cb.imajica1-第33部分

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　〃How　in　hell's　name　do　you　suppose　they　gathered　all　this　stuff　up？〃　Charlotte　wondered　as　they　walked。
　〃I　daresay　the　world　was　smaller　then；〃　Bloxham　remarked。　〃They　all　knew　each　other；　didn't　they？　Casanova；　Sartori；　the　te　de　Saint…Germain。　All　fakes　and　buggers　together。〃
　〃Fakes？　Do　you　really　think　so？〃
　〃Most　of　them；〃　Bloxham　said；　wallowing　in　the　ill…deserved　role　of　expert。　〃There　may　have　been　one　or　two；　I　suppose；　who　knew　what　they　were　doing。〃
　〃Have　you　ever　been　tempted？〃　Charlotte　asked　him；　slipping　her　arm　through　the　crook　of　his　as　they　went。
　〃To　do　what？〃
　〃To　see　if　any　of　it's　worth　a　damn。　To　try　raising　a　familiar　or　crossing　into　the　Dominions。〃
　He　looked　at　her　with　genuine　astonishment。　〃That's　against　every　precept　of　the　Society；〃　he　said。
　〃That's　not　what　I　asked〃　she　replied；　almost　curtly。　〃I　said；　Have　you　ever　been　tempted？〃
　〃My　father　taught　me　that　any　dealings　with　the　Imajica　would　put　my　soul　in　jeopardy。〃
　〃Mine　said　the　same。　But　I　think　he　regretted　not　finding　out　for　himself　at　the　end。　I　mean；　if　there's　no　truth　in　it；　then　there's　no　harm。〃
　〃Oh；　I　believe　there's　truth　in　it；〃　Bloxham　said。
　〃You　believe　there　are　other　Dominions？〃
　〃You　saw　that　damn　creature　Godolphin　cut　up　in　front　of　us。〃
　〃I　saw　a　species　I　hadn't　seen　before；　that's　all。〃　She　stopped　and　arbitrarily　plucked　a　book　from　the　shelves。　〃But　I　wonder　sometimes　if　the　fortress　we're　guarding　isn't　empty。〃　She　opened　the　book；　and　a　lock　of　hair　fell　from　it。　〃Maybe　it's　all　invention；〃　she　said。　〃Drug　dreams　and　fancy。〃　She　put　the　book　back　on　the　shelf　and　turned　to　face　Bloxham。　〃Did　you　really　invite　me　down　here　to　check　the　security？〃　she　murmured。　〃I'm　going　to　be　damn　disappointed　if　you　did。〃
　〃Not　entirely；〃　he　said。
　〃Good；〃　she　replied；　and　wandered　on；　deeper　into　the　maze。
　Though　Jude　had　been　invited　to　a　number　of　New　Year's　Eve　parties；　she'd　made　no　firm　mitment　to　attend　any　of　them；　for　which　fact；　after　the　sorrows　the　day　had　brought；　she　was　thankful。　She'd　offered　to　stay　with　Clem　once　Taylor's　body　had　been　taken　from　the　house；　but　he'd　quietly　declined；　saying　that　he　needed　the　time　alone。　He　was　forted　to　know　she'd　be　at　the　other　end　of　the　telephone　if　he　needed　her；　however；　and　said　he'd　call　if　he　got　too　maudlin。
　One　of　the　parties　she'd　been　invited　to　was　at　the　house　opposite　her　flat；　and　on　the　evidence　of　past　years　it　would　raise　quite　a　din。　She'd　several　times　been　one　of　the　celebrants　there　herself；　but　it　was　no　great　hardship　to　be　alone　tonight。　She　was　in　no　mood　to　trust　the　future；　if　what　the　New　Year　brought　was　more　of　what　the　old　had　offered。
　She　closed　the　curtains　in　the　hope　that　her　presence　would　go　undetected；　lit　some　candles；　put　on　a　flute　concerto；　and　started　to　prepare　something　light　for　supper。　As　she　washed　her　hands；　she　found　that　her　fingers　and　palms　had　taken　on　a　light　dusting　of　color　from　the　stone。　She'd　caught　herself　toying　with　it　several　times　during　the　afternoon；　and　pocketed　it；　only　to　find　minutes　later　that　it　was　once　again　in　her　hands。　Why　the　color　it　had　left　behind　had　escaped　her　until　now；　she　didn't　know。　She　rubbed　her　hands　briskly　beneath　the　tap　to　wash　the　dust　off；　but　when　she　came　to　dry　them　found　the　color　was　actually　brighter。　She　went　into　the　bathroom　to　study　the　phenomenon　under　a　more　intense　light。　It　wasn't；　as　she'd　first　thought；　dust。　The　pigment　seemed　to　be　in　her　skin；　like　a　henna　stain。　Nor　was　it　confined　to　her　palms。　It　had　spread　to　her　wrists；　where　she　was　sure　her　flesh　hadn't　e　in　contact　with　the　stone。　She　took　off　her　blouse　and　to　her　shock　discovered　there　were　irregular　patches　of　color　at　her　elbows　as　well。　She　started　talking　to　herself；　which　she　always　did　when　she　was　confounded　by　something。
