sk.thetalisman-第99部分

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　Rushton　had　been　blue　and　dead。
　　Margaret　had　died　by　her　own　hand　less　than　six　weeks　later。
　　Seven　months　after　that；　Morgan　Sloat's　own　young　son　had　nearly　drowned　in　a　Westwood　YMCA　pool　during　a　Young　Paddlers　class。　He　had　been　pulled　from　the　pool　as　blue　and　dead　as　Rushton　。　。　。　but　the　lifeguard　had　applied　mouth…to…mouth　resuscitation；　and　Richard　Sloat　had　responded。
　　God　pounds　His　nails；　Orris　thought；　and　then　a　deep；　blurry　snore　snapped　his　head　around。
　　Anders；　the　depot…keeper；　lay　on　a　pallet　in　the　corner　with　his　kilt　rudely　pulled　up　to　his　breeks。　An　earthen　jug　of　wine　lay　overturned　nearby。　Much　of　the　wine　had　flowed　into　his　hair。
　　He　snored　again；　then　moaned；　as　if　with　bad　dreams。
　　No　dream　you　might　have　could　be　as　bad　as　your　future　now　is；　Orris　thought　grimly。　He　took　a　step　closer；　his　cloak　flapping　around　him。　He　looked　down　on　Anders　with　no　pity。
　　Sloat　was　able　to　plan　murder；　but　it　had　been　Orris；　time　and　time　again；　who　had　Migrated　to　carry　out　the　act　itself。　It　had　been　Orris　in　Sloat's　body　who　had　attempted　to　smother　the　infant　Jack　Sawyer　with　a　pillow　while　a　wrestling　announcer　droned　on　and　on　in　the　background。　Orris　who　had　overseen　the　assassination　of　Phil　Sawyer　in　Utah　（　just　as　he　had　overseen　the　assassination　of　Phil　Sawyer's　counterpart；　the　moner　Prince　Philip　Sawtelle；　in　the　Territories）。
　　Sloat　had　a　taste　for　blood；　but　ultimately　he　was　as　allergic　to　it　as　Orris　was　to　American　food　and　American　air。　It　was　Morgan　of　Orris；　once　derided　as　Morgan　Thudfoot；　who　had　always　done　the　deeds　Sloat　had　planned。
　　My　son　died；　his　still　lives。　Sawtelle's　son　died。　Sawyer's　still　lives。　But　these　things　can　be　remedied。　Will　be　remedied。　No　Talisman　for　you；　my　sweet　little　friends。　You　are　bound　for　a　radioactive　version　of　Oatley；　and　you　each　owe　the　balance…scales　a　death。　God　pounds　His　nails。
　　'And　if　God　doesn't；　you　may　be　sure　I　will；'　he　said　aloud。
　　The　man　on　the　floor　moaned　again；　as　if　he　had　heard。　Orris　took　another　step　toward　him；　perhaps　meaning　to　kick　him　awake；　and　then　cocked　his　head。　In　the　distance　he　heard　hoofbeats；　the　faint　creak　and　jingle　of　harness；　the　hoarse　cries　of　drovers。
　　That　would　be　Osmond；　then。　Good。　Let　Osmond　take　care　of　business　here…he　himself　had　little　interest　in　questioning　a　man　with　a　hangover　when　he　knew　well　enough　what　the　man　would　have　to　say。
　　Orris　clumped　across　to　the　door；　opened　it；　and　looked　out　on　a　gorgeous　peach…colored　Territories　sunrise。　It　was　from　this　direction…the　direction　of　the　sunrise…that　the　sounds　of　approaching　riders　came。　He　allowed　himself　to　drink　in　that　lovely　glow　for　a　moment　and　then　turned　toward　the　west　again；　where　the　sky　was　still　the　color　of　a　fresh　bruise。　The　land　was　dark　。　。　。　except　for　where　the　first　sunlight　bounced　off　a　pair　of　bright　parallel　lines。
　　Boys；　you　have　gone　to　your　deaths；　Orris　thought　with　satisfaction　。　。　。　and　then　a　thought　occurred　which　brought　even　more　satisfaction：　their　deaths　might　already　have　happened。
　　'Good；'　Orris　said；　and　closed　his　eyes。
　　A　moment　later　Morgan　Sloat　was　gripping　the　handle　of　the　door　of　Thayer　School's　little　theater；　opening　his　own　eyes；　and　planning　his　trip　back　to　the　west　coast。
