cb.damnationgame-第75部分

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beyond　closed　doors。　He　put　his　fingers　on　the　door　of　the　suite　and　pushed　gently。　It　swung　open　a　few　more　inches　and　he　peered　inside。　There　was；　as　he'd　guessed；　an　empty　corridor　leading　into　the　suite　itself；　off　it；　four　doors。　Three　were　closed；　one　ajar。　From　behind　one　of　the　closed　doors　came　the　voices　he'd　heard。　He　concentrated；　trying　to　pick　some　sense　from　the　murmur；　but　he　failed　to　catch　more　than　an　odd　word。　He　recognized　the　speakers；　however：　one　was　Whitehead；　the　other　Mamoulian。　And　the　tone　of　the　exchange　was　apparent　too；　gentlemanly；　civilized。
　　Not　for　the　first　time　he　longed　to　possess　the　ability　to　go　to　Carys　the　way　that　she　had　e　to　him；　to　seek　out　her　location　with　mind　alone；　and　to　debate　the　best　means　of　escape。　As　it　was；　all…as　ever…was　chance。
　　He　advanced　along　the　hallway　to　the　first　closed　door；　and　surreptitiously　opened　it。　Though　the　lock　made　some　noise　the　voices　in　the　far　room　murmured　on；　unalerted　to　his　presence。　The　room　he　peered　into　was　a　cloakroom；　no　more。　He　closed　the　door　and　advanced　a　few　more　yards　down　the　carpeted　corridor。　Through　the　open　door　he　could　hear　movement；　then　the　clink　of　glass。　A　candle　shadow；　thrown　by　someone　inside；　flitted　across　the　wall。　He　stood　absolutely　still；　reluctant　to　retreat　a　foot　now　that　he'd　got　so　far。　Voices　drifted　from　the　adjacent　room。
　　〃Shit；　Chad；〃　the　speaker　sounded　almost　fearful。　〃What　the　fuck　are　we　doing　here？　I　can't　think　properly。〃　The　objection　was　met　with　laughter。　〃You　don't　need　to　think。　We're　on　God's　work　here；　Tommy。　Drink　up。〃　〃Something　terrible's　going　to　happen；〃　Tom　said。
　　〃Sure　as　shit；〃　Chad　replied。　〃Why'd　you　think　we're　here。　Now　drink。〃　Marty　had　rapidly　worked　out　the　identity　of　this　pair。　They　were　here　on　God's　work：　including　murder。　He　had　seen　them　buying　ice　creams　in　the　afternoon　sun；　with　their　bloody　knives　safely　pocketed。　Fear　overrode　the　urge　to　revenge；　however。　He　had　little　enough　chance　of　getting　out　of　here　alive　as　it　was。
　　There　was　one　last　door　to　be　investigated；　directly　opposite　the　room　occupied　by　the　young　Americans。　In　order　to　check　it；　he　would　have　to　cross　in　front　of　the　open　door。
　　The　lazy　voice　began　again。
　　〃You　look　like　you　want　to　puke。〃　〃Why　don't　you　let　me　alone？〃　the　other　replied。　He　seemed；　or　was　this　just　wishful　thinking？　to　be　moving　away。　Then　came　the　unmistakable　sound　of　retching。　Marty　held　his　breath。　Would　the　other　youth　go　to　his　panion's　aid？　He　prayed　so。
　　〃You　OK；　Tommy？〃　The　voice　changed　timbre　as　the　speaker　moved。　Yes；　he　was　walking　away　from　the　door。　Taking　chance　by　the　throat；　Marty　stepped　smartly　off　from　the　wall；　opened　the　final　door；　closing　it　behind　him。
　　The　room　he　had　entered　was　not　large；　but　it　was　dark。　By　the　little　light　there　was　he　could　see　a　figure　lying　curled　up　on　the　floor。　It　was　Carys。　She　was　sleeping；　her　even　exhalations　marked　a　gentle　rhythm。
　　He　went　to　where　she　lay。　How　to　wake　her：　that　was　the　problem。　Next　door；　one　wall　away；　was　the　European。　If　she　made　the　slightest　sound　as　he　roused　her；　he　would　surely　hear。　And　if　he　didn't；　the　Americans　would。
