cb.imajica1-第70章

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ood。　Such　moods　seldom　lasted　long；　however。　He　was　too　much　of　a　realist；　and　he　demanded　truth　from　his　memory。　Yes；　there　had　been　rain；　but　it　had　e　with　such　venom　it　had　bruised　every　fruit　it　hadn't　beaten　from　the　bough。　And　the　hush　of　those　fields　had　been　a　battlefield's　hush；　the　murmur　not　trees　but　flies；　e　to　find　laying　places。
　His　life　had　begun　that　summer；　and　his　early　days　had　been　filled　with　signs　not　of　love　and　fruitfulness　but　of　Apocalypse。　There　wasn't　a　preacher　in　the　park　who　didn't　have　Revelation　by　heart　that　year；　nor　a　whore　in　Drury　Lane　who　wouldn't　have　told　you　she'd　seen　the　Devil　dancing　on　the　midnight　roofs。　How　could　those　days　not　have　influenced　him：　filled　him　with　a　horror　of　imminent　destruction；　given　him　an　appetite　for　order；　for　law；　for　Empire？　He　was　a　child　of　his　times；　and　if　they'd　made　him　cruel　in　his　pursuit　of　system；　was　that　his　fault　or　that　of　the　age？
　The　tragedy　lay　not　in　the　suffering　that　was　an　inevitable　consequence　of　any　social　movement；　but　in　the　fact　that　his　achievements　were　now　in　jeopardy　from　forces　that…if　they　won　the　day…would　return　the　Imajica　to　the　chaos　from　which　he　had　brought　it；　undoing　his　work　in　a　fraction　of　the　time　it　had　taken　for　it　to　be　achieved。　If　he　was　to　suppress　these　subversive　elements　he　had　a　limited　number　of　options；　and　after　the　events　in　Patashoqua；　and　the　uncovering　of　plots　against　him；　he　had　retreated　to　the　quiet　of　the　Kwem　Palace　to　decide　between　them。　He　could　continue　to　treat　the　rebellions；　strikes；　and　uprisings　as　minor　irritations；　limiting　his　reprisals　to　small　but　eloquent　acts　of　suppression；　such　as　the　burning　of　the　village　of　Beatrix　and　the　trials　and　executions　at　Vanaeph。　This　route　had　two　significant　disadvantages。　The　most　recent　attempt　upon　his　life；　though　still　inept；　was　too　close　for　fort；　and　until　every　last　radical　and　revolutionary　had　been　silenced　or　dissuaded；　he　would　be　in　danger。　Furthermore；　when　his　whole　reign　had　been　dotted　with　episodes　that　had　required　some　measured　brutalities；　would　this　new　spate　of　purges　and　suppressions　make　any　significant　mark？　Perhaps　it　was　time　for　a　more　ambitious　vision：　cities　put　under　martial　law；　tetrarchs　imprisoned　so　that　their　corruptions　could　be　exposed　in　the　name　of　a　just　Yzordderrex；　governments　toppled；　and　resistance　met　with　the　full　might　of　the　Second　Dominion's　armies。　Maybe　Patashoqua　would　have　to　burn　the　way　Beatrix　had。　Or　L'Himby　and　its　wretched　temples。
　If　such　a　route　were　followed　successfully；　the　slate　would　be　wiped　clean。　If　not…if　his　advisers　had　underestimated　the　scale　of　unrest　or　the　quality　of　leaders　among　the　rabble…he　might　find　the　circle　closing　and　the　Apocalypse　into　which　he'd　been　bora　that　faraway　summer　ing　around　again；　here　in　the　heart　of　his　promised　land。
　What　then；　if　Yzordderrex　burned　instead　of　Patashoqua？　Where　would　he　go　for　fort？　Back　to　England；　perhaps？　Did　the　house　in　Clerkenwell　still　stand；　he　wondered；　and　if　so　were　its　rooms　still　sacred　to　the　workings　of　desire；　or　had　the　Maestro's　undoing　scoured　them　to　the　last　board　and　nail？　The　questions　tantalized　him。　As　he　sat　and　pondered　them　he　found　a　curiosity　in　his　core…　no；　more　than　curiosity；　an　appetite…to　discover　what　the　Unreconciled　Dominion　was　like　almost　two　centuries　after　his　creation。
　His　musings　were　interrupted　by　Rosengarten；　a　name　he'd　bequeathed　to　the　man　in　the　spirit　of　irony；　for　a　more　infertile　thing　never　walked。　Piebald　from　a　disease　caught　in　the　swamps　of　Loquiot　in　the　throes　of　which　he　had　unmanned　himself；　Rosengarten　lived　for　duty。　Among　the　generals；　he　was　the　only　one　who　didn't　sin　with　some　excess　against　the　austerity　of　these　rooms。　He　spoke　and　moved　quietly；　he　didn't　stink　of　perfumes；　he　never　drank；　he　never　ate　kreauchee。　He　was　a　perfect　emptiness；　and　the　only　man　the　Autarch　pletely　trusted。
