cb.imajica1-第7部分

按键盘上方向键 ← 或 → 可快速上下翻页，按键盘上的 Enter 键可回到本书目录页，按键盘上方向键 ↑ 可回到本页顶部！
————未阅读完？加入书签已便下次继续阅读！


　It　was　the　whistle　from　the　gloom　behind　him　that　alerted　Chant　to　the　fact　that　his　escape　had　not　gone　unnoticed。　It　was　not　a　whistle　that　could　have　e　from　human　lips；　but　a　chilling　scalpel　shriek　he　had　heard　only　once　before　in　the　Fifth　Dominion；　when；　some　two　hundred　years　past；　his　then　possessor；　the　Maestro　Sartori；　had　conjured　from　the　In　Ovo　a　familiar　which　had　made　such　a　whistle。　It　had　brought　bloody　tears　to　its　summoner's　eyes；　obliging　Sartori　to　relinquish　it　posthaste。　Later　Chant　and　the　Maestro　had　spoken　of　the　event；　and　Chant　had　identified　the　creature。　It　was　known　in　the　Reconciled　Dominions　as　a　voider；　one　of　a　brutal　species　that　haunted　the　wastes　north　of　the　Lenten　Way。　Voiders　came　in　many　shapes；　being　made；　some　said；　from　collective　desire；　which　fact　seemed　to　move　Sartori　profoundly。
　〃I　must　summon　one　again；〃　he'd　said；　〃and　speak　with　it；〃　to　which　Chant　had　replied　that　if　they　were　to　attempt　such　a　summoning　they　had　to　be　ready　next　time；　for　void…ers　were　lethal　and　could　not　be　tamed　except　by　Maestros　of　inordinate　power。
　The　proposed　conjuring　had　never　taken　place；　Sartori　had　disappeared　a　short　time　later。　In　all　the　intervening　years　Chant　had　wondered　if　he　had　attempted　a　second　summoning　alone　and　been　the　voiders'　victim。　Perhaps　the　creature　now　ing　after　Chant　had　been　responsible。　Though　Sartori　had　disappeared　two　hundred　years　ago；　the　lives　of　voiders；　like　those　of　so　many　species　from　the　other　Dominions；　were　longer　than　the　longest　human　span。
　Chant　glanced　over　his　shoulder。　The　whistler　was　in　sight。　It　looked　perfectly　human；　dressed　in　a　gray；　well…cut　suit　and　black　tie；　its　collar　turned　up　against　the　cold；　its　hands　thrust　into　its　pockets。　It　didn't　run　but　almost　idled　as　it　came；　the　whistle　confounding　Chant's　thoughts　and　making　him　stumble。　As　he　turned　away　the　second　of　his　pursuers　appeared　on　the　pavement　in　front　of　him；　drawing　a　hand　from　its　pocket。　A　gun？　No。　A　knife？　No。　Something　tiny　crawled　in　the　voider's　palm；　like　a　flea。　Chant　had　no　sooner　focused　upon　it　than　it　leapt　towards　his　face。　Repulsed；　he　raised　his　arm　to　keep　it　from　his　eyes　or　mouth；　and　the　flea　landed　upon　his　hand。　He　slapped　at　it　with　his　other　hand；　but　it　was　beneath　his　thumbnail　before　he　could　get　to　it。　He　raised　his　arm　to　see　its　motion　in　the　flesh　of　his　thumb　and　clamped　his　other　hand　around　the　base　of　the　digit；　in　the　hope　of　stopping　its　further　advance；　gasping　as　though　doused　with　icewater。　The　pain　was　out　of　all　proportion　to　the　mite's　size；　but　he　held　both　thumb　and　sobs　hard；　determined　not　to　lose　all　dignity　in　front　of　his　executioners。　Then　he　staggered　off　the　pavement　into　the　street；　throwing　a　glance　down　towards　the　brighter　lights　at　the　junction。　What　safety　they　offered　was　debatable；　but　if　worst　came　to　worst　he　would　throw　himself　beneath　a　car　and　deny　the　voiders　the　entertainment　of　his　slow　demise。　He　began　to　run　again；　still　clutching　his　hand。　This　time　he　didn't　glance　back。　He　didn't　need　to。　The　sound　of　the　whistling　faded；　and　the　purr　of　the　car　replaced　it。　He　threw　every　ounce　of　his　energy　into　the　run；　reaching　the　bright　street　to　find　it　deserted　by　traffic。　He　turned　north；　racing　past　the　underground　station　towards　the　Elephant　and　Castle。　