cb.imajica2-第55部分

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　〃I　didn't　need　to。　When　Papa　died　I　went　in　search　of　the　real　thing。　I　traveled　back　and　forth　as　though　Christos　had　succeeded　and　the　Fifth　was　reconciled。　And　there　they　were；　the　Unbeheld's　many　mansions。〃
　And　there；　too；　the　most　enigmatic　player　in　this　interDominional　drama：　Hapexamendios。　If　Christos　was　a　Reconciler；　did　that　make　the　Unbeheld　Christos'　Father？　Was　the　force　in　hiding　behind　the　fogs　of　the　First　Dominion　the　Lord　of　Lords；　and；　if　so；　why　had　He　crushed　every　Goddess　across　the　Imajica；　as　legend　said　He　had？　One　question　begged　another；　all　from　a　few　claims　made　by　a　man　who'd　knelt　at　the　Nativity。　No　wonder　Roxborough　had　buried　these　books　alive。
　〃Do　you　know　where　your　mystery　woman's　lurking？〃　Oscar　said。
　〃Not　really。〃
　〃Then　we've　got　a　hell　of　a　search　on　our　hands；〃
　〃I　remember　there　was　a　couple　making　love　down　here；　near　her　cell。　One　of　them　was　Bloxham。〃
　〃Dirty　little　bugger。　So　we　should　be　looking　for　some　stains　on　the　floor；　is　that　it？　I　suggest　we　split　up；　or　we'll　be　here　all　summer。〃
　They　parted　at　the　stairs　and　made　their　separate　ways。　Jude　soon　discovered　how　strangely　sound　carried　in　the　tunnels。　Sometimes　she　could　hear　Godolphin's　footsteps　so　clearly　she　thought　he　must　be　following　her。　Then　she'd　turn　a　corner　（or　else　he　would）　and　the　noise　would　not　simply　fade　but　vanish　altogether；　leaving　only　the　pad　of　her　own　soles　on　the　cold　stone　to　keep　her　pany。　They　were　buried　too　deeply　for　even　the　remotest　murmur　from　the　street　above　to　penetrate；　nor　was　there　any　suspicion　of　sound　from　the　earth　around　them：　no　hum　of　cables；　no　sluicing　of　drains。
　She　was　several　times　tempted　to　pluck　one　of　the　tomes　from　its　shelf；　thinking　perhaps　serendipity　would　put　her　in　reach　of　the　diary　of　the　Fourth　King。　But　she　resisted；　knowing　that　even　if　she　had　time　to　browse　here；　which　she　didn't；　the　volumes　were　written　in　the　great　languages　of　theology　and　philosophy：　Latin；　Greek；　Hebrew；　and　Sanskrit；　all　inprehensible　to　her。　As　ever　on　this　journey；　she'd　have　to　beat　a　track　to　the　truth　by　instinct　and　wit　alone。　Nothing　had　been　given　to　her　to　illuminate　the　way　except　the　blue　eye；　and　that　was　in　Gentle's　possession　now。　She'd　reclaim　it　as　soon　as　she　saw　him　again；　give　him　something　else　as　a　talisman：　the　hair　of　her　sex；　if　that's　what　he　wanted。　But　not　her　egg；　not　her　cool　blue　egg。
　Maybe　it　was　these　thoughts　that　ushered　her　to　the　place　where　the　lovers　had　stood；　maybe　it　was　that　same　serendipity　she'd　hoped　might　lead　her　hand　to　the　King's　book。　If　so；　this　was　a　finer　leading。　Here　was　the　wall　where　Bloxham　and　his　mistress　had　coupled；　she　knew　it　without　a　trace　of　doubt。　Here　were　the　shelves　the　woman　had　clung　to　while　her　ridiculous　beau　had　labored　to　fulfill　her。　Between　the　books　they　bore；　the　mortar　was　tinged　with　the　faintest　trace　of　blue。　She　didn't　call　Oscar　but　went　to　the　shelves　and　took　down　several　armfuls　of　books；　then　put　her　fingers　to　the　stains。　The　wall　was　bitterly　cold；　but　the　mortar　crumbled　beneath　her　touch；　as　though　her　sweat　was　sufficient　agent　to　unbind　its　elements。　She　was　shocked　at　what　she'd　caused；　and　gratified；　retreating　from　the　wall　as　the　message　of　dissolution　spread　with　extraordinary　rapidity。　The　mortar　began　to　run　from　between　the　bricks　like　the　finest　of　sand；　its　trickle　being　a　torrent　in　seconds。
　〃I'm　here；〃　she　told　the　prisoner　behind　the　wall。　〃God　knows；　I've　taken　my　time。　But　I'm　here。〃
　Oscar　didn't　catch　Jude's　words；　not　even　the　remotest　echo。　His　attention　had　been　claimed　two　or　three　minutes　before　by　a　sound　from　overhead；　and　he'd　climbed　the　stairs　in　pursuit　of　its　source。　He'd　disgraced　his　manhood　enough　in　the　last　few　days；　hiding　himself　away　like　a　frightened　widow；　and　the　thought　that　he　might　reclaim　some　of　the　respect　he'd　lost　in　Jude's　eyes　by　confronting　the　trespasser　above　gave　purpose　to　the　chase。　He'd　armed　himself　with　a　piece　of　timber　he'd　found　at　the　bottom　of　the　stairs　and　was　almost　hoping　as　he　went　that　his　ears　weren't　playing　tricks　on　him；　and　that　there　was　indeed　something　tangible　up　above。　He　was　sick　of　being　in　fear　of　rumors；　and　of　pictures　half　glimpsed　in　flying　stones。　If　there　was　something　to　see；　he　wanted　to　see　it　and　either　be　damned　in　the　seeing　or　cured　of　fear。
