rr.eastofealing-第34部分

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ight　popped　and　flashed　about　him；　the　machine　rattled　and　shuddered　and　with　a　great　sigh；　daylight　spun　into　view　from　the　end　of　a　long　dark　tunnel　and　broke　in　every　direction。　Norman　shielded　his　face；　closed　his　eyes　and　prepared　to　make　what　peace　he　could　with　his　Creator。　There　was　a　hefty　whack　and　a　moment　of　terrible　silence。　Norman　flinched　and　cowered。
　Warm　sunlight　tickled　his　fingers　and　the　sound　of　birdsong　filled　his　ears。　Still　not　daring　to　look；　Norman　sniffed。　The　sweet　scent　of　flowers；　sweeter　than　any　he　had　previously　smelled　…　or　was　that　now　would　smell？　…　engulfed　him。
　He　had　died；　that　was　it。　Died　and　gone　to　the　good　place。　Hope　always　sprang　eternal　in　the　wee　lad。　Norman　uncovered　his　eyes　and　peered　through　his　fingers。　The　time　machine　rested　in　an　Arcadian　glade　upon　a　richly…forested　hillside；　bordering　a　beautiful　valley　which　swept　in　gentle　rolls　down　to　a　picturesque　and　meandering　river。　Very　nice　indeed。　This　far　exceeded　his　highest　hopes　of　what　Heaven　might　look　like。　The　trip　had　been　well　worthwhile　after　all。　Rising　high　above　the　hills　beyond　the　river　stood　a　shimmering　white　fairytale　castle；　pennants　flying　in　the　breeze。　It　was　the　stuff　of　storybooks；　of　childhood　innocence。　It　was　wonderful。　Pushing　back　the　calliper　arms；　Norman　undipped　his　safety　belt　and；　plucking　gingerly　at　his　still　damp　trouser　seat；　set　his　feet　upon　the　lush　green　carpet　of　dew…soaked　grass。　It　was　paradise；　the　enchanted　glade。
　'Norman。'　The　voice　loosened　the　lad's　bowels；　but　he　had　nothing　left　to　yield。　'Norman。'　An　old　man　was　approaching；　hobbling　upon　a　cane。　He　was　clothed　in　a　flowing　robe　of　deepest　black；　embroidered　richly　with　stars　and　pentacles　and　magical　symbols　picked　out　in　silvern　thread。　Upon　his　head　he　wore　a　tall　conical　hat　of　identical　craftsmanship。　He　sported　a　long　white　beard　and　was　the　very　picture　of　all　one　might　reasonably　expect　of　Merlin　the　Magician。
　Norman　peered　at　the　approaching　apparition。　He　knew　that　face；　that　stooping　gait；　as　well　as　he　knew　anything。　A　choked　voice　rose　from　his　throat。　'Professor　Slobe？'
　The　magician　put　his　long　finger　to　his　lips。　'All　in　good　time；　he　said。　'Wele；　Norman。'
　'Where　am　I？'
　'Why　in　Camelot；　of　course。　Wherever　did　you　think？'
　'I　thought；　perhaps；　well　I　don't　know；　still　in　Brentford　maybe。'
　Merlin　cocked　his　head　on　one　side。　'Brentford；'　he　said。　'I　like　the　name；　I　will　see　what　can　be　done　about　that　for　some　future　time。　But　for　now　we　have　much　to　speak　of。　Will　you　e　with　me　to　yonder　castle　and　take　a　cup　of　mead？'
　'I　think　that　would　be　just　fine；'　said　Norman；　the　once　and　future　shopkeeper　of　England。
　
　27
　Professor　Slobe　looked　up　towards　the　great　ormolu　mantel…clock　and　nodded　his　old　head　gently　in　time　to　the　pendulum's　swing。　'Good　luck；　Norman；'　he　said。　Drawing　his　gaze　from　the　antique　timepiece；　he　turned　to　stare　out　through　the　open　French　windows。　There；　in　the　all…too…near　distance；　the　great　black　shaft　of　the　Lateinos　and　Romiith　building　obscenely　scarred　the　two…hundred…year…old　skyline。　Its　upper　reaches　were　lost　high　amongst　gathering　stormclouds。　The　aura　of　undiluted　evil　pressed　out　from　it；　seeking　to　penetrate　the　very　room。　The　old　man　shuddered　briefly　and　drew　the　windows　shut。　Norman's　homemade　double　laid　aside　a　bound　volume　of　da　Vinci；　penned　in　the　crooked　mirror…Latin　of　the　great　man　himself；　and　peered　quizzically　towards　the　Professor。
　'I　know　what　you　are　thinking；'　the　scholar　said。　'He　is　safe　thus　far；　so　much　is　already　known　to　me。　But　as　to　the　return　trip；　all　depends　upon　the　calculations。　It　is　all　in　the　numbers。　We　can　only　offer　our　prayers。'
　'Prayers？'
　'They　offer　some　fort。'
　'I　wouldn't　know；'　said　the　robot；　somewhat　brusquely。　'Norman　did　not　see　fit　to　log　such　concepts　into　my　data　banks。'
　Professor　Slobe　watched　the　mechanical　man　with　unguarded　interest。　'I　should　really　like　to　know　exactly　what　you　do　feel。'
　'I　feel　texture。　I　think；　therefore　I　am。　Or　so　I　have　been　informed。　Every　cloud　has　a　silver　lining　I　was　also　told；　and　a　trouble　shared　is　a　bird　in　the。。。'
