sk.thetalisman-第97部分

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's　Mr。　Dufrey！　Mr。　Dufrey！　Mr。　Dufrey！'
　　So　Jack　got　his　first　and　only　look　at　Thayer　School's　headmaster…a　tiny　old　man　with　gray　hair；　a　big；　bent　nose；　and　the　wizened；　hairy　body　of　an　organ　grinder's　monkey。　He　ran　swiftly　along　on　all　fours　with　the　dogs　and　the　boys；　a　mortarboard　bobbing　crazily　up　and　down　on　his　head　and　somehow　refusing　to　fall　off。　He　grinned　at　Jack　and　Richard；　and　his　tongue；　long　and　lolling　and　stained　yellow　with　nicotine；　fell　out　through　the　middle　of　his　grin。
　　'Mr。　Dufrey！　Oh　God！　Oh　dear　God！　Mr。　Dufrey！　Mr。　Du…'
　　He　was　yanking　Jack　harder　and　harder　toward　the　left。　Jack　was　bigger；　but　Richard　was　in　the　grip　of　panic。　Explosions　rocked　the　air。　That　foul；　garbagey　smell　grew　thicker　and　thicker。　Jack　could　hear　the　soft　flupping　and　plupping　of　mud　squeezing　out　of　the　earth。　The　white　wolf　which　led　the　pack　was　closing　the　distance　and　Richard　was　trying　to　pull　them　away　from　it；　trying　to　pull　them　toward　the　fence；　and　that　was　right；　but　it　was　wrong；　too；　it　was　wrong　because　it　was　The　Depot　they　had　to　get　to；　not　the　fence。　That　was　the　spot；　that　was　the　spot　because　this　had　been　one　of　the　three　or　four　biggest　American　railheads；　because　Andrew　Thayer　had　been　the　first　one　to　see　the　potential　in　shipping　west；　because　Andrew　Thayer　had　seen　the　potential　and　now　he；　Jack　Sawyer；　saw　the　potential；　as　well。　All　of　this　was　of　course　only　intuition；　but　Jack　had　e　to　believe　that；　in　these　universal　matters；　his　intuition　was　the　only　thing　he　could　trust。
　　'Let　go　of　your　passenger；　Sloat！'　Dufrey　was　gobbling。　'Let　go　of　your　passenger；　he's　too　pretty　for　you！'
　　But　what's　a　passenger？　Jack　thought　in　those　last　few　seconds；　as　Richard　tried　blindly　to　pull　them　off…course　and　Jack　yanked　him　back　on；　toward　the　mixed　bunch　of　mongrels　and　boys　and　teachers　that　ran　behind　the　big　white　wolf；　toward　The　Depot。　I'll　tell　you　what　a　passenger　is；　a　passenger　is　one　who　rides。　And　where　does　a　passenger　begin　to　ride？　Why；　at　a　depot　。　。　。
　　'Jack；　it'll　bite！'　Richard　screamed。
　　The　wolf　outran　Dufrey　and　leaped　at　them；　its　jaws　dropping　open　like　a　loaded　trap。　From　behind　them　there　was　a　thick；　crunching　thud　as　Nelson　House　split　open　like　a　rotten　cantaloupe。
　　Now　it　was　Jack　who　was　bearing　down　on　Richard's　fingerbones；　clamping　tight　and　tighter　and　tightest　as　the　night　rang　with　crazy　bells　and　flared　with　gasoline　bombs　and　rattled　with　firecrackers。
　　'Hold　on！'　he　screamed。　'Hold　on；　Richard；　here　we　go！'　
　　He　had　time　to　think：　Now　the　shoe　is　on　the　other　foot；　now　it's　Richard　who　is　the　herd；　who　is　my　passenger。　God　help　us　both。
　　'Jack；　what's　happening？'　Richard　shrieked。　'What　are　you　doing？　Stop　it！　STOP　IT！　STOP…'
　　Richard　was　still　shrieking；　but　Jack　no　longer　heard　him…suddenly；　triumphantly；　that　feeling　of　creeping　doom　cracked　open　like　a　black　egg　and　his　brain　filled　up　with　light…light　and　a　sweet　purity　of　air；　air　so　pure　that　you　could　smell　the　radish　a　man　pulled　out　of　his　garden　half　a　mile　away。　Suddenly　Jack　felt　as　if　he　could　simply　push　off　and　jump　all　the　way　across　the　quad　。　。　。　or　fly；　like　those　men　with　the　wings　strapped　to　their　backs。
　　Oh；　there　was　light　and　clear　air　replacing　that　foul；　garbagey　stench　and　a　sensation　of　crossing　voids　of　darkness；　and　for　a　moment　everything　in　him　seemed　clear　and　full　of　radiance；　for　a　moment　everything　was　rainbow；　rainbow；　rainbow。