Now　he　did　glance　behind；　to　see　the　car　following　steadily。　It　had　three　occupants：　the　voiders　and　another；　sitting　in　the　back　seat。　Sobbing　with　breathlessness　he　ran　on；　and…Lord　love　it！…a　taxi　appeared　around　the　next　corner；　its　yellow　light　announcing　its　availability。　Concealing　his　pain　as　best　he　could；　knowing　the　driver　might　pass　on　by　if　he　thought　the　hailer　was　wounded；　he　stepped　out　into　the　street　and　raised　his　hand　to　wave　the　driver　down。　This　meant　unclasping　one　hand　from　the　other；　and　the　mite　took　instant　advantage；　working　its　way　up　into　his　wrist。　But　the　vehicle　slowed。
　〃Where　to；　mate？〃
　He　astonished　himself　with　the　reply；　giving　not　Esta…brook's　address　but　that　of　another　place　entirely。
　〃Clerkenwell；〃　he　said。　〃Gamut　Street。〃
　〃Don't　know　it；〃　the　cabbie　replied；　and　for　one　heart…stopping　moment　Chant　thought　he　was　going　to　drive　on。
　〃I'll　direct　you；〃　he　said。
　〃Get　in；　then。〃
　Chant　did　so；　slamming　the　cab　door　with　no　little　satisfaction　and　barely　managing　to　reach　the　seat　before　the　cab　picked　up　speed。
　Why　had　he　named　Gamut　Street？　There　was　nothing　there　that　would　heal　him。　Nothing　could。　The　flea…or　whatever　variation　in　that　species　it　was　that　crawled　in　him…had　reached　his　elbow；　and　his　arm　below　that　pain　was　now　pletely　numb；　the　skin　of　his　hand　wrinkled　and　flaky。　But　the　house　in　Gamut　Street　had　been　a　place　of　miracles　once。　Men　and　women　of　great　authority　had　walked　in　it　and　perhaps　left　some　ghost　of　themselves　to　calm　him　in　extremis。　No　creature；　Sartori　had　taught；　passed　through　this　Dominion　unrecorded；　even　to　the　least…to　the　child　that　perished　a　heartbeat　after　it　opened　its　eyes；　the　child　that　died　in　the　womb；　drowned　in　its　mother's　waters…even　that　unnamed　thing　had　its　record　and　its　consequence。　So　how　much　more　might　the　once…powerful　of　Gamut　Street　have　left；　by　way　of　echoes？
　His　heart　was　palpitating；　and　his　body　full　of　jitters。　Fearing　he'd　soon　lose　control　of　his　functions；　he　pulled　the　letter　to　Estabrook　from　his　pocket　and　leaned　forward　to　slide　the　half　window　between　himself　and　the　driver　aside。
　〃When　you've　dropped　me　in　Clerkenwell　I'd　like　you　to　deliver　a　letter　for　me。　Would　you　be　so　kind？〃
　〃Sorry；　mate；〃　the　driver　said。　〃I'm　going　home　after　this。　I've　a　wife　waiting　for　me。〃
　Chant　dug　in　his　inside　pocket　and　pulled　out　his　wallet；　then　passed　it　through　the　window；　letting　it　drop　on　the　seat　beside　the　driver。
　〃What's　this？〃
　〃All　the　money　I've　got。　This　letter　has　to　be　delivered。〃
　〃All　the　money　you've　got；　eh？〃
　The　driver　picked　up　the　wallet　and　flicked　it　open；　his　gaze　going　between　its　contents　and　the　road。
　〃There's　a　lot　of　dosh　in　here。〃
　〃Have　it。　It's　no　good　to　me。〃
　〃Are　you　sick？〃
　〃And　tired；〃　Chant　said。　〃Take　it；　why　don't　you？　Enjoy　it。〃
　〃There's　a　Daimler　been　following　us。　Somebody　you　know？〃
　There　was　no　purpose　served　by　lying　to　the　man。　〃Yes；〃　Chant　said。　〃I　don't　suppose　you　could　put　some　distance　between　them　and　us？〃
