rr.eastofealing-第30部分

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　'Stick　your　head　down　here；　Jim。　I　want　to　whisper。'
　Soap　thrashed　and　struggled；　but　his　movements　were　being　weaker　by　the　moment。
　'I　can't　do　that　to　Soap！'
　'It　only　takes　a　second。　Take　my　word　for　it；　it　will　do　the　trick。'
　'But　it's　not　decent。'
　'Do　it　to　Soap　or　I'll　do　it　to　you。'
　Pooley　closed　his　eyes　and　gritted　his　teeth。　Reaching　up　he　performed　a　quick　vicious　action。
　'EEEEEEEEEOOOOOOOOOOOOOOW！　'
　A　few　moments　later　three　men　lay　puffing　and　panting　in　the　entrance　to　the　loading　bay　at　Meeks　Boatyard　on　the　bank　of　the　Grand　Union　Canal。　A　few　feet　away　a　wall　of　impenetrable　turquoise　light　rose　from　the　water　and　spread　away　to　either　side　and　ever　above。
　'Too　much　to　hope　that　we'd　e　up　on　the　other　side；'　sighed　Pooley。
　Soap　Distant；　red…faced　and　clutching　at　himself；　looked　daggers　at　him。　'I'll　have　you　for　that；'　he　said　painfully。
　Jim　smiled　sickly。　'What　could　we　do？　Look　on　the　bright　side；　at　least　we　all　got　out　alive。'
　'Not　all；'　said　John　Omally。
　'Eh？'
　Omally　gestured　towards　the　open　manhole　through　which　they　had　just　emerged。　'And　then　there　were　three；'　he　said　in　a　leaden　tone。
　'Holmes；'　cried　Pooley。　'In　all　the　excitement。。。'　he　scrabbled　over　to　the　manhole　and　shouted　the　detective's　name　into　the　void。　His　voice　came　back　to　him　again　and　again；　mocking　his　cries。
　'Leave　it；　Jim。'　Omally　put　his　hand　to　his　best　friend's　shoulder。　'He　never　had　a　chance。'
　'I　didn't　think。'　Pooley　looked　up　fearfully。　'I　didn't　think。'
　'None　of　us　did。　We　only　thought　of　ourselves　and　our　own。'
　'We　left　him　to。。。'
　'Yes。'
　'The　poor　bastard。'
　'The　poor　noble　bastard。　He　saved　our　lives　at　the　expense　of　his　own。'
　Pooley　climbed　slowly　to　his　feet　and　thrust　his　hands　into　his　trouser　pockets。　He　looked　up　to　where　the　Lateinos　and　Romiith　building　rose；　filling　the　skyline。　'Oh　shit！'　he　said；　kicking　at　the　toppled　manhole　cover。　'Oh；　that's　me　finished。　Those　bastards　are　going　to　pay　for　this。'
　'Oh　yes；'　said　John　Omally。　'They　are　definitely　going　to　do　all　of　that。'
　
　30
　Professor　Slobe　withdrew　a　goose　feather　quill　from　the　inkwell；　and　scratched　out　the　fifth　day　from　the　June　calendar。　From　beyond　the　shuttered　French　windows　sounds　as　of　merriment　reached　him。　The　Brentford　Festival　had　begun。　Throughout　the　night；　the　floats　had　been　assembling　upon　the　Butts　Estate；　lumbering　through　the　darkness；　heavy　and　ponderous。　Through　a　crack　in　the　shutters　he　had　watched　their　slow　progress　and　viewed　their　silhouettes；　stark　against　an　almost　white　sky。　He　had　presided　over　many　Festivals　past　and　judged　many　a　float　petition；　but　he　had　never　seen　anything　such　as　this。　The　shapes　which　rolled　onward　through　the　night　upon　their　many　wheels　were　totally　alien；　even　to　he　who　had　seen　so　much。　They　were　the　stuff　of　nightmare；　the　dreams　of　the　delirious　and　dying　sick。　If　human　hand　had　wrought　these　monstrosities；　then　it　was　a　hand　far　better　stricken　from　the　arm。
　A　shiver　ran　up　the　long　spine　of　the　ancient　scholar　and　his　mottled　hand　closed　about　a　crystal　tumbler；　half…filled　upon　his　desk。　Sleep　had　not　touched　him　in　more　than　a　week　and　could　offer　nothing　to　soothe　the　ache　which　filled　his　heart　and　the　very　marrow　of　his　bones。　The　great　clock　upon　the　mantelshelf　was　even　now　ticking　away　mankind's　final　hours。　The　prophecies　were　being　fulfilled　and　the　helplessness；　to　one　who　knew；　but　was　yet　unable　to　act；　was　beyond　human　endurance。
