cb.imajica1-第7章

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！


　〃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　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　con