　〃What　the　hell　is　this？　I'm　turning　blue？　This　is　ridiculous。〃
　Ridiculous；　maybe；　but　none　too　funny。　There　was　a　crawl　of　panic　in　her　stomach。　Had　she　caught　some　disease　from　the　stone？　Was　that　why　Estabrook　had　wrapped　it　up　so　carefully　and　hidden　it　away？
　She　turned　on　the　shower　and　stripped。　There　were　no　further　stains　on　her　body　that　she　could　find；　which　was　some　small　fort。　With　the　water　seething　hot　she　stepped　into　the　bath；　working　up　a　lather　and　rubbing　at　the　color。　The　bination　of　heat　and　the　panic　in　her　belly　was　dizzying　her；　and　halfway　through　scrubbing　at　her　skin　she　feared　she　was　going　to　faint　and　had　to　step　out　of　the　bath　again；　reaching　to　open　the　bathroom　door　and　let　in　some　cooler　air。　Her　slick　hand　slid　on　the　doorknob；　however；　and　cursing　she　reeled　around　for　a　towel　to　wipe　the　soap　off。　As　she　did　so　she　caught　sight　of　herself　in　the　mirror。　Her　neck　was　blue。　The　skin　around　her　eyes　was　blue。　Her　brow　was　blue；　all　the　way　up　into　her　hairline。　She　backed　away　from　this　grotesquerie；　flattening　herself　against　the　steam…wetted　tiles。
　〃This　isn't　real；〃　she　said　aloud。
　She　reached　for　the　handle　a　second　time　and　wrenched　at　it　with　sufficient　force　to　open　the　door。　The　cold　brought　gooseflesh　from　head　to　foot；　but　she　was　glad　of　the　chill。　Perhaps　it　would　slap　this　self…deceit　out　of　her。　Shuddering　with　cold　she　fled　the　reflection；　heading　back　into　the　candle…lit　haven　of　the　living　room。　There　in　the　middle　of　the　coffee　table　lay　the　piece　of　blue　stone；　its　eye　looking　back　at　her。　She　didn't　even　remember　taking　it　out　of　her　pocket；　much　less　setting　it　on　the　table　in　this　studied　fashion；　surrounded　by　candles。　Its　presence　made　her　hang　back　at　the　door。　She　was　suddenly　superstitious　of　it；　as　though　its　gaze　had　a　basilisk's　power　and　could　turn　her　to　similar　stuff。　If　that　was　its　business　she　was　too　late　to　undo　it。　Every　time　she'd　turned　the　stone　over　she'd　met　its　glance。　Made　bold　by　fatalism；　she　went　to　the　table　and　picked　the　stone　up；　not　giving　it　time　to　obsess　her　again　but　flinging　it　against　the　wall　with　all　the　power　she　possessed。
　As　it　flew　from　her　hand　it　granted　her　the　luxury　of　knowing　her　error。　It　had　taken　possession　of　the　room　in　her　absence；　had　bee　more　real　than　the　hand　that　had　thrown　it　or　the　wall　it　was　about　to　strike。　Time　was　its　plaything；　and　place　its　toy；　and　in　seeking　its　destruction　she　would　unknit　both。