　　So　Jack　Sawyer　flipped　into　the　Territories　again；　this　time　while　running　headlong　across　the　degenerating　Thayer　campus；　with　the　sound　of　cracked　bells　and　snarling　dogs　filling　the　air。
　　And　this　time　he　dragged　Morgan　Sloat's　son　Richard　with　him。
　　
　　　INTERLUDE
　　　
　　Sloat　in　This　World/
　　Orris　in　the　Territories　（III）
　　
　　Shortly　after　seven　a。m。　on　the　morning　following　Jack　and　Richard's　flip　out　from　Thayer；　Morgan　Sloat　drew　up　to　the　curb　just　outside　the　main　gates　of　Thayer　School。　He　parked。　The　space　was　marked　with　a　HANDICAPPED　ONLY　sign。　Sloat　glanced　at　it　indifferently；　then　reached　into　his　pocket；　drew　out　a　vial　of　cocaine；　and　used　some　of　it。　In　a　few　moments　the　world　seemed　to　gain　color　and　vitality。　It　was　wonderful　stuff。　He　wondered　if　it　would　grow　in　the　Territories；　and　if　it　would　be　more　potent　over　there。
　　Gardener　himself　had　awakened　Sloat　in　his　Beverly　Hills　home　at　two　in　the　morning　to　tell　him　what　had　happened…it　had　been　midnight　in　Springfield。　Gardener's　voice　had　been　trembling。　He　was　obviously　terrified　that　Morgan　would　fly　into　a　rage；　and　furious　that　he　had　missed　Jack　Sawyer　by　less　than　an　hour。
　　'That　boy　。　。　。　that　bad；　bad　boy　。　。　。'
　　Sloat　had　not　flown　into　a　rage。　Indeed；　he　had　felt　extraordinary　calm。　He　felt　a　sense　of　predestination　which　he　suspected　came　from　that　other　part　of　him…what　he　thought　of　as　'his　Orris…ness'　in　a　half…understood　pun　on　royalty。
　　'Be　calm；'　Sloat　had　soothed。　'I'll　be　there　as　soon　as　I　can。　Hang　in　there；　baby。'　
　　He　had　broken　the　connection　before　Gardener　could　say　any　more；　and　lain　back　on　the　bed。　He　had　crossed　his　hands　on　his　stomach　and　closed　his　eyes。　There　was　a　moment　of　weightlessness　。　。　。　just　a　moment　。　。　。　and　then　he　felt　a　sensation　of　movement　beneath　him。　He　heard　the　creak　of　leather　　traces；　the　groan　and　thump　of　rough　iron　springs；　the　curses　of　his　driver。
　　He　had　opened　his　eyes　as　Morgan　of　Orris。
　　As　always；　his　first　reaction　was　pure　delight：　this　made　coke　seem　like　baby　aspirin。　His　chest　was　narrower；　his　weight　less。　Morgan　Sloat's　heartbeat　ran　anywhere　from　eighty…five　beats　a　minute　to　a　hundred　and　twenty　when　he　was　pissed　off；　Orris's　rarely　went　higher　than　sixty…five　or　so。　Morgan　Sloat's　eyesight　was　tested　at　20/20；　but　Morgan　of　Orris　nonetheless　saw　better。　He　could　see　and　trace　the　course　of　every　minute　crack　in　the　sidewall　of　the　diligence；　could　marvel　over　the　fineness　of　the　mesh　curtains　which　blew　through　the　windows。　Cocaine　had　clogged　Sloat's　nose；　dulling　his　sense　of　smell；　Orris's　nose　was　totally　clear　and　he　could　smell　dust　and　earth　and　air　with　perfect　fidelity…it　was　as　if　he　could　sense　and　appreciate　every　molecule。
　　Behind　him　he　had　left　an　empty　double　bed　still　marked　with　the　shape　of　his　large　body。　Here　he　was　sitting　on　a　bench　seat　plusher　than　the　seat　in　any　Rolls…Royce　ever　made；　riding　west　toward　the　end　of　the　Outposts；　toward　a　place　which　was　called　Outpost　Depot。　Toward　a　man　named　Anders。　He　knew　these　things；　knew　exactly　where　he　was；　because　Orris　was　still　here；　inside　his　head…speaking　to　him　the　way　the　right　side　of　the　brain　may　speak　to　the　rational　left　during　daydreams；　in　a　low　but　perfectly　clear　voice。　