p&c.brimstone-第89部分

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　Now；　above　the　usual　prison　sounds；　he　heard　something　else：　voices；　a　clang；　a　sudden　burst　of　shouting　from　the　other　prisoners。　Buck　stood　up。　
　Was　it　starting？　Was　it　starting　at　last？　
　Four　police　officers　appeared　down　the　hall；　heavily　armed；　billy　clubs　swinging　from　their　hips；　swaggering　in　formation。　For　him：　they　were　ingfor　him　。　He　felt　a　tingle　of　anticipation。　Something　would　happen　now。　It　might　be　very　hard。　It　would　no　doubt　test　him　to　the　utmost。　But　whatever　it　was；　he　would　accept　it。　It　was　part　of　God's　great　plan。　
　They　halted　outside　his　cell。　He　stared　back　at　them；　waiting。　One　stepped　forward　and　read　from　a　card　clipped　to　a　green　folder。　
　〃Wayne　Paul　Buck？〃　
　He　nodded；　stiffening。　
　〃You're　to　e　with　us。〃　
　〃I'm　ready；〃　he　said；　defiantly　but　with　quiet　dignity。　
　The　man　unlocked　the　cell。　The　others　stood　back；　guns　at　the　ready。　
　〃Step　out；　please。　Turn　around　and　place　your　hands　behind　your　back。〃　
　He　did　as　he　was　told。　It　was　going　to　be　bad；　very　bad：　he　could　feel　it。　The　cold　steel　of　the　cuffs　went　around　his　wrists；　and　there　was　a　click：　a　portent　of　things　to　e。　
　〃This　way；　sir。〃　
　Sir。The　mocking　was　beginning。　
　They　marched　him　silently　down　the　hall　to　an　elevator；　rose　a　few　floors；　then　down　another　sterile　corridor　to　a　gray　metal　door。　They　knocked。　
　〃e　in；〃　said　a　feminine　voice。　
　The　door　opened；　and　Buck　found　himself　in　a　small　office　with　a　metal　desk；　a　single　window　looking　out　over　the　nightscape　of　lower　Manhattan。　Sitting　at　the　desk　wasthat　one；　the　female　cop　who　had　led　the　centurions　in　to　arrest　him。　
　He　stood　proudly　before　her；　unbowed。　She　was　his　Pontius　Pilate。　
　She　accepted　the　folder　from　the　lead　cop。　〃Have　you　had　access　to　a　lawyer？〃　she　asked。　
　〃I　don't　need　a　lawyer。　God　is　my　advocate。〃　He　noticed；　for　the　first　time；　how　pretty　she　was…and　how　young。　She　had　a　discreet　bandage　above　her　ear；　where　she　had　been　hit　with　the　rock。　He　had　saved　her　from　death。　
　The　devil　has　many　faces。　
　〃As　you　wish。〃　She　rose；　pulled　her　jacket　off　a　hook；　slid　into　it；　then　nodded　to　the　policemen。　〃Is　the　marshal　ready？〃　
　〃Yes；　Captain。〃　
　〃Let's　go；　then。〃　
　〃Where？〃　Buck　asked。　
　Her　only　answer　was　to　lead　the　way　down　the　hall。　They　took　another　elevator　down　and　out　through　a　maze　of　corridors　into　the　yard；　where　an　unmarked　police　car　sat；　idling；　gleaming　beneath　a　dozen　sodium　lamps。　A　uniformed　cop　was　behind　the　wheel。　A　small；　heavyset　man　in　gray　polyester　stood　beside　the　passenger　door；　hands　clasped　before　him。　
　〃You　can　uncuff　him；〃　Hayward　said　to　the　cops。　〃Put　him　in　the　back；　please。〃　
　They　uncuffed　him；　opened　the　door；　eased　him　in。　Meanwhile；　Hayward　was　talking　to　the　man　in　the　suit；　giving　him　the　green　folder　and　a　clipboard。　He　signed　the　clipboard；　handed　it　back　to　her；　got　in　beside　the　driver；　and　slammed　the　door。　
　Now　Hayward　leaned　in　at　the　rear　window。　〃You're　probably　wondering　what's　going　to　happen　to　you；　Mr。　Buck。〃　
　Buck　felt　a　rush　of　emotion。　This　was　it：　he　was　being　led　away；　taken　to　meet　his　end；　his　supreme　moment。　He　was　ready。　
　〃This　gentleman　is　a　U。S。　marshal；　who　is　going　to　escort　you　by　plane　back　to　Broken　Arrow；　Oklahoma；　where　you　are　wanted　for　parole　violation。〃　
　Buck　sat　there；　stunned。　This　couldn't　be。　More　mockery。　It　was　a　trick；　a　ruse。　
