cb.imajica2-第85章

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　〃Do　we　care　about　fortunes？〃　Gentle　said。
　〃You　might　not；　boss；〃　Monday　replied。　〃Personally；　I'm　much　in　favor。〃
　He　was　right；　Gentle　thought。　They　could　have　sold　a　thousand　maps　already；　and　they　were　only　just　entering　the　Third：　maps　which　would　have　been　copied；　and　the　copies　copied；　each　transcriber　inevitably　adding　their　own　felicities　to　the　design。　The　thought　of　such　proliferation　led　Gentle　back　to　his　own　hand；　which　had　seldom　worked　for　any　purpose　other　than　profit；　and　which　for　all　its　labor　had　never　produced　anything　of　lasting　value。　But　unlike　the　paintings　he'd　forged；　maps　weren't　cursed　by　the　notion　of　a　definitive　original。　They　grew　in　the　copying；　as　their　inaccuracies　were　corrected；　their　empty　spaces　filled；　their　legends　redevised。　And　even　when　all　the　corrections　had　been　made；　to　the　finest　detail；　they　could　still　never　be　cursed　with　the　word　finished；　because　their　subject　continued　to　change。　Rivers　widened　and　meandered；　or　dried　up　altogether；　islands　rose　and　sank　again；　even　mountains　moved。　By　their　very　nature；　maps　were　always　works　in　progress；　and　Gentle…his　resolve　strengthened　by　thinking　of　them　that　way…decided　after　many　months　of　delay　to　turn　his　hand　to　making　one。
　Occasionally　along　the　road　they'd　meet　an　individual　who；　in　ignorance　of　his　audience；　would　boast　some　association　with　the　Fifth's　most　celebrated　son；　the　Maestro　Sartori；　and　would　proceed　to　tell　Gentle　and　Monday　about　the　great　man。　The　accounts　varied；　especially　when　it　came　to　talk　of　his　panion。　Some　said　he'd　had　a　beautiful　woman　at　his　side；　some　his　brother；　called　Pie；　others　still　（these　the　least　numerous）　told　of　a　mystif。　At　first　it　was　all　Monday　could　do　not　to　blurt　the　truth；　but　Gentle　had　insisted　from　the　outset　that　he　wanted　to　travel　incognito；　and　having　been　sworn　to　secrecy　the　boy　was　as　good　as　his　word。　He　kept　his　silence　while　wild　tales　of　the　Maestro's　doings　were　told：　marriages　celebrated　on　the　ceiling；　copses　springing　up　overnight　where　he'd　slept；　women　made　pregnant　drinking　from　his　cup。　The　fact　that　he'd　bee　a　figment　of　the　popular　imagination　amused　Gentle　at　first；　but　after　a　time　it　began　to　weigh　on　him。　He　felt　like　a　ghost　among　these　living　versions　of　himself；　invisible　among　the　listeners　who　gathered　to　hear　tales　of　his　exploits；　the　details　of　which　were　embroidered　and　embellished　with　every　telling。
　There　was　some　fort　in　the　fact　that　he　was　not　the　only　character　around　whom　such　parables　occurred。　There　were　other　fables　alive　in　the　air　between　the　ears　and　tongues　of　the　populace；　which　the　pilgrims　were　usually　told　when　they　asked　after　Jude　and　Hoi…Polloi：　tales　of　miraculous　women。　A　whole　new　nomadic　tribe　had　appeared　in　the　Dominions　since　the　fall　of　Yzordderrex。　Women　of　power　were　abroad；　rising　to　the　occasion　of　their　liberation；　and　rites　they'd　only　practiced　at　the　hearth　and　cot　were　now　performed　in　the　open　air　for　all　to　see。　But　unlike　the　stories　of　the　Maestro　Sartori；　most　of　which　were　pure　invention；　Gentle　and　Monday　saw　ample　evidence　that　the　stories　concerning　these　women　were　rooted　in　truth。　In　the　province　around　Maike；　for　instance；　which　had　been　a　dust　bowl　during　Gentle's　first　pilgrimage；　they　found　fields　green　with　the　first　crop　in　six　seasons；　courtesy　of　a　woman　who'd　sniffed　out　the　course　of　an　underground　river　and　coaxed　it　to　the　surface　with　sways　and　supplications。　In　the　temples　of　L'Himby　a　sibyl　had　carved　from　a　solid　slab…using　only　her　finger　and　her　spittle…a　representation　of　the　city　as　she　prophesied　it　would　be　in　a　year's　time；　her　prophecy　so　mesmeric　that　her　audience　had　gone　out　of　the　temple　that　very　hour　and　had　torn　down　the　trash　that　had　disfigured　their　city。　In　the　Kwem…where　Gentle　took　Monday　in　the　hope　of　finding　Scopique…they　found　instead　that　the　once　shallow　pit　where　the　Pivot　had　stood　was　now　a　lake；　its　waters　crystalline　but　its　bottom　hidden　by　the　congregation　of　life　that　was　forming　in　it：　birds；　mostly；　which　rose　in　sudden　excited　flocks；　fully　feathered　and　ready　for　the　sky。
