cb.imajica1-第8部分

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han　that　of　the　blossoming　ape。　The　room　he　looked　into　was　stripped　of　all　furniture　and　decoration；　if　anybody　had　occupied　this　house　since　Sartori's　time…and　it　surely　hadn't　stood　empty　for　two　hundred　years…they　had　gone；　taking　every　trace　of　their　presence。　He　raised　his　good　arm　and　struck　the　glass　with　his　elbow；　a　single　jab　which　shattered　the　window。　Then；　careless　of　the　damage　he　did　himself；　he　hoisted　his　bulk　onto　the　sill；　beat　out　the　rest　of　the　pieces　of　glass　with　his　hand；　and　dropped　down　into　the　room　on　the　other　side。
　The　layout　of　the　house　was　still　clear　in　his　mind。　In　dreams　he'd　drifted　through　these　rooms　and　heard　the　Maestro's　voice　summoning　him　up　the　stairs…up！　up！…to　the　room　at　the　top　where　Sartori　had　worked　his　work。　It　was　there　Chant　wanted　to　go　now；　but　there　were　new　signs　of　atrophy　in　his　body　with　every　heartbeat。　The　hand　first　invaded　by　the　flea　was　withered；　its　nails　dropped　from　their　place；　its　bone　showing　at　the　knuckles　and　wrist。　Beneath　his　jacket　he　knew　his　torso　to　the　hip　was　similarly　unmade；　he　felt　pieces　of　his　flesh　falling　inside　his　shirt　as　he　moved。　He　would　not　be　moving　for　much　longer。　His　legs　were　increasingly　unwilling　to　bear　him　up；　and　his　senses　were　close　to　flickering　out。　Like　a　man　whose　children　were　leaving　him；　he　begged　as　he　climbed　the　stairs。
　〃Stay　with　me。　Just　a　little　longer。　Please。　。　。。〃
　His　cajoling　got　him　as　far　as　the　first　landing；　but　then　his　legs　all　but　gave　out；　and　thereafter　he　had　to　climb　using　his　one　good　arm　to　haul　him　onward。
　He　was　halfway　up　the　final　flight　when　he　heard　the　voiders'　whistle　in　the　street　outside；　its　piercing　din　unmistakable。　They　had　found　him　quicker　than　he'd　anticipated；　sniffing　him　out　through　the　darkened　streets。　The　fear　that　he'd　be　denied　sight　of　the　sanctum　at　the　top　of　the　stairs　spurred　him　on；　his　body　doing　its　ragged　best　to　acmodate　his　ambition。
　From　below；　he　heard　the　door　being　forced　open。　Then　the　whistle　again；　harder　than　before；　as　his　pursuers　stepped　into　the　house。　He　began　to　berate　his　limbs；　his　tongue　barely　able　to　shape　the　words。
　〃Don't　let　me　down！　Work；　will　you？　Work！〃
　And　they　obliged。　He　scaled　the　last　few　stairs　in　a　spastic　fashion；　but　reached　the　top　flight　as　he　heard　the　voiders'　soles　at　the　bottom。　It　was　dark　up　here；　though　how　much　of　that　was　blindness　and　how　much　night　he　didn't　know。　It　scarcely　mattered。　The　route　to　the　door　of　the　sanctum　was　as　familiar　to　him　as　the　limbs　he'd　lost。　He　crawled　on　hands　and　knees　across　the　landing；　the　ancient　boards　creaking　beneath　him。　A　sudden　fear　seized　him：　that　the　door　would　be　locked；　and　he'd　beat　his　weakness　against　it　and　fail　to　gain　access。　He　reached　up　for　the　handle；　grasped　it；　tried　to　turn　it　once；　failed；　tried　again；　and　this　time　dropped　face　down　over　the　threshold　as　the　door　swung　open。
