cb.imajica1-第98部分

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　There　was　no　further　argument。　He　simply　spat　again　and　turned　his　back；　stalking　off　down　the　gallery；　leaving　the　mystif　to　return　its　gaze　to　the　picture　which　had　quickened　Us　pulse　and　breath。
　Though　it　was　curious　to　see　a　rendering　of　Oxford　Street　and　St。　Bartholomew's　Fair　in　this　setting；　so　far　in　years　and　Dominions　from　the　scene　that　had　inspired　them；　Pie　might　have　suppressed　the　suspicion…growing　in　its　belly　while　Lu　'chur'　chem　talked　of　revolution…that　this　was　no　coincidence；　had　the　final　image　in　the　cycle　not　been　so　unlike　those　that　had　preceded　it。　The　rest　had　been　public　spectacles；　rendered　countless　times　in　satirical　prints　and　paintings。　This　last　was　not。　The　rest　had　been　well…known　sites　and　streets；　famous　across　the　world。　This　last　was　not。　It　was　an　unremarkable　thoroughfare　in　Cler…kenwell；　almost　a　backwater；　which　Pie　doubted　any　artist　of　the　Fifth　had　ever　turned　his　pen　or　brush　to　depicting。　But　here　it　was；　represented　in　meticulous　detail：　Gamut　Street；　to　the　brick；　to　the　leaf。　And　taking　pride　of　place　in　the　center　of　the　picture；　number　28；　the　Maestro　Sartori's　house。
　It　had　been　lovingly　re…created。　Birds　courted　on　its　roof；　on　its　step；　dogs　fought。　And　in　between　the　fighters　and　wooers　stood　the　house　itself；　blessed　by　a　dappled　sunlight　denied　the　others　in　the　row。　The　front　door　was　closed；　but　the　upper　windows　were　flung　wide；　and　the　artist　had　painted　somebody　watching　from　one　of　them；　his　face　too　deeply　shadowed　to　be　recognized。　The　object　of　his　scrutiny　was　not　in　doubt；　however：　the　girl　in　the　window　across　the　street；　sitting　at　her　mirror　with　her　dog　on　her　lap；　her　fingers　teasing　from　its　bow　the　ribbon　that　would　presently　unlace　her　bodice。　In　the　street　between　this　beauty　and　her　doting　voyeur　were　a　dozen　details　that　could　only　have　e　from　firsthand　experience。　On　the　pavement　beneath　the　girl's　window　a　small　procession　of　charity　children　passed；　wards　of　the　parish；　dressed　all　in　white　and　carrying　their　wands。　They　marched　raggedly　behind　their　beadle；　a　brute　of　a　man　called　Willis；　whom　Sar…tori　had　once　beaten　senseless　on　that　very　spot　for　cruelty　to　his　charges。　Around　the　far　corner　came　Roxborough's　carriage；　drawn　by　his　favorite　bay；　Bellamarre；　named　in　honor　of　the　te　de　St。　Germain；　who　had　swindled　half　the　women　of　Venice　under　that　alias　a　few　years　before。　A　dragoon　was　being　ushered　out　of　number　32　by　the　mistress　of　that　house；　who　entertained　officers　of　the　Prince　of　Wales　regiment…the　Tenth；　and　no　other…whenever　her　husband　was　away。　The　widow　opposite　watched　enviously　from　her　step。
　All　these　and　a　dozen　other　little　dramas　were　being　played　out　in　the　picture；　and　there　wasn't　one　Pie　didn't　remember　seeing　enacted　countless　times。　But　who　was　the　unseen　spectator　who'd　instructed　the　painters　in　their　craft；　so　that　carriage；　girl；　soldier；　widow；　dogs；　birds；　voyeurs；　and　all　could　be　set　down　with　such　verisimilitude？
　Having　no　solution　to　the　puzzle；　the　mystif　plucked　its　gaze　from　the　picture　and　looked　back　along　the　immense　length　of　the　gallery。　Lu　'chur'　chem　had　disappeared；　spitting　as　he　went。　The　mystif　was　alone；　the　routes　ahead　and　behind　similarly　deserted。　It　would　miss　Lu　'chur'　chem's　panionship　and　bitterly　regretted　that　it　had　lacked　the　wit　to　persuade　its　rade　that　it　had　to　go　on　alone；　without　causing　such　offense。　But　the　picture　on　the　wall　was　proof　of　secrets　here　it　had　not　yet　fathomed；　and　when　it　did　so　it　wanted　no　witnesses。　They　too　easily　became　accusers；　and　Pie　was　weighed　down　with　enough　reproaches　already。　If　the　tyrannies　of　Yzordderrex　were　in　some　fashion　linked　with　the　house　on　Gamut　Street…and　if　Pie；　by　extension；　was　an　unwitting　collaborator　in　those　tyrannies…it　was　important　to　learn　of　this　guilt　unacpanied。
　As　prepared　as　possible　for　such　revelations；　the　mystif　left　its　place　in　front　of　the　painting；　reminding　itself　as　it　went　of　the　promise　made　to　Lu　'chur'　chem。　If　it　survived　this　enterprise；　it　had　to　return　with　the　eyes　of　the　Autarch。　Eyes　which　it　now　didn't　doubt　had　once　been　laid　on　Gamut　Street；　studying　it　as　obsessively　as　the　watcher　at　the　painted　window　studied　his　lady　love；　sitting　across　the　street　in　thrall　to　her　reflection。







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