rz.thehandofoberon-第9部分

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en　expected　our　devotion　and　support。　He　played　favorites　and；　in　fact；　it　even　seemed　he　played　us　off　against　one　another。　He　then　got　suckered　into　something　he　could　not　handle　and　left　the　kingdom　in　a　mess。　Sigmund　Freud　had　long　ago　anesthetized　me　to　any　normal；　generalized　feelings　of　resentment　which　might　operate　within　the　family　unit。　I　have　no　quarrel　on　those　grounds。　Facts　are　another　matter。　I　did　not　dislike　my　father　simply　because　he　had　given　me　no　reason　to　like　him；　in　truth；　it　seemed　that　he　had　labored　in　the　other　direction。　Enough。　I　realized　what　it　was　that　bothered　me　about　the　notion　of　duty：　its　object。
　〃You　are　right；〃　I　said；　opening　my　eyes；　regarding　her；　〃and　I　am　glad　that　you　told　me　of　it。〃
　I　rose。
　〃Give　me　your　hand；〃　I　said。
　She　extended　her　right　hand　and　I　raised　it　to　my　lips。
　〃Thank　you；〃　I　said。　〃It　was　a　good　lunch。〃
　I　turned　and　made　my　way　to　the　door。　When　I　looked　back　she　had　blushed　and　was　smiling；　her　hand　still　partly　raised；　and　I　began　to　understand　the　change　in　Random。
　〃Good　luck　to　you；〃　she　said；　the　moment　my　footsteps　ceased。
　〃。。。　And　you；〃　I　said；　and　went　out　quickly。
　
　***
　
　I　had　been　planning　to　see　Brand　next；　but　just　could　not　bring　myself　to　do　it。　For　one　thing；　I　did　not　want　to　encounter　him　with　my　wits　dulled　by　fatigue。　For　another；　talking　with　Vialle　was　the　first　pleasant　thing　which　had　happened　to　me　in　some　time；　and　just　this　once　I　was　going　to　quit　while　I　was　ahead。
　I　mounted　the　stairs　and　walked　the　corridor　to　my　room；　thinking；　of　course；　of　the　night　of　the　knifings　as　I　fitted　my　new　key　to　my　new　lock。　In　my　bedchamber；　I　drew　the　drapes　against　the　afternoon's　light；　undressed；　and　got　into　bed。　As　on　other　occasions　of　rest　after　stress　with　more　stress　pending；　sleep　eluded　me　for　a　time。　For　a　long　while　I　tossed　and　twisted；　reliving　events　of　the　past　several　days　and　some　from　even　farther　back。　When　finally　I　slept；　my　dreams　were　an　amalgam　of　the　same　material；　including　a　spell　in　my　old　cell；　scraping　away　at　the　door。
　It　was　dark　when　I　awoke　and　I　actually　felt　rested。　The　tension　gone　out　of　me；　my　reverie　was　much　more　peaceful。　In　fact；　there　was　a　tiny　charge　of　pleasant　excitement　dancing　through　the　back　of　my　head。　It　was　a　tip…of…the…tongue　imperative；　a　buried　notion　that　…
　Yes！
　I　sat　up。　I　reached　for　my　clothes；　began　to　dress。　I　buckled　on　Grayswandir。　I　folded　a　blanket　and　tucked　it　under　my　arm。　Of　course。。。
　My　mind　felt　clear　and　my　side　had　stopped　throbbing。　I　had　no　idea　how　long　I　had　slept；　and　it　was　hardly　worth　checking　at　this　point。　I　had　something　far　more　important　to　look　into；　something　which　should　have　occurred　to　me　a　long　while　ago　…　had　occurred；　as　a　matter　of　fact。　I　had　actually　been　staring　right　at　it　once；　but　the　crush　of　time　and　events　had　ground　it　from　my　mind。　Until　now。
　I　locked　my　room　behind　me　and　headed　for　the　stairs。　Candles　flickered；　and　the　faded　stag　who　had　been　dying　for　centuries　on　the　tapestry　to　my　right　looked　back　on　the　faded　dogs　who　had　been　pursuing　him　for　approximately　as　long。　Sometimes　my　sympathies　are　with　the　stag；　usually　though；　I　am　all　dog。　Have　to　have　the　thing　restored　one　of　these　days。