　It　was　too　late　to　undo　the　error　now。　The　stone　struck　the　wall　with　a　loud　hard　sound；　and　in　that　moment　she　was　thrown　out　of　herself；　as　surely　as　if　somebody　had　reached　into　her　head；　plucked　out　her　consciousness；　and　pitched　it　through　the　window。　Her　body　remained　in　the　room　she'd　left；　irrelevant　to　the　journey　she　was　about　to　undertake。　All　she　had　of　its　senses　was　sight。　That　was　enough。　She　floated　out　over　the　bleak　street；　shining　wet　in　the　lamplight；　towards　the　step　of　the　house　opposite　hers。　A　quartet　of　party…goers…three　young　men　with　a　tipsy　girl　in　their　midst…was　waiting　there；　one　of　the　youths　rapping　impatiently　on　the　door。　While　they　waited　the　burliest　of　the　trio　pressed　kisses　on　the　girl；　kneading　her　breasts　covertly　as　he　did　so。　Jude　caught　glimpses　of　the　disfort　that　surfaced　between　the　girl's　giggles；　saw　her　hands　make　vain　little　fists　when　her　suitor　pushed　his　tongue　against　her　lips；　then　saw　her　open　her　mouth　to　him；　more　in　resignation　than　lust。　As　the　door　opened　and　the　four　stumbled　into　the　din　of　celebration；　she　moved　away；　rising　over　the　rooftops　as　she　flew　and　dropping　down　again　to　catch　glimpses　of　other　dramas　unfolding　in　the　houses　she　passed。
　They　were　all；　like　the　stone　that　had　sent　her　on　this　mission；　fragments：　slivers　of　dramas　she　could　only　guess　at。　A　woman　in　an　upper　room；　staring　down　at　a　dress　laid　on　a　stripped　bed；　another　at　a　window；　tears　falling　from　beneath　her　closed　lids　as　she　swayed　to　music　Jude　couldn't　hear；　yet　another　rising　from　a　table　of　glittering　guests；　sickened　by　something。　None　of　them　women　she　knew；　but　all　quite　familiar。　Even　in　her　short　remembered　life　she'd　felt　like　all　of　them　at　some　time　or　other：　forsaken；　powerless；　yearning。　She　began　to　see　the　scheme　here。　She　was　going　from　glimpse　to　glimpse　as　if　to　moments　of　her　life；　meeting　her　reflection　in　women　of　every　class　and　kind。
　In　a　dark　street　behind　King's　Cross　she　saw　a　woman　servicing　a　man　in　the　front　seat　of　his　car；　bending　to　take　his　hard　pink　prick　between　lips　the　color　of　menstrual　blood。　She'd　done　that　too；　or　its　like；　because　she'd　wanted　to　be　loved。　And　the　woman　driving　past；　seeing　the　whores　on　parade　and　righteously　sickened　by　them：　that　was　her。　And　the　beauty　taunting　her　lover　out　in　the　rain；　and　the　virago　applauding　drunkenly　above：　she'd　been　in　those　lives　just　as　surely；　or　they　in　hers。
　Her　journey　was　nearing　its　end。　She'd　reached　a　bridge　from　which　there　would　perhaps　have　been　a　panoramic　view　of　the　city；　but　that　the　rain　in　this　region　was　heavier　than　it　had　been　in　Netting　Hill；　and　the　distance　was　shrouded。　Her　mind　didn't　linger　but　moved　on　through　the　downpour…unchilled；　unwetted…towards　a　lightless　tower　that　lay　all　but　concealed　behind　a　row　of　trees。　Her　speed　had　dropped；　and　she　wove　between　the　foliage　like　a　drunken　bird；　dropping　down　to　the　ground　and　sinking　through　it　into　a　sodden　and　utter　darkness。
　There　was　a　momentary　terror　that　she　was　going　to　be　buried　alive　in　this　place；　then　the　darkness　gave　way　to　light；　and　she　was　dropping　through　the　roof　of　some　kind　of　cellar；　its　walls　lined　not　with　wine　racks　but　with　shelves。　Lights　hung　along　the　passageways；　but　the　air　here　was　still　dense；　not　with　dust　but　with　something　she　only　understood　vaguely。　There　was　sanctity　here；　and　there　was　power。　She　had　felt　nothing　like　it　in　her　life：　not　in　St。　Peter's；　or　Chartres；　or　the　Duomo。　It　made　her　want　to　be　flesh　again；　instead　of　a　roving　mind。　To　walk　here。　To　touch　the　books；　the　bricks；　to　smell　the　air。　Dusty　it　would　be；　but　such　dust：　every　mote　wise　as　a　planet　from　floating　in　this　holy　space。
　The　motion　of　a　shadow　caught　her　eye；　and　she　moved　towards　it　along　the　passageway；　wondering　as　she　went　what　volumes　these　were；　stacked　on　every　side。　The　shadow　up　ahead；　which　she'd　taken　to　be　that　of　one　person；　was　of　two；　erotically　en