　Here　they　had　a　chance　to　meet　the　miracle　worker；　for　the　woman　who'd　made　these　waters　（literally；　her　acolytes　said；　it　was　the　pissing　of　a　single　night）　had　taken　up　residence　in　the　blackened　husk　of　the　Kwem　Palace。　In　the　hope　of　gleaning　some　clue　to　Jude　and　Hoi…Polloi's　whereabouts；　Gentle　ventured　into　the　shadows　to　find　the　lake　maker；　and　though　she　refused　to　show　herself　she　answered　his　inquiry。　No；　she　hadn't　seen　a　pair　of　travelers　such　as　he　described；　but　yes；　she　could　tell　him　where　they'd　gone。　There　were　only　two　directions　for　wandering　women　these　days；　she　explained：　out　of　Yzordderrex　and　into　it。
　He　thanked　her　for　this　information　and　asked　her　if　there　was　anything　he　could　do　for　her　in　return。　She　told　him　that　there　was　nothing　she　wanted　from　him　personally；　but　she'd　be　very　glad　of　the　pany　of　his　boy　for　an　hour　or　two。　Somewhat　chagrined；　Gentle　went　out　and　asked　Monday　if　he　was　willing　to　chance　the　woman's　embrace　for　a　while。　He　said　he　was　and　left　the　Maestro　to　find　himself　a　seat　by　the　bird…breeding　lake　while　he　ventured　into　its　maker's　boudoir。　It　was　the　first　time　in　Gentle's　life　that　any　woman　in　search　of　sexual　attentions　had　passed　him　over　for　another。　If　ever　he'd　needed　proof　that　his　day　was　done；　it　was　here。
　When；　after　two　hours；　Monday　reappeared　（with　a　flushed　face　and　ringing　ears）；　it　was　to　find　Gentle　sitting　at　the　lakeside；　long　ago　tired　of　working　on　his　map；　surrounded　by　several　small　cairns　of　pebbles。
　〃What　are　these？〃　the　boy　said。
　〃I've　been　counting　my　romances；〃　Gentle　replied。　〃Each　one　of　them　is　a　hundred　women。〃
　There　were　seven　cairns。
　〃Is　that　them　all？〃　Monday　said。
　〃It's　all　that　I　remember。〃
　Monday　squatted　down　beside　the　stones。　〃I　bet　you'd　like　to　love　them　all　over　again；〃　he　said。
　Gentle　thought　about　this　for　a　little　time　and　finally　said；　〃No。　I　don't　think　so。　I've　done　my　best　work。　It's　time　to　leave　it　to　the　younger　men。〃
　He　tossed　the　stone　he　had　in　hand　out　into　the　middle　of　the　teeming　lake。
　〃Before　you　ask；〃　he　said。　〃That　was　Jude。〃
　There　were　no　diversions　after　that；　nor　any　need　to　pursue　rumors　of　women　hither　and　thither。　They　knew　where　Jude　and　Hoi…Polloi　had　gone。　Having　left　the　lake；　they　were　on　the　Lenten　Way　within　a　matter　of　hours。　Unlike　so　much　else；　the　Way　hadn't　changed。　It　was　as　busy　and　as　wide　as　ever：　an　arrow；　driving　its　straight　way　into　the　hot　heart　of　Yzordderrex。
　
　
　26
　
　In　the　Fifth；　winter　came：　not　suddenly　but　certainly。　Hallowe'en　was　the　last　time　people　chanced　the　night　air　without　coats；　hats；　and　gloves；　and　it　saw　the　first　substantial　visitation　of　Londoners　to　Gamut　Street…revelers　who'd　taken　the　spirit　of　All　Hallow's　Eve　to　heart　and　e　to　see　if　there　was　any　truth　in　the　bizarre　rumors　they'd　heard　about　the　neighborhood。　Some　retreated　after　a　very　short　time；　but　the　braver　among　them　stayed　to　explore；　a　few　lingering　outside　number　28；　where　they　puzzled　over　the　designs　on　the　door　and　peered　up　at　the　carbonized　tree　that　shaded　the　house　from　the　stars。