　Professor　Slobe　raked　his　hand　across　the　desk　and　tumbled　a　stack　of　magazines　to　the　carpeted　floor。　puter　Weekly；　Soft…wear　Review；　Micro　Times；　Popular　Processor：　the　poison　fruits　from　the　new　technology's　tree　of　life。　Mankind　had　finally　reached　its　own　level　of　super　inpetence；　and　made　itself　obsolete。　It　had　promoted　itself　into　extinction。　Unprehending；　it　had　made　a　science　out　of　the　thing；　established　a　new　order；　laid　the　foundation　for　a　new　culture；　and　ultimately　created　a　god。　Or　more　accurately；　aided　the　reinstatement　of　one　previously　superseded。　puter　technology　had　given　mankind　the　opportunity　to　regress；　to　cease　thinking　and　in　so　doing　cease　to　be。　Why　bother　to　add？　The　machine　can　do　it　for　us。　Mankind　had　been　subtly　tricked　into　believing　that　sophistication　was　progress。　That　godhead　technology　could　cure　man's　ills　at　the　flick　of　a　switch；　or　if　not　that；　then　after　a　few　more　years　of　further　sophistication。　Man　had　lost　sight　of　himself。　Darkness　was　soon　to　triumph　over　the　light；　and　the　real　means　of　confounding　it　were　fading　before　the　Professor's　eyes。　It　was　progress。　Mankind　had　made　so　much　progress　that　it　no　longer　had　any　hope　of　survival。　The　miracle　of　science　had　bee　a　chamber　of　horrors。
　Somewhere　in　the　dark　tower　which　pierced　the　Brentford　sky；　the　bleak　temple　of　technology；　the　dragon　lay　curled　in　its　lair。　Its　moment　of　release　drew　nigh；　and　who　was　there　to　plunge　the　sword　of　truth　into　its　black　heart？
　The　old　man　drained　his　glass　and　refilled　it。　He　watched　the　gilded　pendulum　endlessly　carving　its　arc。　Where　was　Holmes？　He　was　to　have　returned　at　daybreak；　having　followed　up　certain　of　his　own　leads；　but　he　was　hours　overdue。　The　Professor　had　put　into　his　keeping　certain　documents　which　he　felt　might　hold　an　ultimate　solution；　but　where　was　he　now？　Crowds　were　gathering　in　the　street　and　it　was　an　invitation　to　disaster　to　venture　out　of　doors。
　The　sound　of　rumbling　wheels　and　wild　applause　drew　his　eyes　once　more　towards　the　shuttered　windows。　Should　they　choose　now　to　make　an　assault　upon　the　house　the　Professor　knew　he　would　be　powerless　to　stop　them。　If　ever　there　was　a　time　to　rally　the　troops　beneath　the　banner　of　truth；　now　was　definitely　it。
　At　the　present　time；　the　Legion　of　Light　was　holed　up　in　an　outside　privy　in　Moby　Dick　Terrace。　There　was　more　than　just　a　little　of　the　Lost　Patrol　about　these　three　particular　stalwarts。
　'Can　you　see　anything？'　asked　Jim；　as　Omally　put　his　eye　once　more　to　the　door's　half…moon。
　'I　can　see　a　good　deal；'　the　brave　Sir　Knight　replied；　'and　to　be　perfectly　frank；　I　like　not　a　bit　of　it。'
　'Let's　have　a　squint；'　said　Soap　Distant。　'And　you　keep　your　hands　to　yourself；　Pooley。'
　'They're　in　my　pockets。　Have　a　care　where　you　step；　it's　crowded　in　here。'
　Soap's　pink　eye　rose　to　the　carved　cresent。　'My　God；'　said　he。
　'Not　mine；'　said　John　Omally。
　Beyond　the　broken　trelliswork　which　topped　the　garden　fence；　the　great　Festival　floats　were　moving　in　slow　procession。　The　thin　dawn　light；　now　tinting　their　silhouettes；　brought　them　form　and　solidity。　They　were　vast；　towering　to　fill　the　streets；　extending　outwards　within　inches　of　the　house　walls。　But　what　were　they？　They　had　something　of　the　look　of　great　bloated　sombre　reptiles；　with　scaled　flanks　and　rudimentary　limbs。　All　gill　slits　and　hulking　slabby　sides。　But　they　were　too　large；　too　daunting；　too　top…heavy。　They　did　not　fit。　How　many　of　these　monstrosities　had　already　passed　and　how　many　more　were　yet　to　e？　The　three　men　skulking　in　the　evil…smelling　dunny　chose　not　to　make　bets。
