cb.imajica2-第6部分

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did　encounter　were　busy　leaving；　burdened　with　hastily　gathered　belongings　as　they　hurried　down　the　corridors。　Survival　was　their　foremost　priority。　They　gave　the　bleeding　soldier　and　his　ill…dressed　panion　scarcely　a　look。
　At　last　they　came　to　a　door；　this　one　unsealed；　which　Lazarevich　refused　point…blank　to　enter。
　〃This　is　the　Pivot　Tower；〃　he　said；　his　voice　barely　audible。
　〃How　do　I　know　you're　telling　the　truth？〃
　〃Can't　you　feel　it？〃
　Now　it　was　remarked　upon；　Gentle　did　indeed　feel　a　subtle　sensation；　barely　strong　enough　to　be　called　a　tingle；　in　his　fingertips；　testicles；　and　sinuses。
　〃That's　the　tower；　I　swear；〃　Lazarevich　whispered。
　Gentle　believed　him。　〃All　right；〃　he　said。　〃You've　done　your　duty；　you'd　better　go。〃
　The　man　grinned。　〃You　mean　it？〃
　〃Yes。〃
　〃Oh；　thank　you。　Whoever　you　are。　Thank　you。〃
　Before　he　could　skip　away；　Gentle　took　hold　of　his　arm　and　drew　him　close。　〃Tell　your　children；〃　he　said；　〃not　to　be　soldiers。　Poets；　maybe；　or　shoeshiners。　But　not　soldiers。　Got　it？〃
　Lazarevich　nodded　violently；　though　Gentle　doubted　he'd　prehended　a　word。　His　only　thought　was　of　escape；　and　he　took　to　his　heels　the　moment　Gentle　let　go　of　him　and　was　out　of　sight　in　two　or　three　seconds。　Turning　to　the　beaten　brass　doors；　Gentle　pushed　them　a　few　inches　wider　and　slipped　inside。　The　nerve　endings　in　his　scrotum　and　palms　knew　that　something　of　significance　was　nearby…　what　had　been　subtle　sensation　was　almost　painful　now…　even　though　his　eyes　were　denied　sight　of　it　by　the　murk　of　the　room　he'd　entered。　He　stood　by　the　door　until　he　was　able　to　grasp　some　sense　of　what　lay　ahead。　This　was　not；　it　seemed；　the　Pivot　Tower　itself　but　an　antechamber　of　some　kind；　as　stale　as　a　sickroom。　Its　walls　were　bare；　its　only　furniture　a　table　upon　which　a　canary　cage　lay　overturned；　its　door　open；　its　occupant　flown。　Beyond　the　table；　another　doorway；　which　he　took；　led　him　into　a　corridor；　staler　still　than　the　room　he'd　left。　The　source　of　agitation　in　his　nerve　endings　was　audible　now：　a　steady　tone　that　might　have　been　soothing　under　other　circumstances。　Not　knowing　which　direction　it　was　ing　from；　he　turned　to　his　right　and　crept　down　the　corridor。　A　flight　of　stairs　curved　out　of　sight　to　his　left。　He　chose　not　to　take　them；　his　instinct　rewarded　by　a　glimmer　of　light　up　ahead。　The　Pivot's　tone　became　less　insistent　as　he　advanced；　suggesting　this　route　was　a　cul…de…sac；　but　he　headed　on　towards　the　light　to　be　certain　Pie　was　not　being　held　prisoner　in　one　of　these　antechambers。
　As　he　came　within　half　a　dozen　strides　of　the　room　somebody　moved　across　the　doorway；　flitting　through　his　field　of　vision　too　quickly　to　be　seen。　He　flattened　himself　against　the　wall　and　edged　towards　the　room。　A　wick；　set　in　a　bowl　of　oil　on　a　table；　shed　the　light　he'd　been　drawn　to。　Beside　it；　several　plates　contained　the　remains　of　a　meal。　When　he　reached　the　door　he　waited　there　for　the　man…the　night　watch；　he　supposed…to　e　back　into　view。　He　had　no　wish　to　kill　him　unless　it　was　strictly　necessary。　There'd　be　enough　widows　and　orphans　in　Yzordderrex　by　tomorrow　morning　without　his　adding　to　the　sum。　He　heard　the　man　fart；　not　once　but　several　times；　with　the　abandon　of　someone　who　believed　himself　alone；　then　heard　him　open　another　door；　his　footsteps　receding。