　　He　went　down　on　his　haunches　and　gently　laid　his　hand　over　her　mouth；　then　shook　her　shoulder。　She　seemed　resistant　to　waking。　She　frowned　in　her　sleep　and　muttered　some　plaint。　He　bent　closer　to　her　and　risked　hissing　her　name　urgently　into　her　ear。　That　did　the　trick。　Her　eyes　sprang　open；　wide　as　an　astonished　child's；　her　mouth　formed　a　cry　against　his　palm。　Recognition　came　the　instant　before　she　gave　voice。
　　He　removed　his　hand。　There　was　no　weling　smile；　her　face　was　pallid　and　grim；　but　she　touched　his　lips　with　her　fingertips　in　wele。　He　stood　up；　offering　her　a　hand。
　　Next　door；　a　row　had　suddenly　erupted。　The　mellow　voices　were　raised　in　mutual　accusation；　furniture　was　being　overturned。　Mamoulian　shouted　for　Chad。　In　answer　there　came　the　thud　of　feet　from　the　bathroom。
　　〃Damn。〃　There　was　no　time　for　tactical　thinking。　They'd　have　to　make　a　break　for　it　and　take　what　the　moment　offered；　good　or　bad。　He　pulled　Carys　to　her　feet　and　crossed　to　the　door。　As　he　turned　the　handle　he　glanced　over　his　shoulder　to　check　that　Carys　was　still　following　him；　but　disaster　had　registered　on　her　face。　He　turned　back　to　the　door　and　the　reason…Saint　Thomas；　his　chin　shiny　with　vomit…was　standing　directly　outside　the　door。　He　was　apparently　as　startled　to　see　Marty　as　the　other　way　around。　Using　his　hesitation；　Marty　stepped　into　the　hallway　and　pushed　Tom　in　the　chest。　The　American　fell　back；　the　word　〃Chad！〃　escaping　his　lips　as　he　stumbled　through　the　open　door　opposite；　knocking　over　a　bowl　of　strawberries　as　he　did　so。　The　fruit　rolled　underfoot。
　　Marty　ducked　around　the　dressing…room　door　and　out　into　the　hall；　but　the　American　recovered　his　balance　with　speed；　and　reached　out　to　snatch　the　back　of　his　shirt。　The　attempt　was　sufficient　to　slow　Marty　down；　and　as　he　turned　to　beat　the　arresting　hand　away　he　saw　the　second　American　emerging　from　the　room　the　old　men　were　in。　There　was　a　frightening　serenity　in　the　youth's　eyes　as　he　closed　in　on　Marty。
　　〃Run！〃　was　all　he　could　shout　to　Carys；　but　the　blond　god　stopped　her　as　she　slipped　out　into　the　corridor；　pushing　her　back　the　way　she'd　e　with　a　breathed　〃No；〃　before　continuing　on　his　way　toward　Marty。　〃Hold　her；〃　he　told　his　panion　as　he　took　over　the　hold　on　Marty。　Tom　stepped　out　of　sight　after　Carys；　and　there　was　a　noise　of　struggle；　but　Marty　had　little　time　to　analyze　it；　as　Chad　doubled　him　up　with　a　blow　to　the　stomach。　Marty；　too　confused　by　the　sudden　rush　of　action　to　prepare　for　the　pain；　groaned　and　fell　back　against　the　front　door　of　the　suite；　slamming　it。　The　blond　boy　followed　him　down　the　corridor；　and　through　tear…bleared　eyes　Marty　just　caught　sight　of　the　next　blow　before　it　landed。　He　didn't　see　the　third　or　fourth。　There　was　no　time　between　the　punches　and　kicks　to　stand　upright　or　catch　a　breath。　The　corn…fed　body　pummeling　him　was　lithe　and　strong；　more　than　Marty's　equal。　Vainly；　he　flailed　against　the　tattoo。　He　was　so　damn　tired　and　sick。　His　nose　began　to　bleed　again；　and　still　the　serene　eyes　fixed　him　as　the　fists　beat　his　body　black。　So　calm；　those　eyes；　they　could　have　been　at　prayer。　But　it　was　Marty　who　was　falling　to　his　knees；　Marty　whose　head　was　dragged　back　in　enforced　adulation　as　the　blond　boy　spat　on　him；　Marty　who　said；　〃Help　me〃…or　some　bruised　corruption　of　those　words…as　he　collapsed。