　The　man　pocketed　the　wallet　and　jabbed　his　foot　down　on　the　accelerator。　The　cab　leapt　forward　like　a　racehorse　from　the　gate；　its　jockey's　laugh　rising　above　the　guttural　din　of　the　engine。　Whether　it　was　the　cash　he　was　now　heavy　with　or　the　challenge　of　outrunning　a　Daimler　that　motivated　him；　he　put　his　cab　through　its　paces；　proving　it　more　mobile　than　its　bulk　would　have　suggested。　In　under　a　minute　they'd　made　two　sharp　lefts　and　a　squealing　right　and　were　roaring　down　a　back　street　so　narrow　the　least　miscalculation　would　have　taken　off　handles；　hubs；　and　mirrors。　The　mazing　didn't　stop　there。　They　made　another　turn；　and　another；　bringing　them　in　a　short　time　to　South…wark　Bridge。　Somewhere　along　the　way；　they'd　lost　the　Daimler。　Chant　might　have　applauded　had　he　possessed　two　workable　hands；　but　the　flea's　message　of　corruption　was　spreading　with　agonizing　speed。　While　he　still　had　five　fingers　under　his　mand　he　went　back　to　the　window　and　dropped　Estabrook's　letter　through；　murmuring　the　address　with　a　tongue　that　felt　disfigured　in　his　mouth。
　〃What's　wrong　with　you？〃　the　cabbie　said。　〃It's　not　fucking　contagious；　is　it；　'cause　if　it　is…〃
　〃。　。。not。。　。〃Chant　said。
　〃You　look　fucking　awful；〃　the　cabbie　said；　glancing　in　the　mirror。　〃Sure　you　don't　want　a　hospital？〃
　〃No。　Gamut　Street。　I　want　Gamut　Street。〃
　〃You'll　have　to　direct　me　from　here。〃
　The　streets　had　all　changed。　Trees　gone；　rows　demolished；　austerity　in　place　of　elegance；　function　in　place　of　beauty；　the　new　for　old；　however　poor　the　exchange　rate。　It　was　a　decade　and　more　since　he'd　e　here　last。　Had　Gamut　Street　fallen　and　a　steel　phallus　risen　in　its　place？
　〃Where　are　we？〃　he　asked　the　driver。
　〃Clerkenwell。　That's　where　you　wanted；　isn't　it？〃
　〃1　mean　the　precise　place。〃
　The　driver　looked　for　a　sign。　〃Flaxen　Street。　Does　it　ring　a　bell？〃
　Chant　peered　out　of　the　window。　〃Yes！　Yes！　Go　down　to　the　end　and　turn　right。〃
　〃Used　to　live　around　here；　did　you？〃
　〃A　long　time　ago。〃
　〃It's　seen　better　days。〃　He　turned　right。　〃Now　where？〃
　〃First　on　the　left。〃
　〃Here　it　is；〃　the　man　said。　〃Gamut　Street。　What　number　was　it？〃
　〃Twenty…eight。〃
　The　cab　drew　up　at　the　curb。　Chant　fumbled　for　the　handle；　opened　the　door；　and　all　but　fell　out　onto　the　pavement。　Staggering；　he　put　his　weight　against　the　door　to　close　it；　and　for　the　first　time　he　and　the　driver　came　face　to　face。　Whatever　the　flea　was　doing　to　his　system；　it　must　have　been　horribly　apparent；　to　judge　by　the　look　of　repugnance　on　the　man's　face。
　〃You　will　deliver　the　letter？〃　Chant　said。
　〃You　can　trust　me；　mate。〃
　〃When　you've　done　it；　you　should　go　home；〃　Chant　said。　〃Tell　your　wife　you　love　her。　Give　a　prayer　of　thanks。〃
　〃What　for？〃
　〃That　you're　human；〃　Chant　said。
　The　cabbie　didn't　question　this　little　lunacy。　〃Whatever　you　say；　mate；〃　he　replied。　〃I'll　give　the　missus　one　and　give　thanks　at　the　same　time；　how's　that？　Now　don't　do　anything　I　wouldn't　do；　eh？〃
　This　advice　given；　he　drove　off；　leaving　his　passenger　to　the　silence　of　the　street。
　With　failing　eyes；　Chant　scanned　the　gloom。　The　houses；　built　in　the　middle　of　Sartori's　century；　looked　to　be　mostly　deserted；　primed　for　demolition；　perhaps。　But　then　Chant　knew　that　sacred　places…and　Gamut　Street　was　sacred　in　its　way…survived　on　occasion　because　they　went　unseen；　even　in　plain　sight。　Burnished　by　magic；　they　deflected　the　threatening　eye　and　found　unwitting　allies　in　men　and　women　who；　all　unknowing；　knew　holiness；　became　sanctuaries　for　a　secret　few。
　He　climbed　the　three　steps　to　the　door　and　pushed　at　it；　but　it　was　securely　locked；　so　he　went　to　the　nearest　window。　There　was　a　filthy　shroud　of　cobweb　across　it　but　no　curtain　beyond。　He　pressed　his　face　to　the　glass。　Though　his　eyes　were　weakening　by　the　moment；　his　gaze　was　still　more　acute　than　that　of　the　blossoming　ape。　The　room　he　looked　into　was