　Gentle　chanced　a　glance　around　the　doorjamb。　The　room　was　empty。　He　quickly　stepped　inside；　intending　to　take　from　the　table　the　two　knives　that　were　lying　there。　On　one　of　the　plates　was　an　already　rifled　assortment　of　candies。　He　couldn't　resist。
　He　picked　the　most　luscious　and　had　it　to　his　mouth　when　the　man　behind　said；　〃Rosengarten？〃
　He　looked　around；　and　as　his　gaze　settled　on　the　face　across　the　room　his　jaw　clenched　in　shock；　breaking　on　the　candy　between　his　teeth。　Sight　and　sugar　mingled；　tongue　and　eye　feeding　such　a　sweetness　to　his　brain　he　reeled。
　The　face　before　him　was　a　living　mirror：　his　eyes；　his　nose；　his　mouth；　his　hairline；　his　bearing；　his　bafflement；　his　fatigue。　In　everything　but　the　cut　of　his　coat　and　the　muck　beneath　his　fingernails；　another　Gentle。　But　not　by　that　name；　surely。
　Swallowing　the　sweet　liqueur　from　the　candy；　Gentle　very　slowly　said；　〃Who　。。。　in　God's　name　。。。　are　you？〃
　The　shock　was　draining　from　the　other's　face；　and　amusement　replacing　it。　He　shook　his　head。　〃。　。　。　damn　kreauchee　。。。〃
　〃That's　your　name？〃　Gentle　replied。　〃Damn　Kreauchee？〃
　He'd　heard　stranger　in　his　travels。　But　the　question　only　served　to　amuse　the　other　more。
　〃Not　a　bad　idea；〃　he　replied。　〃There's　enough　in　my　system。　The　Autarch　Damn　Kreauchee。　That's　got　a　ring　to　it。〃
　Gentle　spat　the　candy　from　his　mouth。　〃Autarch？〃　he　said。
　The　amusement　fled　from　the　other's　face。　〃You've　made　your　point；　wisp。　Now　fuck　off。〃　He　closed　his　eyes。　〃Get　a　hold　of　yourself；〃　he　half　whispered。　〃It's　the　fucking　kreauchee。　It's　happened　before；　it'll　happen　again。〃
　Now　Gentle　understood。　〃You　think　you're　dreaming　me；　don't　you？〃　he　said。
　The　Autarch　opened　his　eyes；　angered　to　find　the　hallucination　still　hanging　around。　〃I　told　you…〃　he　said。
　〃What　is　this　kreauchee？　Some　kind　of　alcohol？　Dope？　Do　you　think　I'm　a　bad　trip？　Well；　I'm　not。〃
　He　started　towards　the　other；　who　retreated　in　alarm。
　〃Go　on；〃　Gentle　said；　extending　his　hand。　〃Touch　me。　I'm　real。　I'm　here。　My　name's　John　Zacharias；　and　I've　e　a　long　way　to　see　you。　I　didn't　think　that　was　the　reason；　but　now　I'm　here；　I'm　sure　it　was。〃
　The　Autarch　raised　his　fists　to　his　temples；　as　if　to　beat　this　drug　dream　from　his　brain。
　〃This　isn't　possible；〃　he　said。　There　was　more　than　disbelief　in　his　voice；　there　was　an　unease　that　was　close　to　fear。　〃You　can't　be　here。　Not　after　all　these　years。〃
　〃Well；　I　am；〃　said　Gentle。　〃I'm　as　confused　as　you；　believe　me。　But　I'm　here。〃
　The　Autarch　studied　him；　turning　his　head　this　way　and　that；　as　though　he　still　expected　to　find　some　angle　from　which　to　view　the　visitor　that　would　reveal　him　as　an　apparition。　But　after　a　minute　of　such　study　he　gave　it　up　and　simply　stared　at　Gentle；　his　face　a　maze　of　furrows。
　〃Where　did　you　e　from？〃　he　said　slowly。
　〃I　think　you　know；〃　Gentle　replied。
　〃The　Fifth？〃
　〃Yes。〃
　〃You　came　to　bring　me　down；　didn't　you？　Why　didn't　I　see　it？　You　started　this　revolution！　You　were　out　in　the　streets；　sowing　the　seeds！　No　wonder　I　couldn't　root　the　rebels　out。　I　kept　wondering：　Who　is　it？　Who's　out　there；　plotting　against　me？　Execution　after　execution；　purge　after　purge；　and　I　never　got　to　the　one　at　the　heart　of　it。　The　one　who　was　as　clever　as　me。　The　nights　I　lay　awake　thinking：　Who　is　it？　Who？　I　made　a　list　as　long　as　my　arm。　But　never　you；　Maestro。　Never　Sartori。〃