　　Mamoulian　stepped　out　of　the　gaming　room；　leaving　the　pilgrim　to　his　tears。　He'd　done　as　the　old　man　had　asked…they'd　played　a　game　or　two　for　old　times〃　sake。　But　now　the　indulgence　was　over。　And　what　was　this　chaos　in　the　hall；　the　tangle　of　limbs　at　the　front　door；　blood　spattered　on　the　wall？　Ah；　it　was　Strauss。　Somehow　the　European　had　expected　a　late　arrival　at　the　celebrations；　who　it　was　to　be；　he　hadn't　foreseen。　He　stalked　the　corridor　to　see　what　damage　had　been　done；　looking　down　at　the　disfigured；　spittle…laced　face　with　a　sigh。　Saint　Chad；　his　fists　bloody；　was　sweating　a　little：　the　scent　off　the　young　lion　was　sweet。
　　〃He　was　almost　away；〃　the　Saint　said。
　　〃Indeed；〃　the　European　replied；　gesturing　for　the　youth　to　give　him　room。
　　From　his　collapsed　position　on　the　hall　floor　Marty　gazed　up　at　the　Last　European。　The　air　between　them　seemed　to　be　itching。　Marty　waited。　Surely　the　killing　stroke　would　follow　quickly。　But　there　was　nothing；　except　the　gaze　from　those　nonmittal　eyes。　Even　in　his　broken　state　Marty　could　see　the　tragedy　written　in　the　mask　of　Mamoulian's　face。　It　no　longer　terrified　him：　simply　fascinated。　This　man　was　the　source　of　the　nullity　he　had　barely　survived　in　Caliban　Street。　Was　there　not　a　ghost　of　that　gray　air　lurking　in　his　sockets　now；　seeping　from　his　nostrils　and　mouth　as　though　a　fire　smoldered　in　his　cranium？
　　In　the　room　where　he　and　the　European　had　played　cards　Whitehead　moved　stealthily　across　to　the　pillow　of　his　makeshift　bed。　Events　in　the　hall　had　shifted　the　focus　for　a　useful　moment。　He　slipped　his　hand　beneath　the　pillow　and　drew　out　the　gun　hidden　there；　then　crept　through　into　the　adjoining　dressing　room；　and　slipped　out　of　sight　behind　the　wardrobe。
　　From　that　position　he　could　see　Saint　Tom　and　Carys　standing　in　the　hallway；　watching　events　at　the　front　door。　Both　were　too　intent　on　the　gladiators　to　notice　in　the　darkened　room。
　　〃Is　he　dead　。　。　。？〃　Tom　asked；　from　a　distance。
　　〃Who　knows？〃　Whitehead　heard　Mamoulian　reply。　〃Put　him　in　the　bathroom；　out　of　the　way。〃　Whitehead　watched　as　Strauss〃　inert　bulk　was　hauled　past　the　door　and　into　the　room　opposite；　to　be　dumped　in　the　bathroom。　Mamoulian　approached　Carys。
　　〃You　brought　him　here；〃　he　said　simply。
　　She　didn't　reply。　Whitehead's　gun　hand　itched。　From　where　he　was　standing　Mamoulian　made　an　easy　target；　except　that　Carys　stood　in　the　way。　Would　a　bullet；　fired　at　her　back；　pass　through　her　and　into　the　European？　The　thought；　though　appalling；　had　to　be　contemplated：　survival　was　at　issue　here。　But　the　moment's　hesitation　had　snatched　his　chance。　The　European　was　escorting　Carys　toward　the　gaming　room；　and　out　of　shot。　No　matter；　it　left　the　coast　clear。
　　He　slipped　out　of　hiding　and　darted　to　the　dressing…room　door。　As　he　stepped　into　the　corridor　he　heard　Mamoulian　say：　〃Joseph？〃　Whitehead　ran　the　few　yards　to　the　front　door；　knowing　the　chance　of　escape　without　violence　was　gossamer…thin。　He　grabbed　the　handle　and　turned　it。
　　〃Joseph；〃　said　the　voice　behind　him。
　　Whitehead's　hand　froze　as　he　felt　invisible　fingers　plucking　at　the　nape　of　his　neck。　He　ignored　the　pressure　and　forced　the　handle　around。　It　slid　in　his　sweaty　palm。　The　thought　that　breathed　at　his　neck　pressed　around　his　axis　vertebra；　the　threat　unmistakable。　Well　then；　he　thought；　the　choice　is　out　of　my　hands。　He　released　the　door　handle　and　turned　fully　around　to　face　the　card…player。　He　was　standing　at　the　end　of　the　corridor；　which　seemed　to　be　darkening；　being　a　tunnel　extruded　from　Mamoulian's　eyes。　Such　potent　illusions。　But　simply　that：　illusions。　He　could　resist　them　long　enough　to　bring　their　forger　down。　Whitehead　raised　the　gun　and　pointed　it