cb.imajica2-第41部分

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　He　looked　from　one　wretched　face　to　the　next　and　realized　that　he　didn't　have　a　hope　of　dissuading　them　from　their　intentions。　They　hadn't　waited　out　the　years　to　be　diverted　by　argument。　They'd　waited　for　revenge。　He　had　no　choice　but　to　stop　them　with　a　pneuma；　regrettable　as　it　was　to　add　to　their　sum　of　suffering。　He　passed　the　candle　from　his　right　hand　to　his　left；　but　as　he　did　so　somebody　reached　around　him　from　behind　and　pinned　his　arms　to　his　torso。　The　candle　went　from　his　fingers　and　rolled　across　the　floor　in　the　direction　of　his　accusers。　Before　it　could　drown　in　its　own　wax；　Abelove　picked　it　up　in　his　fingered　hand。
　〃Good　work；　Flores；〃　Abelove　said。
　The　man　clutching　Gentle　grunted　his　acknowledgment；　shaking　his　prey　to　prove　he　had　it　securely　caught。　His　arms　were　flayed；　but　they　held　Gentle　like　steel　bands。
　Abelove　made　something　like　a　smile；　though　on　a　face　with　flaps　for　cheeks　and　blisters　for　lips　it　was　a　misbegotten　thing。
　〃You　don't　struggle；〃　he　said；　approaching　Gentle　with　the　candle　held　high。　〃Why's　that？　Are　you　already　resigned　to　joining　us；　or　do　you　think　we'll　be　moved　by　your　martyrdom　and　let　you　go？〃　He　was　very　close　to　Gentle　now。　〃It　is　pretty；〃　he　said。　He　cocked　his　eye　a　little；　sighing。　〃How　your　face　was　loved！〃　he　went　on。　〃And　this　chest。　How　women　fought　to　lay　their　heads　upon　it！〃　He　slid　his　stump　of　a　hand　into　Gentle's　shirt　and　tore　it　open。　〃Very　pale！　And　hairless！　It's　not　Italian　flesh；　is　it？〃
　〃Does　it　matter？〃　said　Esther。　〃As　long　as　it　bleeds；　what　do　you　care？〃
　〃He　never　deigned　to　tell　us　anything　about　himself。　We　had　to　take　him　on　trust　because　he　had　power　in　his　fingers　and　his　wits。　He's　like　a　little　God；　Tyrwhitt　used　to　say。　But　even　little　Gods　have　fathers　and　mothers。〃　Abelove　leaned　closer；　allowing　the　candle　flame　within　singeing　distance　of　Gentle's　lashes。　〃Who　are　you　really？''　Abelove　said。　〃You're　not　an　Italian。　Are　you　Dutch？　You　could　be　Dutch。　Or　a　Swiss。　Chilly　and　precise。　Huh？　Is　that　you？〃　He　paused。　Then：　〃Or　are　you　the　Devil's　child？〃
　〃Abelove；〃　Esther　protested。
　〃I　want　to　know！〃　Abelove　yelped。　〃I　want　to　hear　him　admit　he's　Lucifer's　son。〃　He　peered　at　Gentle　more　closely。　〃Go　on；〃　he　said。　〃Confess　it。〃
　〃I'm　not；〃　Gentle　said。
　〃There　was　no　Maestro　in　Christendom　could　match　you　for　feits。　That　kind　of　power　has　to　e　from　somebody。　Who；　Sartori？〃
　Gentle　would　have　gladly　told；　if　he'd　had　an　answer。　But　he　had　none。　〃Whoever　I　am；〃　he　said；　〃and　whatever　hurt　I've　done…〃
　〃　'Whatever；'　he　says！〃　Esther　spat。　〃Listen　to　him！　Whatever！　Whatever！〃
　She　pushed　Abelove　aside　and　tossed　a　loop　of　her　gut　over　Gentle's　head。　Abelove　protested；　but　he'd　prevaricated　long　enough。　He　was　howled　down　from　all　sides；　Esther's　howls　the　loudest。　Tightening　the　noose　around　Gentle's　neck；　she　tugged　on　it；　preparing　to　topple　him。　He　felt　rather　than　saw　the　devourers　awaiting　him　when　he　fell。　Something　was　gnawing　at　his　leg；　something　else　punching　his　testicles。　It　hurt　like　hell；　and　he　started　to　struggle　and　kick。　There　were　too　many　holds　upon　him；　however…gut；　arms；　and　teeth…and　he　earned　himself　not　an　inch　of　latitude　with　his　thrashings。　Past　the　red　blur　of　Esther's　fury；　he　caught　sight　of　Abelove；　crossing　himself　with　his　one…fingered　hand；　then　raising　the　candle　to　his　mouth。
　〃Don't！〃　Gentle　yelled。　Even　a　little　light　was　better　than　none。　Hearing　him　shout；　Abelove　looked　up　and　shrugged。　Then　he　blew　out　the　flame。　Gentle　felt　the　wet　flesh　around　him　rise　like　a　tide　to　claw　him　down。　The　fist　gave　up　beating　at　his　testicles　and　seized　them　instead。　He　screamed　with　pain；　his　clamor　rising　an　octave　as　someone　began　to　chew　on　his　hamstrings。
　〃Down！〃　he　heard　Esther　screech。　〃Down！〃