　At　the　top　of　the　stairs　he　hesitated。　The　light　spilling　through　the　door　from　Roxborough's　room　was　moving；　very　slightly。　He　took　his　bludgeon　in　both　hands　and　stepped　through　the　door。　The　room　swung　with　the　lights；　the　solid　table　and　its　solid　chairs　giddied　by　the　motion。　He　surveyed　the　room　from　corner　to　corner。　Finding　every　shadow　empty；　he　moved　towards　the　door　that　led　out　into　the　foyer；　as　delicately　as　his　bulk　allowed。　The　rocking　of　the　lights　settled　as　he　went；　and　they　were　still　by　the　time　he　reached　the　door。　As　he　stepped　outside　a　perfume　caught　his　nostrils；　as　sweet　as　the　sudden；　sharp　pain　in　his　side　was　sour。　He　tried　to　turn　but　his　attacker　dug　a　second　time。　The　timber　went　from　his　hand；　and　a　shout　came　from　his　lips。。。。
　〃Oscar？〃
　She　didn't　want　to　leave　the　wall　of　Celestine's　cell　when　it　was　undoing　itself　with　such　gusto…the　bricks　were　dropping　onto　each　other　as　the　mortar　between　them　decayed；　and　the　shelves　were　creaking；　ready　to　fall…but　Oscar's　shout　demanded　her　attention。　She　headed　back　through　the　maze；　the　sound　of　the　wall's　capitulation　echoing　through　the　passageways；　confounding　her。　But　she　found　her　way　back　to　the　stairs　after　a　time；　yelling　for　Oscar　as　she　went。　There　was　no　reply　from　the　library　itself；　so　she　decided　to　climb　back　up　into　the　meeting　room。　That　too　was　silent　and　empty；　as　was　the　foyer　when　she　got　to　it；　the　only　sign　that　Oscar　had　passed　through　a　block　of　wood　lying　close　to　the　door。　What　the　hell　was　he　up　to？　She　went　out　to　see　if　he'd　returned　to　the　car　for　some　reason；　but　there　was　no　sign　of　him　in　the　sun；　which　narrowed　the　options　to　one：　the　tower　above。
　Irritated；　but　a　little　anxious　now；　she　looked　towards　the　open　door　that　led　back　into　the　cellar；　torn　between　returning　to　wele　Celestine　and　following　Oscar　up　the　tower。　A　man　of　his　bulk　was　perfectly　capable　of　defending　himself；　she　reasoned；　but　she　couldn't　help　but　feel　some　residue　of　responsibility；　given　that　she'd　cajoled　him　into　ing　here　in　the　first　place。
　One　of　the　doors　looked　to　be　a　lift；　but　when　she　appreached　she　heard　the　hum　of　its　motor　in　action；　so　rather　than　wait　she　went　to　the　stairs　and　began　to　climb。　Though　the　flight　was　in　darkness；　she　didn't　let　that　slow　her　but　mounted　the　stairs　three　and　four　at　a　time　until　she　reached　the　door　that　led　out　onto　the　top　floor。　As　she　groped　for　the　handle　she　heard　a　voice　from　the　suite　beyond。　The　words　were　indecipherable；　but　the　voice　sounded　cultivated；　almost　clipped。　Had　one　of　the　Tabula　Rasa　survived　after　all？　Bloxham；　perhaps；　the　Casanova　of　the　cellar？
　She　pushed　the　door　open。　It　was　brighter　on　the　other　side；　though　not　by　that　much。　All　the　rooms　along　the　corridor　were　murky　pits；　their　drapes　drawn。　But　the　voice　led　her　on　through　the　gloom　towards　a　pair　of　doors；　one　of　which　was　ajar。　A　light　was　burning　on　the　other　side。　She　approached　with　caution；　the　carpet　underfoot　lush　enough　to　silence　her　tread。　Even　when　the　speaker　broke　off　from　his　monologue　for　a　few　moments　she　continued　to　advance；　reaching　the　suite　without　a　sound。　There　was　little　purpose　in　delay；　she　thought；　once　she　was　at　the　threshold。　Without　a　word；　she　pushed　open　the　door。
　There　was　a　table　in　the　room；　and　on　it　lay　Oscar；　in　a　double　pool：　one　of　light；　the　other　of　blood。　She　didn't　scream；　or　even　sicken；　even　though　he　was　laid　open　like　a　patient　in　mid…surgery。　Her　thoughts　flew　past　the　horror　to　the　man　and　his　agonies。　He　was　alive。　She　could　see　his　heart　beating　like　a　fish　in　a　red　pool；　gasping　its　last。
　The　surgeon's　knife　had　been　cast　onto　the　table　beside　him；　and　its　owner；　who　was　presently　concealed　by　shadow；　said；　〃There　you　are。　e　in；　why　don't　you？　e　in。〃　He　put　his　hands；　which　were　clean；　on　the　table。　〃It's　only　me；　lovey。〃
　〃Dowd。。。。〃