Sloat　had　spoken　to　Orris　in　this　same　low　undervoice　on　the　few　occasions　when　Orris　had　Migrated　to　what　Jack　had　e　to　think　of　as　the　American　Territories。　When　one　Migrated　and　entered　the　body　of　one's　Twinner；　the　result　was　a　kind　of　benign　possession。　Sloat　had　read　of　more　violent　cases　of　possession；　and　although　the　subject　did　not　greatly　interest　him；　he　guessed　that　the　poor；　unlucky　slobs　so　afflicted　had　been　taken　over　by　mad　hitchhikers　from　other　worlds…or　perhaps　it　was　the　American　world　itself　which　had　driven　them　mad。　That　seemed　more　than　possible；　it　had　certainly　done　a　number　on　poor　old　Orris's　head　the　first　two　or　three　times　he　had　popped　over；　although　he　had　been　wildly　excited　as　well　as　terrified。
　　The　diligence　took　a　mighty　bounce…in　the　Outposts；　you　took　the　roads　as　you　found　them　and　thanked　God　they　were　there　at　all。　Orris　shifted　in　his　seat　and　his　clubfoot　muttered　dull　pain。
　　'Hold　on　steady；　God　pound　you；'　the　driver　muttered　up　above。　His　whip　whistled　and　popped。　'Roll；　you　sons　of　dead　whores！　Roll　on！'　
　　Sloat　grinned　with　the　pleasure　of　being　here；　even　though　it　would　only　be　for　moments。　He　already　knew　what　he　needed　to　know；　Orris's　voice　had　muttered　it　to　him。　The　diligence　would　arrive　at　Outpost　Depot…Thayer　School　in　the　other　world…well　before　morning。　It　might　be　possible　to　take　them　there　if　they　had　lingered；　if　not；　the　Blasted　Lands　awaited　them。　It　hurt　and　enraged　him　to　think　that　Richard　was　now　with　the　Sawyer　brat；　but　if　a　sacrifice　was　demanded　。　。　。　well；　Orris　had　lost　his　son　and　survived。
　　The　only　thing　that　had　kept　Jack　alive　this　long　was　the　maddening　fact　of　his　single　nature…when　the　whelp　flipped　to　a　place；　he　was　always　in　the　analogue　of　the　place　he　had　left。　Sloat；　however；　always　ended　up　where　Orris　was；　which　might　be　miles　away　from　where　he　needed　to　be　。　。　。　as　was　the　case　now。　He　had　been　lucky　at　the　rest　area；　but　Sawyer　had　been　luckier。
　　'Your　luck　will　run　out　soon　enough；　my　little　friend；'　Orris　said。　The　diligence　took　another　terrific　bounce。　He　grimaced；　then　grinned。　If　nothing　else；　the　situation　was　simplifying　itself　even　as　the　final　confrontation　took　on　wider　and　deeper　implications。
　　Enough。
　　He　closed　his　eyes　and　crossed　his　arms。　For　just　a　moment　he　felt　another　dull　thud　of　pain　in　the　deformed　foot　。　。　。　and　when　he　opened　his　eyes；　Sloat　was　looking　up　at　the　ceiling　of　his　apartment。　As　always；　there　was　a　moment　when　the　extra　pounds　fell　into　him　with　sickening　weight；　when　his　heart　reacted　with　a　surprised　double…beat　and　then　sped　up。
　　He　had　gotten　to　his　feet　then　and　had　called　West　Coast　Business　Jet。　Seventy　minutes　later　he　had　been　leaving　LAX。　The　Lear's　steep　and　abrupt　takeoff　stance　made　him　feel　as　it　always　did…it　was　as　if　a　blowtorch　had　been　strapped　to　his　ass。　They　had　touched　down　in　Springfield　at　five…fifty　central　time；　just　as　Orris　would　be　approaching　Outpost　Depot　in　the　Territories。　Sloat　had　rented　a　Hertz　sedan　and　here　he　was。　American　travel　did　have　its　advantages。
　　He　got　out　of　the　car　and；　just　as　the　morning　bells　began　to　ring；　he　walked　onto　the　Thayer　campus　his　own　son　had　so　lately　quitted。
　　Everything　was　the　essence　of　an　early　Thayer　weekday　morning。　The　chapel　bells　were　playing　a　normal　morning　tune；　something　classical　but　not　quite　recognizable　which　sounded　a　bit　like　'Te　Deum'　but　wasn't。　Students　passed　Sloat　on　their　way　to　the