　Her　noose　had　cut　off　all　but　the　last　squeak　of　breath。　Choked；　crushed；　and　devoured；　he　toppled；　his　head　thrown　back　as　he　did　so。　They'd　take　his　eyes；　he　knew；　as　soon　as　they　could；　and　that　would　be　the　end　of　him。　Even　if　he　was　saved　by　some　miracle；　it　would　be　worthless　if　they'd　taken　his　eyes。　Unmanned；　he　could　go　on　living；　but　not　blind。　His　knees　struck　the　boards；　and　fingers　clawed　for　access　to　his　face。　Knowing　he　had　mere　seconds　of　sight　left　to　him；　he　opened　his　eyes　as　wide　as　he　could　and　stared　up　into　the　darkness　overhead；　hoping　to　find　some　last　lovely　thing　to　spend　them　on：　a　beam　of　dusty　moonlight；　a　spider's　web；　trembling　at　the　din　he　raised。　But　the　darkness　was　too　deep。　His　eyes　would　be　thumbed　out　before　he　could　use　them　again。
　And　then；　a　motion　in　that　darkness。　Something　unfurling；　like　smoke　from　a　conch；　taking　figmental　shape　overhead。　His　pain's　invention；　no　doubt；　but　it　sweetened　his　terror　a　little　to　see　a　face；　like　that　of　a　beatific　child；　pour　his　gaze　upon　him。
　〃Open　yourself　to　me；〃　he　heard　it　say。　〃Give　up　the　struggle　and　let　me　be　in　you。〃
　More　cliche；　he　thought。　A　dream　of　intercession　to　set　against　the　nightmare　that　was　about　to　geld　and　blind　him。　But　one　was　real…his　pain　was　testament　to　that…so　why　not　the　other？
　〃Let　me　into　your　head　and　heart；〃　the　infant's　lips　said。
　〃I　don't　know　how；〃　he　yelled；　his　cry　taken　up　in　parody　by　Abelove　and　the　rest。
　〃How？　How？　How？〃　they　chanted。
　The　child　had　its　reply。　〃Give　up　the　fight；〃　he　said。
　That　wasn't　so　hard；　Gentle　thought。　He'd　lost　it　anyway。　What　was　there　left　to　lose？　With　his　eyes　fixed　on　the　child；　Gentle　let　every　muscle　in　his　body　relax。　His　hands　gave　up　their　fists；　his　heels；　their　kicks。　His　head　tipped　back；　mouth　open。
〃Open　your　heart　and　head；〃　he　heard　the　infant　say。
　〃Yes；〃　he　replied。
　Even　as　he　uttered　his　invitation；　a　moth's…wing　doubt　fluttered　in　his　ear。　At　the　beginning　hadn't　this　smacked　of　melodrama？　And　didn't　it　still？　A　soul　snatched　from　Purgatory　by　cherubim；　opened；　at　the　last；　to　simple　salvation。　But　his　heart　was　wide；　and　the　saving　child　swooped　upon　it　before　doubt　could　seal　it　again。　He　tasted　another　mind　in　his　throat　and　felt　its　chill　in　his　veins。　The　invader　was　as　good　as　its　word。　He　felt　his　tormentors　melt　from　around　him；　their　holds　and　howls　fading　like　mists。
　He　fell　to　the　floor。　It　was　dry　beneath　his　cheek；　though　seconds　before　Esther's　skirts　had　been　seeping　on　it。　Nor　was　there　any　trace　of　the　creatures'　stench　in　the　air。　He　rolled　over　and　cautiously　reached　to　touch　his　hamstrings。　They　were　intact。　And　his　testicles；　which　he'd　presumed　nearly　pulped；　didn't　even　ache。　He　laughed　with　relief　to　find　himself　whole　and；　while　he　laughed；　scrabbled　for　the　candle　he'd　dropped。　Delusion！　It　had　all　been　delusion！　Some　final　rite　of　passage　conducted　by　his　mind　so　that　he　might　supersede　his　guilt　and　face　his　future　as　a　Reconciler　unburdened。　Well；　the　phantoms　had　done　their　duty。　Now　he　was　free。
　His　fingers　had　found　the　candle。　He　picked　it　up；　fumbled　for　the　matches；　struck　one；　and　put　the　flame　to　the　wick。　The　stage　he'd　filled　with　ghouls　and　cherubim　was　empty　from　boards　to　gallery。　He　got　to　his　feet。　Though　the　hurts　he'd　felt　had　been　imagined；　the　fight　he'd　put　up　against　them　had　been　real　enough；　and　his　body…which　was　far　from　healed　after　the　brutalities　of　Yzordderrex…　was　the　worse　for　his　resistance。
　As　he　hobbled　towards　the　door；　he　heard　the　cherub　speak　again。　〃Alone　at　last；〃　it　said。
　He　turned　on　his　heel。　The　voice　had　e　from　behind　him；　but　the　staircase　was　empty。　So　was　the　landing　and　the　passageways　that　led　off　the　hall。　The　voice　came　again；　however。
　〃Amazing；　isn't　it？〃　the　putto　said。　〃To　hear　and　not　to　see。　It's　enough　to　drive　a　man　mad。〃
　Again　Gentle　wheeled；　the　candle　flame　fluttering　at　his　speed。
　〃I'm　still　here；〃　the　cherub　said。　〃We'll　be　together　for　quite　a　time；　just　you　and　I；　so　we'd　better　get　to　like　each　other。　What　do　you　enjoy　chatting　about？　Politics？　Food？　I'm　good　for　anything　but　religion。〃
　This　time；　as　he　turned；　Gentle　caught　a　glimpse　of　his　tormentor。　It　had　put　off　the　cherubic　illusion。　What　he　saw　resembled　a　small　ape；　its　face　either　anemic　or　powdered；　its　eyes　black　beads；　its　mouth　enormous。　Rather　than　waste　his　energies　pursuing　something　so　nimble　（it　had　hung　from