　Soap　tore　his　eye　from　the　hole　with　difficulty。　Already　the　terrible　pulsion　to　watch　each　movement　of　the　swaying　behemoths　had　bee　all　but　overwhelming。　'What　are　they？'　he　gasped；　pressing　his　hands　across　the　hole　that　he　might　see　no　more。
　'The　work　of　the　Devil。'　Omally's　voice；　ing　from　the　darkness；　put　the　wind　up　even　himself。　'We　have　to　get　out　of　here。　At　least　to　the　Professor's；　then　I　don't　know　what。'
　'A　manhole；　two　gardens　up；　leads　indirectly　into　a　tunnel　to　his　basement。'
　'Oh　no。'　This　voice　belonged　to　Jim　Pooley。　'Down　again　we　do　not　go。　I　will　take　my　chances　above　ground。'
　'Well；　please　yourself。　Whatever　killed　Holmes　could　not　pursue　us；　it　was　pretty　big。　The　tunnels　hereabouts　are　small。　I　shall　travel　below；　you　do　as　you　see　fit。'
　'I　think　we　should　stick　together；'　Omally　advised。
　'Are　you　sure　it's　safe；　Soap？'
　'To　tell　the　absolute　truth；　I'm　not　too　sure　of　anything　any　more。'
　'Oh　doom；　oh　desolation。　Oooh；　ooooow！'
　'e　on　then。'　Omally　eased　open　the　door；　and　the　three　men；　one　now　limping　a　little　and　clutching　at　himself；　ducked　across　the　garden　and　shinned　up　a　dividing　fence。　Soap's　manhole　was　overgrown　with　weeds；　which　seemed　promising。　The　hollow　Earther　took　a　slim　crooked　tool　from　his　belt　and；　scraping　away　the　undergrowth；　flipped　off　the　cover　in　a　professional　manner。　'Follow　me；'　he　said；　vanishing　from　sight。
　Pooley　looked　at　Omally。　'It's　all　up　and　down　these　days；　isn't　it？'
　'After　you；　Jim。　I　should　hate　you　to　have　cold　feet。'
　Muttering　and　plaining；　the　blighted　billionaire　clambered　into　the　hole；　followed　by　Omally；　who　drew　the　lid　back　into　place。
　Three　darting　images　vanished　from　the　screen　of　the　Lateinos　and　Romiith　puter　scan；　but　already　the　information　had　been　processed　and　relayed。　No　less　than　three　Pooleys　and　a　brace　of
　Omallys　were　already　scaling　the　garden　wall。　None　of　them　were　wearing　carnival　hats。
　'e　on；　lads。'　Soap's　voice　urged　them　on　from　the　darkness。　'And　get　a　move　on；　something　smells　a　bit　iffy　down　here。'　With　hands　about　each　other's　waists；　the　most　unmusical　of　all　conga　lines　moved　along　a　few　short　feet　beneath　the　streets　of　Brentford。　The　rumble　of　the　heavy　floats　and　the　muffled　sounds　of　chanting；　ing　faintly　to　them　as　the　duplicates　mouthed　to　the　holophonic　images　pouring　into　their　brains　through　their　minuscule　headphones；　were　anything　but　cheering。
　Soap　suddenly　came　upon　a　heavy　door　blocking　his　way。　'There　now；'　said　he。
　'Where　now；　exactly？'
　'We're　there。'
　'Good　man；　Soap。　Now　open　up；　let's　not　waste　anytime。'
　The　sounds　of　Soap　fumbling　in　his　pockets　preceded　a　long　and　dismal　groan。　'My　keys。'
　'Where　are　your　keys；　Soap？'
　'In　my　desk；　I　think。'
　A　piercing　white　light　illuminated　the　narrow　black　corridor。　It　shone　directly　on　to　three　terrified　faces；　which　had　turned　instinctively　towards　it。　From　about　the　light　source　came　the　flashing　of　blue　sparks　as　several　lethal　handsets　energized。
　'Get　out　of　the　way；'　said　Omally。　'Let　me　at　that　lock。'　The　Irishman　squeezed　past　the　pink…eyed　man　and　dropped　to　his　knees。　A　neat