　The　stairs　and　down。　No　sounds　from　below。　Late；　then。　Good。　Another　day　and　we're　still　alive。　Maybe　even　a　trifle　wiser。　Wise　enough　to　realize　there　are　many　more　things　we　still　need　to　know。　Hope；　though。　There's　that。　A　thing　I　lacked　when　I　squatted　in　that　damned　cell；　hands　pressed　against　my　ruined　eyes；　howling。　Vialle。。。　I　wish　I　could　have　spoken　with　you　for　a　few　moments　in　those　days。　But　I　learned　what　I　learned　in　a　nasty　school；　and　even　a　milder　curriculum　would　probably　not　have　given　me　your　grace。　Still。。。　hard　to　say。　I　have　always　felt　I　am　more　dog　than　stag；　more　hunter　than　victim。　You　might　have　taught　me　something　that　would　have　blunted　the　bitterness；　tempered　the　hate。　But　would　that　have　been　for　the　best？　The　hate　died　with　its　object　and　the　bitterness；　too；　has　passed　…　but　looking　back；　I　wonder　whether　I　would　have　made　it　without　them　to　sustain　me。　I　am　not　at　all　certain　that　I　would　have　survived　my　internment　without　my　ugly　panions　to　drag　me　back　to　life　and　sanity　time　and　again。　Now　I　can　afford　the　luxury　of　an　occasional　stag　thought；　but　then　it　might　have　been　fatal。　I　do　not　truly　know；　kind　lady；　and　I　doubt　that　I　ever　will。
　Stillness　on　the　second　floor。　A　few　noises　from　below。　Sleep　well；　lady。　Around；　and　down　again。　I　wondered　whether　Random　had　uncovered　anything　of　great　moment。　Probably　not；　or　he　or　Benedict　should　have　contacted　me　by　now。　Unless　there　was　trouble。　But　no。　It　is　ridiculous　to　shop　for　worries。　The　real　thing　makes　itself　felt　in　due　course；　and　I'd　more　than　enough　to　go　around。　The　ground　floor。
　〃Will；〃　I　said；　and；　〃Rolf。〃
　〃Lord　Corwin。〃
　The　two　guards　had　assumed　professional　stances　on　hearing　my　footsteps。　Their　faces　told　me　that　all　was　well；　but　I　asked　for　the　sake　of　form。
　〃Quiet；　Lord。　Quiet；〃　replied　the　senior。
　〃Very　good；〃　I　said；　and　I　continued　on；　entering　and　crossing　the　marble　dining　hall。
　It　would　work；　I　was　sure　of　that；　if　time　and　moisture　had　not　totally　effaced　it。　And　then。。。
　I　entered　the　long　corridor；　where　the　dusty　walls　pressed　close　on　either　side。　Darkness；　shadows；　my　footsteps。。。
　I　came　to　the　door　at　the　end；　opened　it；　stepped　out　onto　the　platform。　Then　down　once　more；　that　spiraling　way；　a　light　here；　a　light　there；　into　the　caverns　of　Kolvir。　Random　had　been　right；　I　decided　then。　If　you　had　gouged　out　everything；　down　to　the　level　of　that　distant　floor；　there　would　be　a　close　correspondence　between　what　was　left　and　the　place　of　that　primal　Pattern　we　had　visited　this　morning。
　。。。　On　down。　Twisting　and　winding　through　the　gloom。　The　torch　and　lantern…lit　guard　station　was　theatrically　stark　within　it。　I　reached　the　floor　and　headed　that　way。
　〃Good　evening。　Lord　Corwin；〃　said　the　lean；　cadaverous　figure　who　rested　against　a　storage　rack；　smoking　his　pipe；　grinning　around　it。
　〃Good　evening；　Roger。　How　are　things　in　the　nether　world？〃
　〃A　rat；　a　bat；　a　spider。　Nothing　much　else　astir。　Peaceful。〃
　〃You　enjoy　this　duty？〃
　He　nodded。
　〃I　am　writing　a　philosophical　romance　shot　through　with　elements　of　horror　and　morbidity。　I　work　on　those　parts　down　here。〃
　〃Fitting；　fitting；〃　I　said。　〃I'll　be　needing　a　lantern。〃
　He　took　one　from　the　rack；　brought　it　to　flame　from　his　candle。
　〃Will　it　have　a　happy　ending？〃　I　inquired。
　He　shrugged。
　〃I'll　be　happy。〃
　〃I　mean；　does　good　triumph　and　hero　bed　heroine？　Or　do　you　kill　everybody　off？〃
　〃That's　hardly　fair；〃　he　said。
　〃Never　mind。　Maybe　I'll　read　it　one　day。〃
　〃Maybe；〃　he　said。