　After　that　evening　the　cold's　nip　became　a　bite；　and　the　bite　a　gnaw；　until　by　late　November　the　temperatures　were　low　enough　to　keep　even　the　most　ardent　tomcat　at　the　fire。　But　the　flow　of　visitors…in　both　directions…didn't　cease。　Night　after　night　ordinary　citizens　appeared　in　Gamut　Street　to　brush　shoulders　with　the　excursionists　who　were　corning　in　the　opposite　direction。　Some　of　the　former　became　such　regular　visitors　that　Clem　began　to　recognize　them　and　was　able　to　watch　their　investigations　grow　less　tentative　as　they　realized　that　the　sensations　they　felt　were　not　the　first　signs　of　lunacy。　There　were　wonders　to　be　found　here；　and　one　by　one　these　men　and　women　must　have　discovered　the　source；　because　they　invariably　disappeared。　Others；　perhaps　too　afraid　to　venture　into　the　passing　places　alone；　came　with　trusted　friends；　showing　them　the　street　as　though　it　were　a　secret　vice；　talking　in　whispers；　then　laughing　out　loud　when　they　found　their　loved　ones　could　see　the　apparitions　too。
　Word　was　spreading。　But　that　fact　was　the　only　pleasure　those　bitter　days　and　nights　provided。　Though　Tick　Raw　spent　more　and　more　time　in　the　house　and　was　lively　pany；　Clem　missed　Gentle　badly。　He　hadn't　been　altogether　surprised　at　his　abrupt　departure　（he'd　known；　even　if　Gentle　hadn't；　that　sooner　or　later　the　Maestro　would　leave　the　Dominion）；　but　now　his　truest　pany　was　the　man　with　whom　he　shared　his　skull；　and　as　the　first　anniversary　of　Tay's　death　approached　the　mood　of　both　grew　steadily　darker。　The　presence　of　so　many　living　souls　on　the　street　only　served　to　make　the　revenants　who'd　occupied　it　through　the　summer　months　feel　further　disenfranchised；　and　their　distress　was　contagious。　Though　Tay　had　been　happy　to　stay　with　Clem　through　the　preparations　for　the　Great　Work；　their　time　as　angels　was　over；　and　Tay　felt　the　same　need　as　those　ghosts　who　roamed　outside　the　house：　to　be　gone。
　As　December　came；　Clem　began　to　wonder　how　many　more　weeks　he　could　keep　his　post；　when　it　seemed　every　hour　the　despair　of　the　ghost　in　him　grew。　After　much　debate　with　himself　he　decided　that　Christmas　would　mark　the　last　day　of　his　service　in　Gamut　Street。　After　that　he'd　leave　number　28　to　be　tramped　around　by　Tick's　excursionists　and　go　back　to　the　house　where　a　year　before　he　and　Tay　had　celebrated　the　Return　of　the　Unvanquished　Sun。
　
　Jude　and　Hoi…Polloi　had　taken　their　time　crossing　the　Dominions；　but　with　so　many　roads　to　choose　between；　and　so　many　incidental　joys　along　the　way；　going　quickly　seemed　almost　criminal。　They　had　no　reason　to　hurry。　There　was　nothing　behind　them　to　drive　them　on；　and　nothing　in　front　summoning　them。　At　least；　so　Jude　pretended。　Time　and　time　again；　when　the　issue　of　their　ultimate　destination　cropped　up　in　conversation；　she　avoided　talking　about　the　place　she　knew　in　her　heart　of　hearts　they　would　eventually　reach。　But　if　the　name　of　that　city　wasn't　on　her　lips；　it　was　on　the　lips　of　almost　every　other　woman　they　met；　and　when　Hoi…Polloi　mentioned　that　it　was　her。birthplace　questions　from　fellow　travelers　would　invariably　flow　thick　and　fast。　Was　it　true　that　the　harbor　was　now　filled　at　every　tide　with　fish　that　had　swum　up　from　the　depths　of　the　ocean；　ancient　creatures　that　knew　the　secret　of　the　origins　of　women　and　swam　up　the　rivered　streets　at　night　to　worship　the　Goddesses　on　the　hill？　Was　it　true　that　the　women　there　could　have　children　without　any　need　of　men　whatsoever；　and　that　some　could　even　dream　babies　into　being？　And　were　there　fountains　in　that　city　that　made　the　old　young；　and　trees　on　which　every　fruit　was　new　to　the　world？　And　so　on；　and　so　forth。
　Though　Jude　was　willing；　if　pressed；　to　supply　descriptions　of　what　she'd　seen　in　Yzordderrex；　her　accounts　of　how　the　palace　had　been　refashioned　by　water；　and　of　streams　that　defied　gravity；　were　not　particularly　remarkable　in　the　face　of　what　rumor　was　claiming　about　Yzordderrex。　After　a　few　conversations　in　which　she　was　urged　to　describe　marvels　she　had　no　knowledge　of…as　though　the　questioners　wer