　He　had　e　with　news　and　told　it　plainly。　The　asylum　on　the　Cradle　of　Chzercemit　had　been　the　scene　of　a　rebellion。　Almost　all　the　garrison　had　been　killed；　under　circumstances　which　were　still　under　investigation；　and　the　bulk　of　the　prisoners　had　escaped；　led　by　an　individual　called　Sco…pique。
　〃How　many　were　there？〃　the　Autarch　asked。
　〃I　have　a　list；　sir；〃　Rosengarten　replied；　opening　the　file　he'd　brought　with　him。　〃There　are　fifty…one　individuals　unaccounted　for；　most　of　them　religious　dissidents。〃
　〃Women？〃
　〃None。〃
　〃We　should　have　had　them　executed；　not　locked　them　away。〃
　〃Several　of　them　would　have　weled　martyrdom；　sir。　The　decision　to　incarcerate　them　was　taken　with　that　in　mind。〃
　〃So　now　they'll　return　to　their　flocks　and　preach　revolution　all　over　again。　This　we　must　stop。　How　many　of　them　were　active　in　Yzordderrex？〃
　〃Nine。　Including　Father　Athanasius。〃
　〃Athanasius？　Who　was　he？〃
　〃The　Dearther　who　claimed　he　was　the　Christos。　He　had　a　congregation　near　the　harbor。〃
　〃Then　that's　where　he'll　return；　presumably。〃
　〃It　seems　likely。〃
　〃All　of　them'll　go　back　to　their　flocks；　sooner　or　later。
　We　must　be　ready　for　them。　No　arrests。　No　trials。　Just　have　them　quietly　dispatched。〃
　〃Yes；　sir。〃
　〃I　don't　want　Quaisoir　informed　of　this。〃
　〃I　think　she　already　knows；　sir。〃
　〃Then　she　must　be　prevented　from　anything　showy。〃
　〃I　understand。〃
　〃Let's　do　this　discreetly。〃
　〃There　is　something　else；　sir。〃
　〃What's　that？〃
　〃There　were　two　other　individuals　on　the　island　before　the　rebellion…〃
　〃What　about　them？〃
　〃It's　difficult　to　know　exactly　what　to　make　of　the　report。　One　of　them　appears　to　have　been　a　mystif。　The　description　of　the　other　may　be　of　interest。〃
　He　passed　the　report　to　the　Autarch；　who　scanned　it　quickly　at　first；　then　more　intently。
　〃How　reliable　is　this？〃　he　asked　Rosengarten。
　〃At　this　juncture　I　don't　know。　The　descriptions　were　corroborated；　but　I　haven't　interrogated　the　men　personally。〃
　〃Do　so。〃
　〃Yes；　sir。〃
　He　handed　the　report　back　to　Rosengarten。　〃How　many　people　have　seen　this？〃
　〃I　had　all　other　copies　destroyed　as　soon　as　I　read　it。　I　believe　only　the　interrogating　officers；　their　mander；　and　myself　have　been　party　to　this　information。〃
　〃I　want　every　one　of　the　survivors　from　the　garrison　silenced。　Court…martial　them　all　and　throw　away　the　key。　The　officers　and　the　mander　must　be　instructed　that　they　will　be　held　accountable　for　any　leakage　of　this　information；　from　any　source。　Such　leakage　to　be　punishable　by　death。〃　〃Yes；　sir。〃
　〃As　for　the　mystif　and　the　stranger；　we　must　assume　they're　making　way　to　the　Second　Dominion。　First　Beatrix；　now　the　Cradle。　Their　destination　must　be　Yzordderrex。　How　many　days　since　this　uprising？〃
　〃Eleven；　sir。〃
　〃Then　they'll　be　in　Yzordderrex　in　a　matter　of　days；　even　if　they're　traveling　on　foot。　Track　them。　I'd　like　to　know　as　much　about　them　as　I　can。〃
　He　looked　out　the　window　at　the　wastes　of　the　Kwem。
　〃They　probably　took　the　Lenten　Way。　Probably　passed　within　a　few　miles　of　here。〃　There　was　a　subtle　agitation　in　his　voice。　〃That's　twice　now　our　paths　have　e　close　to　crossing。　And　now　the　witnesses；　describing　him　so　well。　What　does　it　mean；　Rosengarten？　What　does　it　mean？〃
　When　the　mander　had　no　answers；　as　now；　he　kept　his　silence：　an　admirable　trait。
　〃I　don't　know　either；〃　the　Autarch　said。　〃Perhaps　I　should　go　out　and　take　the　air。　I　feel　old　today。〃
