sk.thetalisman-第123部分

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　in　fact；　in　front　of　the　depot…keeper　himself。　No　nonsense　about　Migrating　to　a　spot　which　might　be　a　hundred　miles　away　from　the　point　of　interest　in　Territories　geography　and　no　way　to　cover　the　intervening　distance　but　by　wagon　or；　worse；　what　his　father　had　called　shanks'　mare。
　　The　boys　would　already　have　gone　on；　in　all　likelihood。　Into　the　Blasted　Lands。　If　so；　the　Blasted　Lands　would　finish　them。　And　Sunlight　Gardener's　Twinner；　Osmond；　would　be　more　than　capable　of　squeezing　out　all　the　information　that　Anders　knew。　Osmond　and　his　horrid　son。　No　need　to　Migrate　at　all。
　　Except　maybe　for　a　look…see。　For　the　pleasure　and　refreshment　of　being　Orris　again；　if　only　for　a　few　seconds。
　　And　to　Make　Sure；　of　course。　His　entire　life；　from　childhood　onward；　had　been　an　exercise　in　Making　Sure。
　　He　looked　around　once　to　assure　himself　that　Etheridge　had　not　lingered；　then　he　opened　the　door　of　The　Depot　and　went　inside。
　　The　smell　was　stale；　dark；　and　incredibly　nostalgic…the　smell　of　old　makeup　and　canvas　flats。　For　a　moment　he　had　the　crazy　idea　that　he　had　done　something　even　more　incredible　than　Migrating；　he　felt　that　he　might　have　travelled　back　through　time　to　those　undergraduate　days　when　he　and　Phil　Sawyer　had　been　theater…mad　college　students。
　　Then　his　eyes　adjusted　to　the　dimness　and　he　saw　the　unfamiliar；　almost　mawkish　props…a　plaster　bust　of　Pallas　for　a　production　of　The　Raven；　an　extravagantly　gilt　birdcage；　a　bookcase　full　of　false　bindings…and　remembered　that　he　was　in　the　Thayer　School　excuse　for　a　'little　theater。'
　　He　paused　for　a　moment；　breathing　deeply　of　the　dust；　he　turned　his　eyes　up　to　one　dusty　sunray　falling　through　a　small　window。　The　light　wavered　and　was　suddenly　a　deeper　gold；　the　color　of　lamplight。　He　was　in　the　Territories。　Just　like　that；　he　was　in　the　Territories。　There　was　a　moment　of　almost　staggering　exhilaration　at　the　speed　of　the　change。　Usually　there　was　a　pause；　a　sense　of　sideslipping　from　one　place　to　another。　This　caesura　seemed　to　be　in　direct　proportion　to　the　distance　between　the　physical　bodies　of　his　two　selves；　Sloat　and　Orris。　Once；　when　he　had　Migrated　from　Japan；　where　he　was　negotiating　a　deal　with　the　Shaw　brothers　for　a　terrible　novel　about　Hollywood　stars　menaced　by　a　crazed　ninja；　the　pause　had　gone　on　so　long　that　he　had　feared　he　might　be　lost　forever　somewhere　in　the　empty；　senseless　purgatory　that　exists　between　the　worlds。　But　this　time　they　had　been　close　。　。　。　so　close！　It　was　like　those　few　times；　he　thought
　　（Orris　thought）
　　when　a　man　and　woman　achieve　orgasm　at　the　exact　same　instant　and　die　in　sex　together。
　　The　smell　of　dried　paint　and　canvas　was　replaced　with　the　light；　pleasant　smell　of　Territories　burning…oil。　The　lamp　on　the　table　was　guttering　low；　sending　out　dark　membranes　of　smoke。　To　his　left　a　table　was　set；　the　remains　of　a　meal　congealing　on　the　rough　plates。　Three　plates。
　　Orris　stepped　forward；　dragging　his　clubfoot　a　little　as　always。　He　tipped　one　of　the　plates　up；　let　the　guttering　lamplight　skate　queasily　across　the　grease。　Who　ate　from　this　one？　Was　it　Anders；　or　Jason；　or　Richard　。　。　。　the　boy　who　would　also　have　been　Rushton　if　my　son　had　lived？
　　Rushton　had　drowned　while　swimming　in　a　pond　not　far　from　the　Great　House。　There　had　been　a　picnic。　Orris　and　his　wife　had　drunk　a　quantity　of　wine。　The　sun　had　been　hot。　The　boy；　little　more　than　an　infant；　had　been　napping。　Orris　and　his　wife　had　made　love　and　then　they　had　also　fallen　asleep　in　the　sweet　afternoon　sunshine。　He　had　been　awakened　by　the　child's　cries。　Rushton　had　awakened　and　gone　down　to　the　water。　He　had　been　able　to　dog…paddle　a　little；　just　enough　to　get　well　out　beyond　his　depth　before　panicking。　Orris　had　limped　to　the　water；　dived　in；　and　swum　as　fast　as　he　could　out　to　where　the　boy　floundered。　It　was　his　foot；　his　damned　foot；　that　had　hampered　him　and　perhaps　cost　his　son　his　life。　When　he　reached　the　boy；　he　had　been　sinking。　Orris　had　managed　to　catch　him　by　the　hair　and　pull　him　to　shore　。　。　。　but　by　then　Rushton　had　been　blue　and　dead。