　〃Did　you　hear　me？〃　
　Buck　did　not　acknowledge。　Ithad　to　be　a　trick。　
　〃The　D。A。　decided　not　to　file　any　charges　against　you　here　in　New　York…too　much　trouble。　And　to　tell　you　the　truth；　you　didn't　really　do　anything　all　that　wrong；　outside　of　exercising　your　right　of　free　speech　in　a　rather　misguided　way。　We　were　lucky；　avoided　a　riot；　managed　to　disperse　the　crowd　peacefully　once　you　left。　Everyone　went　home　and　the　area's　now　fenced。　Soon　the　Parks　Department　will　be　giving　it　a　thorough　cleaning　and　reseeding；　which　it　needed　anyway。　So；　you　see；　no　real　harm　was　done；　and　we　felt　it　better　to　let　the　whole　incident　die　a　quiet　death　and　be　forgotten。〃　
　Buck　listened；　hardly　able　to　believe　his　ears。　
　〃And　what　about　me？〃　he　finally　managed　to　say。　
　〃Like　I　said；　we're　shipping　you　back　to　Oklahoma；　where　there's　a　parole　officer　really　anxious　to　talk　to　you。　We　don't　want　you。　They　had　a　prior　and　wanted　you　back。　Nice　ending　all　around。〃　
　She　smiled；　laid　her　hand　on　the　side　of　the　car。　〃Mr。　Buck？　Are　you　all　right？〃　
　He　didn't　answer。　Hewasn't　all　right。　He　felt　sick。　This　wasn't　what　was　supposed　to　happen。　It　was　a　trick；　a　vicious　trick。　
　She　leaned　in　just　a　little　farther。　〃Mr。　Buck？　If　you　don't　mind；　there's　something　personal　I'd　like　to　say　to　you。〃　
　He　stared　at　her。　
　〃First　of　all；　there's　only　one　Jesus　and　you　aren't　Him。　Another　thing：　I'm　a　Christian；　and　I　try　to　be　a　good　one；　although　I　may　not　always　succeed。　You　had　no　right　to　stand　there　when　I　was　at　the　mercy　of　that　crowd；　point　your　finger　at　me；　and　pass　judgment。　You　should　take　a　good　look　at　that　passage　in　the　Gospel　of　Matthew：Judge　not；　that　ye　be　not　judged　。　。　。　Thou　hypocrite；　first　cast　out　the　beam　out　of　thine　own　eye；　and　then　shalt　thou　see　clearly　to　cast　out　the　mote　out　of　thy　brother's　eye。　〃　
　She　paused。　〃I　always　liked　the　King　James　Version　the　best。　Now；　listen。　You　worry　aboutyourself　from　now　on；　being　a　good　citizen；　keeping　out　of　trouble；　and　obeying　the　law。〃　
　〃But　。　。　。　You　don't　realize　。　。　。　It's　going　to　happen。　I　warn　you；　it's　ing。〃　Buck　could　barely　articulate　the　words。　
　〃If　there's　a　Second　ing　in　the　works；　you　sure　as　heck　won't　get　advance　notice…that　much　Ido　know。〃　
　With　that；　she　smiled；　patted　the　side　of　the　car；　and　said；　〃Farewell；　Mr。　Buck。　Keep　your　nose　clean。〃　
　　　
　84　
　
　In　the　elegantly　appointed　dining　room　within　the　main　massingof　the　Castello　Fosco；　the　count　waited；　quite　patiently；　for　his　dinner。　The　walls　of　the　fifteenth…century　villa　were　extremely　thick；　and　there　was　no　sound　at　all　save　the　faint　mechanical　whirring　of　Bucephalus　from　a　white　T…stand　nearby；　applying　his　artificial　beak　to　an　artificial　nut。　The　stately　windows　of　the　room　looked　out　over　a　spectacular　landscape：　the　hills　of　Chianti；　the　deep　valley　of　the　Greve。　But　Fosco　was　content　to　sit　in　his　heavy　oak　chair　at　one　end　of　the　long　table；　reviewing…with　delicious　tranquillity…the　events　of　the　day。　
　His　reverie　was　broken　by　the　shuffle　of　feet　in　the　passageway。　A　moment　later　his　cook；　Assunta；　appeared；　bearing　a　large　serving　tray。　Placing　it　at　the　far　end　of　the　table；　she　presented　the　dishes　to　him　one　by　one；　a　simplemaltagliati　ai　porcini　；　oxtail；　servedalla　vaccinara　；fegatinigrilled　over　the　fire；　acontorno　of　fennel　braised　in　olive　oil。　It　was　the　simple；　homely　fare　his　cook　excelled　at　and　Fosco　preferred　while　in　the　country。　And　if　Assunta's　presentation　lacked　the　polish　and　subtlety　of　Pinketts…that；　alas；　could　not　be　helped。　