　The　hole　from　which　the　Pivot　had　been　uprooted　was　still　visible；　though　the　driving　winds　of　the　region　had　almost　healed　the　scar。　Standing　on　the　lips　of　the　hole　was　a　fine　place　to　meditate　on　absence；　the　Autarch　had　discovered。　He　tried　to　do　so　now；　his　face　swathed　in　silk　to　keep　the　stinging　gust　from　his　mouth　and　nostrils；　his　long　fur　coat　closely　buttoned；　and　his　gloved　hands　driven　into　his　pockets。　But　the　calm　he'd　always　derived　from　such　meditations　escaped　him　now。　Absence　was　a　fine　discipline　for　the　spirit　when　the　world's　bounty　was　a　step　away；　and　boundless。　Not　so　now。　Now　it　reminded　him　of　an　emptiness　that　he　both　feared　and　feared　to　be　filled；　like　the　haunted　place　at　the　shoulder　of　a　twin　who'd　lost　its　other　in　the　womb。　However　high　he　built　his　fortress　walls；　however　tightly　he　sealed　his　soul；　there　was　one　who　would　always　have　access；　and　that　thought　brought　palpitations。　This　other　knew　him　as　well　as　he　knew　himself：　his　frailties；　his　desires；　his　highest　ambition。　Their　business　together…most　of　it　bloody…had　remained　unrevealed　and　unrevenged　for　two　centuries；　but　he　had　never　persuaded　himself　that　it　would　remain　so　forever。　It　would　be　finished　at　last；　and　soon。
　Though　the　cold　could　not　reach　his　flesh　through　his　coat；　the　Autarch　shuddered　at　the　prospect。　He　had　lived　for　so　long　like　a　man　who　walks　perpetually　in　the　noonday　sun；　his　shadow　falling　neither　in　front　of　him　nor　behind。　Prophets　could　not　predict　him；　nor　accusers　catch　his　crimes。　He　was　inviolate。　But　that　would　change　now。　When　he　and　his　shadow　met…as　they　inevitably　would…　the　weight　of　a　thousand　prophecies　and　accusations　would　fall　upon　them　both。
　He　pulled　the　silk　from　his　face　and　let　the　eroding　wind　assault　him。　There　was　no　purpose　in　staying　here　any　longer。　By　the　time　the　wind　had　remade　his　features　he　would　have　lost　Yzordderrex；　and　even　though　that　seemed　like　a　small　forfeit　now；　in　the　space　of　hours　it　might　be　the　only　prize　he'd　be　able　to　preserve　from　destruction。
　
　If　the　divine　engineers　who　had　raised　the　Jokalaylau　had　one　night　set　their　most　ambitious　peak　between　a　desert　and　an　ocean；　and　returned　the　next　night　and　for　a　century　of　nights　thereafter　to　carve　its　steeps　and　sheers　from　foothills　to　clouded　heights　with　lowly　habitations　and　magnificent　plazas；　with　streets；　bastions；　and　pavilions…and　if；　having　carved；　they　had　set　in　the　core　of　that　mountain　a　fire　that　smoldered　but　never　burned…then　their　handiwork；　when　filled　to　overflowing　with　every　manner　of　life；　might　have　deserved　parison　with　Yzordderrex。　But　given　that　no　such　masterwork　had　ever　been　devised；　the　city　stood　without　parallel　throughout　the　Imajica。
　The　travelers'　first　sight　of　it　came　as　they　crossed　the　causeway　that　skipped　like　a　well…aimed　stone　across　the　delta　of　the　River　Noy；　rushing　in　twelve　white　torrents　to　meet　the　sea。　It　was　early　morning　when　they　arrived；　the　fog　off　the　river　conspiring　with　the　uneasy　light　of　dawn　to　keep　the　city　from　sight　until　they　were　so　close　to　it　that　when　the　fog　was　snatched　the　sky　was　barely　visible；　the　desert　and　the　sea　no　more　than　marginal；　and　all　the　world　was　suddenly　Yzordderrex。
　As　they'd　walked　the　Lenten　Way；　passing　from　the　Third　Dominion　into　the　Second；　Huzzah　had　recited　all　she'd　read　about　the　city　from　her　father's　books。　One　of　the　writers　had　described　Yzordderrex　as　a　god；　she　reported；　a　notion　Gentle　had　thought　ludicrous　until　he　set　eyes　upon　it。　Then　he　understood　what　the　urban　theologian　had　been　about；　deifying　this　termite　hill。　Yzordderrex　was　worthy　of　worship；　and　millions　were　daily　performing　the　ultimate　act　of　veneration；　living　on　or　within　the　body　of　their　Lord。　Their　dwellings　clung　like　a　million　panicked　climbers　to　the　cliffs　above　the　harbor　and　teetered　on　the　plateaus　that　rose；　tier　on　tier；　toward