　　Margaret　had　died　by　her　own　hand　less　than　six　weeks　later。
　　Seven　months　after　that；　Morgan　Sloat's　own　young　son　had　nearly　drowned　in　a　Westwood　YMCA　pool　during　a　Young　Paddlers　class。　He　had　been　pulled　from　the　pool　as　blue　and　dead　as　Rushton　。　。　。　but　the　lifeguard　had　applied　mouth…to…mouth　resuscitation；　and　Richard　Sloat　had　responded。
　　God　pounds　His　nails；　Orris　thought；　and　then　a　deep；　blurry　snore　snapped　his　head　around。
　　Anders；　the　depot…keeper；　lay　on　a　pallet　in　the　corner　with　his　kilt　rudely　pulled　up　to　his　breeks。　An　earthen　jug　of　wine　lay　overturned　nearby。　Much　of　the　wine　had　flowed　into　his　hair。
　　He　snored　again；　then　moaned；　as　if　with　bad　dreams。
　　No　dream　you　might　have　could　be　as　bad　as　your　future　now　is；　Orris　thought　grimly。　He　took　a　step　closer；　his　cloak　flapping　around　him。　He　looked　down　on　Anders　with　no　pity。
　　Sloat　was　able　to　plan　murder；　but　it　had　been　Orris；　time　and　time　again；　who　had　Migrated　to　carry　out　the　act　itself。　It　had　been　Orris　in　Sloat's　body　who　had　attempted　to　smother　the　infant　Jack　Sawyer　with　a　pillow　while　a　wrestling　announcer　droned　on　and　on　in　the　background。　Orris　who　had　overseen　the　assassination　of　Phil　Sawyer　in　Utah　（　just　as　he　had　overseen　the　assassination　of　Phil　Sawyer's　counterpart；　the　moner　Prince　Philip　Sawtelle；　in　the　Territories）。
　　Sloat　had　a　taste　for　blood；　but　ultimately　he　was　as　allergic　to　it　as　Orris　was　to　American　food　and　American　air。　It　was　Morgan　of　Orris；　once　derided　as　Morgan　Thudfoot；　who　had　always　done　the　deeds　Sloat　had　planned。
　　My　son　died；　his　still　lives。　Sawtelle's　son　died。　Sawyer's　still　lives。　But　these　things　can　be　remedied。　Will　be　remedied。　No　Talisman　for　you；　my　sweet　little　friends。　You　are　bound　for　a　radioactive　version　of　Oatley；　and　you　each　owe　the　balance…scales　a　death。　God　pounds　His　nails。
　　'And　if　God　doesn't；　you　may　be　sure　I　will；'　he　said　aloud。
　　The　man　on　the　floor　moaned　again；　as　if　he　had　heard。　Orris　took　another　step　toward　him；　perhaps　meaning　to　kick　him　awake；　and　then　cocked　his　head。　In　the　distance　he　heard　hoofbeats；　the　faint　creak　and　jingle　of　harness；　the　hoarse　cries　of　drovers。
　　That　would　be　Osmond；　then。　Good。　Let　Osmond　take　care　of　business　here…he　himself　had　little　interest　in　questioning　a　man　with　a　hangover　when　he　knew　well　enough　what　the　man　would　have　to　say。
　　Orris　clumped　across　to　the　door；　opened　it；　and　looked　out　on　a　gorgeous　peach…colored　Territories　sunrise。　It　was　from　this　direction…the　direction　of　the　sunrise…that　the　sounds　of　approaching　riders　came。　He　allowed　himself　to　drink　in　that　lovely　glow　for　a　moment　and　then　turned　toward　the　west　again；　where　the　sky　was　still　the　color　of　a　fresh　bruise。　The　land　was　dark　。　。　。　except　for　where　the　first　sunlight　bounced　off　a　pair　of　bright　parallel　lines。
　　Boys；　you　have　gone　to　your　deaths；　Orris　thought　with　satisfaction　。　。　。　and　then　a　thought　occurred　which　brought　even　more　satisfaction：　their　deaths　might　already　have　happened。
　　'Good；'　Orris　said；　and　closed　his　eyes。
　　A　moment　later　Morgan　Sloat　was　gripping　the　handle　of　the　door　of　Thayer　School's　little　theater；　opening　his　own　eyes；　and　planning　his　trip　back　to　the　west　coast。
　　It　might　be　time　to　take　a　little　trip　down　memory　lane；　he　thought。　To　a　town　in　California　called　Point　Venuti。　A　trip　back　east　first；　perhaps…a　visit　to　the　Queen…and　then　。　。　。
　　'The　sea　air；'　he　said　to　the　bust　of　Pallas；　'will　do　me　good。'　
　　He　ducked　back　inside；　had　another　jolt　from　the　small　vial　in　his　pocket　（hardly　noticing　the　smells　of　canvas　and　makeup　now）；　and；　thus　refreshed；　he　started　back　downhill　toward　his　car。
　　
　　
　　　PART　IV
　　　THE　TALISMAN
　　　
　　　CHAPTER　34
　　　Anders
　　　
　　　1
　　
　　Jack　suddenly　realized　that；　although　he　was　still　running；　he　was　running　on　thin　air；　like　a　cartoon　character　who　has　time　for　one　surprised　double…take　before　plunging　two　thousand　feet　straight　down。　But　it　wasn't　two　thousand　feet。　He　had　time…just…to　realize　that　the　ground　wasn't　there　anymore；　and　the