　　It　might　be　time　to　take　a　little　trip　down　memory　lane；　he　thought。　To　a　town　in　California　called　Point　Venuti。　A　trip　back　east　first；　perhaps…a　visit　to　the　Queen…and　then　。　。　。
　　'The　sea　air；'　he　said　to　the　bust　of　Pallas；　'will　do　me　good。'　
　　He　ducked　back　inside；　had　another　jolt　from　the　small　vial　in　his　pocket　（hardly　noticing　the　smells　of　canvas　and　makeup　now）；　and；　thus　refreshed；　he　started　back　downhill　toward　his　car。
　　
　　
　　　PART　IV
　　　THE　TALISMAN
　　　
　　　CHAPTER　34
　　　Anders
　　　
　　　1
　　
　　Jack　suddenly　realized　that；　although　he　was　still　running；　he　was　running　on　thin　air；　like　a　cartoon　character　who　has　time　for　one　surprised　double…take　before　plunging　two　thousand　feet　straight　down。　But　it　wasn't　two　thousand　feet。　He　had　time…just…to　realize　that　the　ground　wasn't　there　anymore；　and　then　he　dropped　four　or　five　feet；　still　running。　He　wobbled　and　might　have　remained　upright；　but　then　Richard　came　piling　into　him　and　they　both　went　tumbling。
　　'Look　out；　Jack！'　Richard　was　screaming…he　was　apparently　not　interested　in　taking　his　own　advice；　because　his　eyes　were　squeezed　tightly　shut。　'Look　out　for　the　wolf！　Look　out　for　Mr。　Dufrey！　Look　out…'
　　'Stop　it；　Richard！'　These　breathless　screams　frightened　him　more　than　anything　else　had　done。　Richard　sounded　mad；　absolutely　mad。　'Stop　it；　we're　all　right！　They're　gone！'
　　'Look　out　for　Etheridge！　Look　out　for　the　bugs！　Look　out；　Jack！'
　　'Richard；　they're　gone！　Look　around　you；　for　Jason's　sake！'　Jack　hadn't　had　a　chance　to　do　this　himself；　but　he　knew　they　had　made　it…the　air　was　still　and　sweet；　the　night　perfectly　silent　except　for　a　slim　breeze　that　was　blessedly　warm。
　　'Look　out；　Jack！　Look　out；　Jack！　Look　out；　look　out…'
　　Like　a　bad　echo　inside　his　head；　he　heard　a　memory　of　the　dog…boys　outside　Nelson　House　chorusing　Way…gup；　way…gup；　way…gup！　Pleeze；　pleeze；　pleeze！
　　'Look　out；　Jack！'　Richard　wailed。　His　face　was　slammed　into　the　earth　and　he　looked　like　an　overenthusiastic　Moslem　determined　to　get　in　good　with　Allah。　'LOOK　OUT！　THE　WOLF！　PREFECTS！　THE　HEADMASTER！　LOOK　O…'
　　Panicked　by　the　idea　that　Richard　actually　had　gone　crazy；　Jack　yanked　his　friend's　head　up　by　the　back　of　his　collar　and　slapped　his　face。
　　Richard's　words　were　cut　cleanly　off。　He　gaped　at　Jack；　and　Jack　saw　the　shape　of　his　own　hand　rising　on　Richard's　pale　cheek；　a　dim　red　tattoo。　His　shame　was　replaced　by　an　urgent　curiosity　to　know　just　where　they　were。　There　was　light；　otherwise　he　wouldn't　have　been　able　to　see　that　mark。
　　A　partial　answer　to　the　question　came　from　inside　him…it　was　certain　and　unquestionable　。　。　。　at　least；　as　far　as　it　went。
　　The　Outposts；　Jack…O。　You're　in　the　Outposts　now。
　　But　before　he　could　spend　any　time　mulling　that　over；　he　had　to　try　to　get　Richard　shipshape。
　　'Are　you　all　right；　Richie？'
　　He　was　looking　at　Jack　with　numb；　hurt　surprise。　'You　hit　me；　Jack。'
　　'I　slapped　you。　That's　what　you're　supposed　to　do　with　hysterical　people。'
　　'I　wasn't　hysterical！　I've　never　been　hysterical　in　my　l…'　Richard　broke　off　and　jumped　to　his　feet；　looking　around　wildly。　'The　wolf！　We　have　to　look　out　for　the　wolf；　Jack！　If　we　can　get　over　the　fence　he　won't　be　able　to　get　us！'　
　　He　would　have　gone　sprinting　off　into　the　darkness　right　then；　making　for　a　cyclone　fence　which　was　now　in　another　world；　if　Jack　hadn't　grabbed　him　and　held　him　back。
　　'The　wolf　is　gone；　Richard。'
　　'Huh？'
　　'We　made　it。'
