　Lands　tomorrow　morning；　at　first　light；'　Anders　said。　'I　start　through　the　Blasted　Lands；　driving　Morgan　of　Orris's　devil…machine　in　yon　shed；　and　carrying　God　alone　knows　what　sort　of　hideous　devil's　work。'　
　　Jack　stared　at　him；　his　heart　pumping　hard；　the　blood　humming　in　his　head。
　　'Where？　How　far？　To　the　ocean？　The　big　water？'
　　Anders　nodded　slowly。　'Aye；'　he　said。　'To　the　water。　And…'　His　voice　dropped；　became　a　strengthless　whisper。　His　eyes　rolled　toward　the　dark　windows；　as　if　he　feared　some　nameless　thing　might　be　peering　in；　watching；　eavesdropping。
　　'And　there　Morgan　will　meet　me；　and　we're　to　take　his　goods　on。'
　　'On　to　where？'　Jack　asked。
　　'To　the　black　hotel；'　Anders　finished　in　a　low；　trembling　voice。
　　　
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　　Jack　felt　the　urge　to　break　into　wild　cackles　of　laughter　again。　The　Black　Hotel…it　sounded　like　the　title　of　a　lurid　mystery　novel。　And　yet　。　。　。　and　yet　。　。　。　all　of　this　had　begun　at　a　hotel；　hadn't　it？　The　Alhambra　in　New　Hampshire；　on　the　Atlantic　coast。　Was　there　some　other　hotel；　perhaps　even　another　rambling　old　Victorian　monstrosity　of　a　hotel；　on　the　Pacific　coast？　Was　that　where　his　long；　strange　adventure　was　supposed　to　end？　In　some　analogue　of　the　Alhambra　and　with　a　seedy　amusement　park　close　at　hand？　This　idea　was　terribly　persuasive；　in　an　odd；　yet　precise　way；　it　even　seemed　to　pick　up　the　idea　of　Twinners　and　Twinning　。　。　。
　　'Why　do　ye　look　at　me　so；　my　Lord？'
　　Anders　sounded　agitated　and　upset。　Jack　shifted　his　gaze　away　quickly。　'I'm　sorry；'　he　said。　'I　was　just　thinking。'　
　　He　smiled　reassuringly；　and　the　liveryman　smiled　tentatively　back　at　him。
　　'And　I　wish　you'd　stop　calling　me　that。'
　　'Calling　ye　what；　my　Lord？'
　　'My　Lord。'
　　'My　Lord？'　Anders　looked　puzzled。　He　was　not　echoing　what　Jack　had　said　but　asking　for　clarification。　Jack　had　a　feeling　that　if　he　tried　to　push　on　with　this；　he　would　end　up　in　the　middle　of　a　'Who's　on　first；　What's　on　second'　sort　of　sketch。
　　'Never　mind；'　Jack　said。　He　leaned　forward。　'I　want　you　to　tell　me　everything。　Can　you　do　that？'
　　'I'll　try；　my　Lord；'　Anders　said。
　　　
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　　His　words　came　slowly　at　first。　He　was　a　single　man　who　had　spent　his　entire　life　in　the　Outposts　and　he　was　not　used　to　talking　much　at　the　best　of　times。　Now　he　had　been　manded　to　speak　by　a　boy　whom　he　considered　to　be　at　least　royalty；　and　perhaps　even　something　like　a　god。　But；　little　by　little；　his　words　began　to　e　faster；　and　by　the　end　of　his　inconclusive　but　terribly　provocative　tale；　the　words　were　nearly　pouring　out。　Jack　had　no　trouble　following　the　tale　he　told　in　spite　of　the　man's　accent；　which　his　mind　kept　translating　into　a　sort　of　ersatz　Robert　Burns　burr。
　　Anders　knew　Morgan　because　Morgan　was；　quite　simply；　Lord　of　the　Outposts。　His　real　title；　Morgan　of　Orris；　was　not　so　grand；　but　as　a　practical　matter；　the　two　came　to　nearly　the　same。　Orris　was　the　easternmost　cantonment　of　the　Outposts；　and　the　only　really　organized　part　of　that　large；　grassy　area。　Because　he　ruled　Orris　utterly　and　pletely；　Morgan　ruled　the　rest　of　the　Outposts　by　default。　Also；　the　bad　Wolfs　had　begun　to　gravitate　to　Morgan　in　the　last　fifteen　years　or　so。　At　first　that　meant　little；　because　there　were　only　a　few　bad　（except　the　word　Anders　used　also　sounded　a　bit　like　rabid　to　Jack's　ear）　Wolfs。　But　in　later　years　there　had　been　more　and　more　of　them；　and　Anders　said　he　had　heard　tales　that；　since　the　Queen　had　fallen　ill；　more　than　half　the　tribe　of　skin…turning　shepherds　were　rotten　with　the　sickness。　Nor　were　these　the　only　creatures　at　Morgan　of　Orris's　mand；　Anders　said；　there　were　others；　even　worse…some；　it　was　told；　could　drive　a　man　mad　at　a　single　look。
　　Jack　thought　of　Elroy；　the　bogeyman　of　the　Oatley　Tap；　and　shuddered。
　　'Does　this　part　of　the　Outposts　we're　in　have　a　name？'　Jack　asked。
　　'My　Lord？'
　　'This　part　we're　in　now。'
　　'No　real　name；　my　Lord；　but　I've　heard　people　call　it　Ellis…Breaks。'
　　'Ellis…Breaks；'　Jack　said。　A　picture　of　Territories　geography；　vague　and　probably　in　many　ways　incorrect；　was　finally　beginning　to　take　shape　in　Jack's　mind。　There　were　the　Territories；　which　corresponded　to　the　American　east；　the　Outposts；　which　corresponded　to　the　American　midwest　and　great　plains　（Ellis…Breaks？　Illinois？　Nebraska？）；　and　the　Blasted　Lands；　which　corresponded　to　the　American　west。
　　He　looked　at　Anders　so　long　and　so　fixedly　that　at　last　the　liveryman　began　to　stir　uneasily　again。　'I'm　sorry；'　Jack　said。　'Go　on。'　
　　His　father；　Anders　said；　had　been　the　last　stage　driver　who　'drove　out　east'　from　Outpost　Dep