　I　took　the　lantern　and　turned　away；　heading　in　a　direction　I　had　not　taken　in　a　long　while。　I　discovered　that　I　could　still　measure　the　echoes　in　my　mind。
　Before　too　long；　I　neared　the　wall；　sighted　the　proper　corridor；　entered　it。　It　was　simply　a　matter　of　counting　my　paces　then。　My　feet　knew　the　way。
　The　door　to　my　old　cell　stood　partly　ajar。　I　set　down　the　lantern　and　used　both　hands　to　open　it　fully。　It　gave　way　grudgingly；　moaning　as　it　moved。　Then　I　raised　the　lantern；　held　it　high；　and　entered。
　My　flesh　tingled　and　my　stomach　clenched　itself　within　me。　I　began　to　shiver。　I　had　to　fight　down　a　strong　impulse　to　bolt　and　run。　I　had　not　anticipated　such　a　reaction。　I　did　not　want　to　step　away　from　that　heavy　brassbound　door　for　fear　that　it　would　be　slammed　and　bolted　behind　me。　It　was　an　instant　close　to　pure　terror　that　the　small　dirty　cell　had　aroused　in　me。　I　forced　myself　to　dwell　on　particulars　…　the　hole　which　had　been　my　latrine；　the　blackened　spot　where　I　had　built　my　fire　on　that　final　day。　I　ran　my　left　hand　over　the　inner　surface　of　the　door；　finding　and　tracing　there　the　grooves　I　had　worn　while　scraping　away　with　my　spoon。　I　remembered　what　the　activity　had　done　to　my　hands。　I　stooped　to　examine　the　gouging。　Not　nearly　so　deep　as　it　had　seemed　at　the　time；　not　when　pared　to　the　total　thickness　of　the　door。　I　realized　how　much　I　had　exaggerated　the　effects　of　that　feeble　effort　toward　freedom。　I　stepped　past　it　and　regarded　the　wall。
　Faint。　Dust　and　moisture　had　worked　to　undo　it。　But　I　could　still　discern　the　outlines　of　the　lighthouse　of　Cabra；　bordered　by　four　slashes　of　my　old　spoon　handle。　The　magic　was　still　there；　that　force　which　had　finally　transported　me　to　freedom。　I　felt　it　without　calling　upon　it。
　I　turned　and　faced　the　other　wall。
　The　sketch　which　I　now　regarded　had　fared　less　well　than　that　of　the　lighthouse；　but　then　it　had　been　executed　with　extreme　haste　by　the　light　of　my　last　few　matches。　I　could　not　even　make　out　all　of　the　details；　though　my　memory　furnished　a　few　of　those　which　were　hidden：　It　was　a　view　of　a　den　or　library；　bookshelves　lining　the　walls；　a　desk　in　the　foreground；　a　globe　beside　the　desk。　I　wondered　whether　I　should　risk　wiping　it　clean。
　I　set　my　lantern　on　the　floor；　returned　to　the　sketch　on　the　other　wall。　With　a　corner　of　my　blanket；　I　gently　wiped　some　dust　from　a　point　near　the　base　of　the　lighthouse。　The　line　grew　clearer。　I　wiped　it　again；　exerting　a　little　more　pressure。　Unfortunate。　I　destroyed　an　inch　or　so　of　outline。
　I　stepped　back　and　tore　a　wide　strip　from　the　edge　of　the　blanket。　I　folded　what　remained　into　a　pad　and　seated　myself　on　it。　Slowly；　carefully　then；　I　set　to　work　on　the　lighthouse。　I　had　to　get　an　exact　feeling　for　the　work　before　I　tried　cleaning　the　other　one。
　Half　an　hour　later　I　stood　up　and　stretched；　bent　and　massaged　life　back　into　my　legs。　What　remained　of　the　lighthouse　was　clean。　Unfortunately；　I　had　destroyed　about　20　per　cent　of　the　sketch　before　I　developed　a　sense　of　the　wall's　texture　and　an　appropriate　stroke　across　it。　I　doubted　that　I　was　going　to　improve　any　further。
　The　lantern　sputtered　as　I　moved　it。　I　unfolded　the　blanket；　shook　it　out；　tore　off　a　fresh　strip。　Making　up　a　new　pad；　I　knelt　before　the　other　sketch　and　set　to　work。
　A　while　later　I　had　uncovered　what　remained　of　it。　I　had　forgotten　the　skull　on　the　desk　until　a　careful　stroke　revealed　it　once　again　…　and　the　angl