　　'What　are　you　talking　about…'
　　'The　Territories；　Richard！　We're　in　the　Territories！　We　flipped　over！'　And　you　almost　pulled　my　damn　arm　out　of　its　socket；　you　unbeliever；　Jack　thought；　rubbing　his　throbbing　shoulder。　The　next　time　I　try　to　haul　someone　across；　I'm　going　to　find　myself　a　real　little　kid；　one　who　still　believes　in　Santa　Claus　and　the　Easter　Bunny。
　　'That's　ridiculous；'　Richard　said　slowly。　'There's　no　such　thing　as　the　Territories；　Jack。'
　　'If　there　isn't；'　Jack　said　grimly；　'then　how　e　that　great　big　white　wolf　isn't　biting　your　ass？　Or　your　own　damn　headmaster？'　
　　Richard　looked　at　Jack；　opened　his　mouth　to　say　something；　then　closed　it　again。　He　looked　around；　this　time　with　a　bit　more　attention　（at　least　Jack　hoped　so）。　Jack　did　the　same；　enjoying　the　warmth　and　the　clarity　of　the　air　as　he　did　so。　Morgan　and　his　crowd　of　snake…pit　crazies　might　e　bursting　through　at　any　second；　but　for　now　it　was　impossible　not　to　luxuriate　in　the　pure　animal　joy　of　being　back　here　again。
　　They　were　in　a　field。　High；　yellowish　grass　with　bearded　heads…not　wheat；　but　something　like　wheat；　some　edible　grain；　anyway…stretched　off　into　the　night　in　every　direction。　The　warm　breeze　rippled　it　in　mysterious　but　rather　lovely　waves。　To　the　right　was　a　wooden　building　standing　on　a　slight　knoll；　a　lamp　mounted　on　a　pole　in　front　of　it。　A　yellow　flame　almost　too　bright　to　look　at　burned　clearly　inside　the　lamp's　glass　globe。　Jack　saw　that　the　building　was　octagonal。　The　two　boys　had　e　into　the　Territories　on　the　outermost　edge　of　the　circle　of　light　that　lamp　threw…and　there　was　something　on　the　far　side　of　the　circle；　something　metallic　that　threw　back　the　lamplight　in　broken　glimmers。　Jack　squinted　at　the　faint；　silvery　glow　。　。　。　and　then　understood。　What　he　felt　was　not　so　much　wonder　as　a　sense　of　fulfilled　expection。　It　was　as　if　two　very　large　jigsaw…puzzle　pieces；　one　in　the　American　Territories　and　one　over　here；　had　just　e　neatly　together。
　　Those　were　railroad　tracks。　And　although　it　was　impossible　to　tell　direction　in　the　darkness；　Jack　thought　he　knew　in　which　direction　those　tracks　would　travel：　
　　West。
　　　
　　　2
　　
　　'e　on；'　Jack　said。
　　'I　don't　want　to　go　up　there；'　Richard　said。
　　'Why　not？'
　　'Too　much　crazy　stuff　going　on。'　Richard　wet　his　lips。　'Could　be　anything　up　there　in　that　building。　Dogs。　Crazy　people。'　He　wet　his　lips　again。　'Bugs。'
　　'I　told　you；　we're　in　the　Territories　now。　The　craziness　has　all　blown　away…it's　clean　here。　Hell；　Richard；　can't　you　smell　it？'
　　'There　are　no　such　things　as　Territories；'　Richard　said　thinly。
　　'Look　around　you。'
　　'No；'　Richard　said。　His　voice　was　thinner　than　ever；　the　voice　of　an　infuriatingly　stubborn　child。
　　Jack　snatched　up　a　handful　of　the　heavily　bearded　grass。　'Look　at　this！'　
　　Richard　turned　his　head。
　　Jack　had　to　actively　restrain　an　urge　to　shake　him。
　　Instead　of　doing　that；　he　tossed　the　grass　away；　counted　mentally　to　ten；　and　then　started　up　the　hill。　He　looked　down　and　saw　that　he　was　now　wearing　something　like　leather　chaps。　Richard　was　dressed　in　much　the　same　way；　and　he　had　a　red　bandanna　around　his　neck　that　looked　like　something　out　of　a　Frederic　Remington　painting。　Jack　reached　up　to　his　own　neck　and　felt　a　similar　bandanna。　He　ran　his　hands　down　along　his　body　and　discovered　that　Myles　P。　Kiger's　wonderfully　warm　coat　was　now　something　very　like　a　M