　There　was　food　for　his　enfeebled　eyes。　Shafts　of　moonlight　spilled　from　the　windows　in　the　roof。　Though　he'd　dimly　thought　it　was　sentiment　that　had　driven　him　back　here；　he　saw　now　it　was　not。　In　returning　here　he　came　full　circle；　back　to　the　room　which　had　been　his　first　glimpse　of　the　Fifth　Dominion。　This　was　his　cradle　and　his　tutoring　room。　Here　he'd　smelled　the　air　of　England　for　the　first　time；　the　crisp　October　air；　here　he'd　fed　first；　drunk　first；　first　had　cause　for　laughter　and；　later；　for　tears。　Unlike　the　lower　rooms；　whose　emptiness　was　a　sign　of　desertion；　this　space　had　always　been　sparely　furnished；　and　sometimes　pletely　empty。　He'd　danced　here　on　the　same　legs　that　now　lay　dead　beneath　him；　while　Sartori　had　told　him　how　he　planned　to　take　this　wretched　Dominion　and　build　in　its　midst　a　city　that　would　shame　Babylon；　danced　for　sheer　exuberance；　knowing　his　Maestro　was　a　great　man　and　had　it　in　his　power　to　change　the　world。
　Lost　ambition；　all　lost。　Before　that　October　had　bee　November　Sartori　had　gone；　flitted　in　the　night　or　murdered　by　his　enemies。　Gone；　and　left　his　servant　stranded　in　a　city　he　barely　knew。　How　Chant　had　longed　then　to　return　to　the　ether　from　where　he'd　been　summoned；　to　shrug　off　the　body　which　Sartori　had　congealed　around　him　and　be　gone　out　of　this　Dominion。　But　the　only　voice　capable　of　ordering　such　a　release　was　that　which　had　conjured　him；　and　with　Sartori　gone　he　was　exiled　on　earth　forever。　He　hadn't　hated　his　summoner　for　that。　Sartori　had　been　indulgent　for　the　weeks　they'd　been　together。　Were　he　to　appear　now；　in　the　moonlit　room；　Chant　would　not　have　accused　him　of　negligence　but　made　proper　obeisances　and　been　glad　that　his　inspiration　had　returned。
　〃Maestro　。　。　。〃　he　murmured；　face　to　the　musty　boards。
　〃Not　here；〃　came　a　voice　from　behind　him。　It　was　not；　he　knew；　one　of　the　voiders。　They　could　whistle　but　not　speak。　〃You　were　Sartori's　creature；　were　you？　I　don't　remember　that。〃
　The　speaker　was　precise；　cautious　and　smug。　Unable　to　turn；　Chant　had　to　wait　until　the　man　walked　past　his　supine　body　to　get　a　sight　of　him。　He　knew　better　than　to　judge　by　appearances：　he；　whose　flesh　was　not　his　own　but　of　the　Maestro's　sculpting。　Though　the　man　in　front　of　him　looked　human　enough；　he　had　the　voiders　in　tow　and　spoke　with　knowledge　of　things　few　humans　had　access　to。　His　face　was　an　overripe　cheese；　drooping　with　jowls　and　weary　folds　around　the　eyes；　his　expression　that　of　a　funereal　ic。　The　smugness　in　his　voice　was　here　too；　in　the　studied　way　he　licked　upper　and　lower　lips　with　his　tongue　before　he　spoke；　and　tapped　the　fingertips　of　each　hand　together　as　he　judged　the　broken　man　at　his　feet。　He　wore　an　immaculately　tailored　three…piece　suit；　cut　from　a　cloth　of　apricot　cream。　Chant　would　have　given　a　good　deal　to　break　the　bastard's　nose　so　he　bled　on　it。
　〃I　never　did　meet　Sartori；〃　he　said。　〃Whatever　happened　to　him？〃
　The　man　went　down　on　his　haunches　in　front　of　Chant　and　suddenly　snatched　hold　of　a　handful　of　his　hair。
　〃I　asked　you　what　happened　to　your　Maestro；〃　he　said。　〃I'm　Dowd；　by　the　way。　You　never　knew　my　master；　the　Lord　Godotphin；　and　I　never　knew　yours。　But　they're　gone；　and　you're　scrabbling　around　for　work。　Well；　you　won't　have　to　do　it　any　longer；　if　you　take　my　meaning。〃
　〃Did　you　。　。　。　did　you　send　him　to　me？〃
　〃It　would　help　my　prehension　if　you　could　be　more　specific。〃
　〃Estabrook。〃
　〃Oh；　yes。　Him。〃
　〃You　did。　Why？〃
　〃Wheels　within　wheels；　my　dove；〃　Dowd　said。　〃I'd　tell　you　the　whole　bitter　story；　but　you　don't　have　the　time　to　listen　and　I　don't　have　the　patience　to　explain。　I　knew　of　a　man　who　needed　an　assassin。　I　knew　of　another　man　who　dealt　in　them。　Let's　leave　it　at　that。〃
　〃But　how　did　you　know　about　me？〃
　〃You're　not　discreet；〃　Dowd　replied。　〃You　get　drunk　on　the　Queen's　birthday；　and　you　gab　like　an　Irishman　at　a　wake。　Lovey；　it　draws　attention　sooner　or　later。〃