　He　thanked　her；　pouring　himself　a　glass　of　the　estate's　exceptional　Chianti　Classico　as　she　left　the　room。　And　then　he　applied　himself　to　his　dinner　with　relish。　Although　he　felt　famished；　he　ate　slowly；　savoring　every　bite；　every　mouthful　of　wine。　
　At　last；　meal　plete；　he　rang　a　small　silver　bell　that　lay　near　his　right　hand。　Assunta　reappeared。　
　〃Grazie；〃he　said；　dabbing　the　corners　of　his　mouth　with　a　huge　linen　napkin。　
　Assunta　curtsied　a　little　awkwardly。　
　The　count　rose。　〃Once　you　have　cleared　away；　you　may　take　a　few　days　off。〃　
　The　cook　glanced　at　him　inquiringly　without　raising　her　head。　
　〃Per　favore；　signora。It　has　been　months　since　you　visited　your　son　in　Pontremoli。〃　
　The　curtsy　deepened。〃Mille　grazie。〃　
　〃Prego。　Buona　sera。〃And　the　count　turned　lightly　on　his　heel　and　left　the　dining　room。　
　Once　the　cook　had　departed；　the　castle　would　be　empty　of　servants。　His　men　had　done　their　work　and　departed。　Even　the　groundskeepers　had　been　given　a　few　days'　absence。　Only　Giuseppe；　the　ancient　dogmaster；　remained　on　the　estate：　as　it　happened；　he　could　not　be　spared。　
　It　was　not　that　Fosco　distrusted　his　retainers：　they　all　had　ancient　ties　to　his　family；　some　going　back　as　far　as　eight　hundred　years；　and　their　loyalty　was　without　question。　It　was　simply　that　he　wanted　to　finish　this　business　undisturbed。　
　He　moved　slowly　and　purposefully　through　the　huge　rooms　of　the　castle：　thesalone　；　the　hall　of　portraits；　the　hall　of　armor。　His　stroll　took　him　back　through　time：　first；　through　the　older；　thirteenth…century　additions；　then　into　still　older　chambers；　built　half　a　millennium　earlier。　Here　there　was　no　electricity；　no　modern　conveniences　such　as　plumbing　or　central　heating。　The　warren　of　small；　windowless　rooms　grew　dark　and　oppressive；　and　Fosco　stopped　to　pull　a　torch　from　a　wall　sconce　and　light　it。　Turning　to　an　ancient　worktable　nearby；　he　picked　up　something　else　and　tucked　it　into　his　waistcoat。　Then　he　took　a　side　passage　and　continued　on　and　down：　down　into　a　subterranean　warren　of　tunnels　cut　into　the　living　rock。　
　Many　of　the　extensive　basements　of　the　Castello　Fosco　were　taken　up　with　the　production　of　the　estate。　A　great　many　rooms　were　devoted　to　winemaking：　filled　with　bottling　machinery　and　fermentation　vats；　or　with　countless　small　barrels　of　French　oak。　Others　were　given　over　to　the　aging　of　boar　hams：　deep；　cool　spaces　from　whose　ceilings　hung　countless　hams；　still　covered　in　coarse　fur。　Still　others　were　used　for　storing　olive　oil　or　makingbalsamico　。　But　here…far　beneath　the　bulk　of　the　castle's　stronghold…there　were　no　such　large　and　well…ventilated　spaces。　Narrow　vaults　dug　deeply　into　the　beetling　cliff　face　of　limestone；　and　stairs　corkscrewed　down　toward　old　wells　and　chambers　unused　for　half　a　millennium。　
　It　was　one　of　these　staircases　that　Fosco　now　descended。　The　air　was　chill；　the　walls　slick　with　damp。　The　count　slowed　further：　the　hand…cut　steps　were　slippery；　and　if　he　fell　there　would　be　nobody　to　hear　his　cries。　
　At　last；　the　staircase　ended　in　a　labyrinth　of　narrow　vaults；　lined　in　ancient　brick。　Niches　were　cut　into　the　walls；　and　each　contained　a　skeleton：　some　long…deceased　family　member　or…more　likely；　given　the　sheer　number…fallen　allies　from　wars　fought　a　millennium　ago。　The　air　was　bad