　'Yes；　indeed。　But　what　causes　you　to　react？　How　do　you　arrive　at　decisions？　What　motivates　you？'
　'Impetus。　I　react　as　I　have　been　programmed　to　do。　Upon　information　received；　as　the　boys　in　blue　will　have　it。'
　'Do　you　believe　then　that　this　is　how　the　other　duplicates　function？'
　'Certainly　not。'　Something　approaching　pride　entered　the　robot's　voice。　'They　are　merely　receivers；　created　solely　to　receive　and　to　collect　information　and　perform　their　tasks。　The　mainframe　of　the　great　puter　does　all　their　thinking　for　them。　Clockwork　dummies；　that's　all　they　are。'
　'Interesting；'　said　Professor　Slobe。
　'You　spend　a　great　deal　of　time　in　idle　speculation；'　the　robot　observed；　'considering　the　gravity　of　the　situation。　You　seek　to　detect　human　emotion　in　me。　I　might　do　the　same　to　you。'
　Professor　Slobe　chuckled　delightedly。　'There　are　more　wheels　currently　in　motion　than　the　one　which　spins　in　your　chest；'　said　he。　'Even　now；　great　forces　are　beginning　to　stir　elsewhere　in　the　parish。'
　
　28
　'Fe。。。　fi。。。　fo。。。　fum。'　The　bloated　barman　awoke　giddily　from　another　bout　of　barbiturate…induced　slumber　and　rattled　the　window…panes　of　his　hospital　prison。　The　door　beneath　him　opened　and　his　Promethean　tormentor　entered　the　barman…crowded　room；　hypodermic　at　the　ready。　Neville　eyed　her　with　absolute　loathing。　'I　smell　the　blood　of　an　Englishman。'
　'We　are　not　going　to　be　naughty　again；　are　we？'
　'Be　he　alive　or　be　he　dead。'
　'Roly…poly；　please；　sir。'
　'I'll　grind　his　bones　to　make　my　bread。'
　'I　shall　have　to　fetch　doctor；　then。'
　'No！'　Neville　drew　in　his　breath；　filled　his　cheeks；　and　blew　a　great　blast　at　the　clinical　harpy。　The　midget　fought　at　the　gale；　but　lost　her　footing　and　fluttered　away　through　the　doorway　and　out　into　the　corridor。　'At　last；'　said　Neville　to　the　ceiling　against　which　his　face　had　been　pressed　so　unfortably　for　so　very　long。　'At　long　long　last。'　He　raised　a　fist　the　size　of　a　cement　sack　and　clenched　and　unclenched　the　fingers。　The　sap　was　beginning　to　rise　and　a　great　inner　strength　was　rising　with　it。　The　power　was　surging；　driving　through　his　veins；　unstoppable　and　titanic。
　At　last　he　realized　the　truth：　his　consuming　disability　had　been　nothing　more　than　the　painful　and　grotesque　prelude　to　what　was　to　e。　The　time　for　the　settling　of　scores　was　fast　approaching。　The　power　of　the　great　Old　Ones。　The　gods　of　his　pagan　ancestry　born　in　the　dawn　of　the　light　when　the　world　was　full　of　wonder。　The　power　had　returned　and　it　had　returned　to　him。　The　last　of　the　line。
　A　broad　tight…lipped　smile　arced　up　upon　the　barman's　face。　His　fingers　flexed；　and　beneath　the　surgical　gown　huge　muscles　rolled　about　his　body；　porpoises　swimming　in　a　sack。　The　Herculean　barman　pressed　his　hands　to　the　ceiling　of　his　most　private　ward。　With　a　splinter　of　plastic…cladding；　his　hands　rose；　tightening　to　fists　and　forcing　upwards；　unstoppably。　Neville　rose　with　them；　pouring　forth　from　his　prison；　rising　upon　a　floodtide　of　superhuman　energy。　The　barman's　head　and　shoulders　passed　through　the　ceiling　and　a　low　choked　cry　rose　from　his　throat。
　He　was　ill…prepared　for　the　sight　which　met　his　gaze。　He　had　supposed　himself　to　be　in　the　private　wing　of　the　Cottage　Hospital。　The　view　from　the　window　tending　to　support　this　well　enough。　But　not　a　bit　of　it。　The　hospital　room　and　its　window　view　were　nothing　but　a　sham；　hiding　a　grim　reality。　The　tiny　room　was　little　more　than　a　box；　set　in　some　great　empty　warehouse　of　a　place。　It　spread　away；　dimly…lit；　acre　upon　acre　of　concrete　flooring　and　absolutely　nothing。　The　window　view；　now　seen　from　above；　was　a　mish…mash　of　laser　lines　projected　on　to　a　screen。　It　was　a　hologram。
　'Fe。。。　fi。。。　fo；'　said　Neville；　as　he　perused　his　stark　surroundings。　Where　was　he？　He　felt　like　a　jack…in…the…box　in　an　empty　toy　factory。　'Curiouser　and　curiouser！'　Standing　erect　and　kicking　aside　the　make…believe　walls　of　the　movie…set　hospital　room；　he　stood　upon　a　soundstage　vaster　by　far　than　any　ever　envisaged　by　the　now　legendary　Cecil　B　himself。
　Neville　drew　in　his