　〃Once　in　a　while…〃
　〃I　know；　you　get　melancholy。　We　all　do；　lovey；　we　all　do。　But　some　of　us　do　our　weeping　in　private；　and　some　of　us〃…he　let　Chant's　head　drop…〃make　fucking　public　spectacles　of　ourselves。　There　are　consequences；　lovey；　didn't　Sartori　tell　you　that？　There　are　always　consequences。　You've　begun　something　with　this　Estabrook　business；　for　instance；　and　I'll　need　to　watch　it　closely；　or　before　we　know　it　there'll　be　ripples　spreading　through　the　Imajica。〃
　〃The　Imajica　。　。　。〃
　〃That's　right。　From　here　to　the　margin　of　the　First　Dominion。　To　the　region　of　the　Unbeheld　Himself。〃
　Chant　began　to　gasp；　and　Dowd…realizing　he'd　hit　a　nerve…leaned　towards　his　victim。
　〃Do　1　detect　a　little　anxiety？〃　he　said。　〃Are　you　afraid　of　going　into　the　glory　of　our　Lord　Hapexamendios？〃
　Chant's　voice　was　frail　now。　〃Yes　。　。　。〃　he　murmured。
　〃Why？〃　Dowd　wanted　to　know。　〃Because　of　your　crimes？〃
　〃Yes。〃
　〃What　are　your　crimes？　Do　tell　me。　We　needn't　bother　with　the　little　things。　Just　the　really　shameful　stuff'll　do。〃
　〃I've　had　dealings　with　a　Eurhetemec。〃
　〃Have　you　indeed？〃　Dowd　said。　〃However　did　you　get　back　to　Yzordderrex　to　do　that？〃
　〃I　didn't；〃　Chant　replied。　〃My　dealings　。　。　。　were　here；　in　the　Fifth。〃
　〃Really；〃　said　Dowd　softly。　〃I　didn't　know　there　were　Eurhetemecs　here。　You　learn　something　new　every　day。　But；　lovey；　that's　no　great　crime。　The　Unbeheld's　going　to　forgive　a　poxy　little　trespass　like　that。　Unless　。　。　。〃　He　stopped　for　a　moment；　turning　over　a　new　possibility。　〃Unless；　the　Eurhetemec　was　a　mystif。　。　。　。〃　He　trailed　the　thought；　but　Chant　remained　silent。　〃Oh；　my　dove；〃　Dowd　said。　〃It　wasn't；　was　it？〃　Another　pause。　〃Oh；　it　was。　It　was。〃　He　sounded　almost　enchanted。　〃There's　a　mystif　in　the　Fifth　and…what？　You're　in　love　with　it？　You'd　better　tell　me　before　you　run　out　of　breath；　lovey。　In　a　few　minutes　your　eternal　soul　will　be　waiting　at　Hapexamendios'　door。〃
　Chant　shuddered。　〃The　assassin　。　。　。〃　he　said。
　〃What　about　the　assassin？〃　came　the　reply。　Then；　realizing　what　he'd　just　heard；　Dowd　drew　a　long；　slow　breath。　〃The　assassin　is　a　mystif？〃　he　said。
　〃Yes。〃
　〃Oh；　my　sweet　Hyo！〃　he　exclaimed。　〃A　mystif！〃　The　enchantment　had　vanished　from　his　voice　now。　He　was　hard　and　dry。　〃Do　you　know　what　they　can　do？　The　deceits　they've　got　at　their　disposal？　This　was　supposed　to　be　an　anonymous　piece　of　shit…stirring；　and　look　what　you've　done！〃　His　voice　softened　again。　〃Was　it　beautiful？〃　he　asked。　〃No；　no。　Don't　tell　me。　Let　me　have　the　surprise；　when　I　see　it　face　to　face。〃　He　turned　to　the　voiders。　〃Pick　the　fucker　up；〃　he　said。
　They　stepped　forward　and　raised　Chant　by　his　broken　arms。　There　was　no　strength　left　in　his　neck；　and　his　head　lolled　forward；　a　solid　stream　of　bilious　fluid　running　from　his　mouth　and　nostrils。　〃How　often　does　the　Eurhetemec　tribe　produce　a　mystif？〃　Dowd　mused；　half　to　himself。　〃Every　ten　years？　Every　fifty？　They're　certainly　rare。　And　there　you　are；　blithely　hiring　one　of　these　little　divinities　as　an　assassin。　Imagine！　How　pitiful；　that　it　had　fallen　so　low。　I　must　ask　it　how　that　came　about。〃　He　stepped　towards　Chant；　and　at　Dowd's　order　one　of　the　voiders　raised　Chant's　head　by　the　hair。　〃I　need　the　mystifs　whereabouts；〃　Dowd　said。　〃And　its　name。〃
　Chant　sobbed　through　his　bile。　〃Please；〃　he　said。　〃I　meant。　。　。　I。　。　。　meant…〃
　〃Yes；　yes。　No　harm。　You　were　just　doing　your　duty。　The　Unbeheld　will　fo