　Hearing　the　Autarch　name　himself　was　shocking　enough；　but　this　second　naming　bred　utter　rebellion　in　Gentle's　system。　His　head　filled　with　the　same　din　that　had　beset　him　on　the　platform　at　Maike；　and　his　belly　disgorged　its　contents　in　one　bilious　heave。　He　put　his　hand　out　to　the　table　to　steady　himself　and　missed　the　edge；　slipping　to　the　floor　where　his　vomit　was　already　spattered。　Floundering　in　his　own　mess；　he　tried　to　shake　the　noise　from　his　head；　but　all　he　did　was　unknot　the　confusion　of　sounds　and　let　the　words　they　concealed　slip　through。
　Sartori！　He　was　Sartori！　He　didn't　waste　breath　questioning　the　name。　It　was　his；　and　he　knew　it。　And　what　worlds　there　were　in　that　naming：　more　confounding　than　anything　the　Dominions　had　unveiled；　opening　before　him　like　windows　blown　wide　and　shattered；　never　to　be　closed　again。
　He　heard　the　name　spoken　out　of　a　hundred　memories。　A　woman　sighed　it　as　she　begged　him　back　into　her　disheveled　bed。　A　priest　beat　out　the　syllables　on　his　pulpit；　prophesying　damnation。　A　gambler　blew　it　into　his　cupped　hands　to　bless　his　dice。　Condemned　men　made　prayers　of　it；　drunkards；　mockery；　carousers；　songs。
　Oh；　but　he'd　been　famous！　At　St。　Bartholomew　Fair　there'd　been　troupes　who'd　filled　their　purses；　telling　his　life　as　farce。　A　bordello　in　Bloomsbury　had　boasted　a　sometime　nun　driven　to　nymphomania　by　his　touch；　who　would　chant　his　conjurations　（so　she　said）　as　she　was　fucked。　He　was　a　paradigm　of　all　things　fabulous　and　forbidden：　a　threat　to　reasoning　men；　to　their　wives；　a　secret　vice。　And　to　the　children…the　children；　trailing　past　his　house　after　the　beadle…he　was　a　rhyme：
　Maestro　Sartori
　Wants　a　bit　o'glory。
　He　loves　the　cats；
　He　loves　the　dogs；
　He　turns　the　ladies　into　frogs；
　He　made　some　hats
　Of　baby　rats；
　But　that's　another　story。
　This　chant；　repeated　in　his　head　in　the　piping　voices　of　parish　orphans；　was　worse　in　its　way　than　the　pulpit　curses；　or　the　sobs；　or　the　prayers。　It　rolled　on　and　on；　in　its　fatuous　way；　gathering　neither　meaning　nor　music　as　it　went。　Like　his　life；　without　this　name：　motion　without　purpose。
　〃Had　you　forgotten？〃　the　Autarch　asked　him。
　〃Oh；　yes；〃　Gentle　replied；　unbidden　and　bitter　laughter　ing　to　his　lips　with　the　reply。　〃I'd　forgotten。〃
　Even　now；　with　the　voices　rebaptizing　him　with　their　clamor；　he　could　scarcely　believe　it。　Had　this　body　of　his　survived　two　hundred　years　and　more　in　the　Fifth　Dominion；　while　his　mind　went　on　deceiving　itself：　holding　only　a　decade　of　life　in　its　consciousness　and　hiding　the　rest　away？　Where　had　he　lived　all　those　years？　Who　had　he　been？　If　what　he'd　just　heard　was　true；　this　act　of　remembering　was　just　the　first。　There　were　two　centuries　of　memories　concealed　in　his　brain　somewhere；　waiting　to　be　discovered。　No　wonder　Pie　had　kept　him　in　ignorance。　Now　that　he　knew；　madness　was　very　close。
　He　got　to　his　feet；　holding　on　to　the　table　for　support。　〃Is　Pie　'oh'　pah　here？〃　he　said。
　〃The　mystif？　No。　Why？　Did　it　e　with　you　from　the　Fifth？〃
　〃Yes；　it　did。〃
　A　twitch　of　a　smile　returned　to　the　Autarch's　face。　〃Aren't　they　exquisite　creatures？〃　he　said。　〃I've　had　one　or　two　myself。　They're　an　acquired　taste；　but　once　you've　got　it　you　never　really　lose　it　again。　But　no；　I　haven't　seen　it。〃
　〃Judith；　then？〃
　〃Ah。〃　He　sighed。　〃Judith。　I　assume　you　mean　Godolphin's　lady？　She　went　by　a　lot　of　names；　didn't　she？　Mind　you；　we　all　did。　What　do　they　call　you　these　days？〃
　〃I　told　you。　John　Furie　Zacharias。　Or　Gentle。〃
　〃I　have　a　few　friends　who　know　me　as　Sar