preston&child.thecabinetofcuriosities-第89部分

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　forward　as　one。　There　was　a　moment　of　intense　excitement；　frantic　shouting　and　shoving；　before　the　cops　regained　control；　pushing　the　press　back　behind　the　police　cordon。
　The　perp　hadn't　said　a　word　for　the　last　twenty　minutes；　apparently　shocked　into　a　stupor。　He　was　so　out　of　it　he　hadn't　even　bothered　to　conceal　his　face　as　the　doors　of　the　Rotunda　opened　onto　the　night　air。　Now；　as　the　battery　of　lights　hit　his　face…as　he　saw　the　sea　of　faces；　the　cameras　and　outstretched　recorders…he　ducked　his　head　away　from　the　crowd；　cringing　away　from　the　burst　of　flash　units；　and　had　to　be　propelled　bodily　along；　half　dragged；　half　carried；　toward　the　waiting　squad　car。　At　the　car；　as　Custer　had　instructed；　the　two　cops　handed　the　perp　over　to　him。　He　would　be　the　one　to　thrust　the　man　into　the　back　seat。　This　was　the　photo；　Custer　knew；　that　would　be　splashed　across　the　front　page　of　every　paper　in　town　the　next　morning。
　But　getting　handed　the　perp　was　like　being　tossed　a　175…pound　sack　of　shit；　and　he　almost　dropped　the　man　trying　to　maneuver　him　in　the　back　seat。　Success　was　achieved　at　last　to　a　swelling　fusillade　of　flash　attachments；　the　squad　car　turned　on　its　lights　and　siren；　and　nosed　forward。
　Custer　watched　it　ease　its　way　through　the　crowd；　then　turned　to　face　the　press　himself。　He　raised　his　hands　like　Moses；　waiting　for　silence　to　fall。　He　had　no　intention　of　stealing　the　mayor's　thunder…the　pictures　of　him　bundling　the　cuffed　perp　into　the　vehicle　would　tell　everyone　who　had　made　the　collar…but　he　had　to　say　a　little　something　to　keep　the　crowd　contained。
　〃The　mayor　is　on　his　way；〃　he　called　out　in　a　clear；　manding　voice。　〃He　will　arrive　in　a　few　minutes；　and　he　will　have　an　important　announcement　to　make。　Until　then；　there　will　be　no　further　ments　whatsoever。〃
　〃How'd　you　get　him？〃　a　lone　voice　shouted；　and　then　there　was　a　sudden　roar　of　questions；　frantic　shouting；　waving；　boomed　mikes　swinging　out　in　his　direction。　But　Custer　magisterially　turned　his　back　on　it　all。　The　election　was　less　than　a　week　away。　Let　the　mayor　make　the　announcement　and　take　the　glory。　Custer　would　reap　his　own　reward；　later。
　
　NINE
　　
　THE　FIRST　THING　that　returned　was　the　pain。　Nora　came　swimming　back　into　consciousness；　slowly；　agonizingly。　She　moaned；　swallowed；　tried　to　move。　Her　side　felt　lacerated。　She　blinked；　blinked　again；　then　realized　she　was　surrounded　by　utter　darkness。　She　felt　blood　on　her　face；　but　when　she　tried　to　touch　it　her　arm　refused　to　move。　She　tried　again　and　realized　that　both　her　arms　and　legs　were　chained。
　She　felt　confused；　as　if　caught　in　a　dream　from　which　she　could　not　awake。　What　was　going　on　here？　Where　was　she？
　A　voice　came　from　the　darkness；　low　and　weak。　〃Dr。　Kelly？〃
　At　the　sound　of　her　own　name；　the　dream…like　confusion　began　to　recede。　As　clarity　grew；　Nora　felt　a　sudden　shock　of　fear。
　〃It's　Pendergast；〃　the　voice　murmured。　〃Are　you　all　right？〃
　〃I　don't　know。　A　few　bruised　ribs；　maybe。　And　you？〃
　〃More　or　less。〃
　〃What　happened？〃
　There　was　a　silence。　Then　Pendergast　spoke　again。　〃I　am　very；　very　sorry。　I　should　have　expected　the　trap。　How　brutal；　using　Sergeant　O'Shaughnessy　to　bait　us　like　that。　Unutterably　brutal。〃
　〃Is　O'Shaughnessy…？〃
　〃He　was　dying　when　we　found　him。　He　cannot　have　survived。〃
　〃God；　how　awful；〃　Nora　sobbed。　〃How　horrible。〃
　〃He　was　a　good　man；　a　loyal　man。　I　am　beyond　words。〃
　There　was　a　long　silence。　So　great　was　Nora's　fear　that　it　seemed　to　choke　off　even　her　grief　and　horror　at　what　had　happened　to　O'Shaughnessy。　She　had　begun　to　realize　the　same　was　in　store　for　them…as　it　may　have　already　been　for　Smithback。
　Pendergast's　weak　voice　broke　the　silence。　〃I've　been　unable　to　maintain　proper　intellectual　distance　in　this　case；〃　he　said。　〃I've　simply　been　too　close　to　it；　from　the　very　beginning。　My　every　move　has　been　flawed…〃
　Abruptly；　Pendergast　fell　silent。　A　few　moments　later；　Nora　heard　a　noise；　and　a　small　rectangle　of　light　slid　into　view　high　up　in　the　wall　before　her。　It　cast　just　enough　light　for　her　to　see　the　outline　of　their　prison：　a　small；　damp　stone　cellar。
　A　pair　of　wet　lips　hovered　within　the　rectangle。
　〃Please　do　not　dispose　yourself；〃　a　voice　crooned　in　a　deep；　rich　accent　curiously　like　Pendergast's　own。　〃All　this　will　be　over　soon。　Struggle　is　unnecessary。　Forgive　me　for　not　playing　the　host　at　the　present　moment；　but　I　have　some　pressing　business　to　take　care　of。　Afterward；　I　assure　you；　I　will　give　you　the　benefit　of　my　undivided　attention。〃
　The　rectangle　scraped　shut。
　For　a　minute；　perhaps　two；　Nora　remained　in　the　darkness；　hardly　able　to　breathe　in　her　terror。　She　struggled　to　retake　possession　of　her　mind。
　〃Agent　Pendergast？〃　she　whispered。
　There　was　no　answer。
　And　then　the　watchful　darkness　was　rent　asunder　by　a　distant；　muffled　scream…strangled；　garbled；　choking。
　Instantly；　Nora　knew…beyond　the　shadow　of　a　doubt…that　the　voice　was　Smithback's。
　〃Oh　my　God！〃　she　screamed。　〃Agent　Pendergast；　did　you　hear　that？〃
　Still　Pendergast　did　not　answer。
　〃Pendergast！〃
　The　darkness　continued　to　yield　nothing　but　silence。
　
　In　the　Dark
　
　ONE
　　
　PENDERGAST　CLOSED　HIS　eyes　against　the　darkness。　Gradually；　the　chessboard　appeared；　materializing　out　of　a　vague　haze。　The　ivory　and　ebony　chess　pieces；　smoothed　by　countless　years　of　handling；　stood　quietly；　waiting　for　the　game　to　begin。　The　chill　of　the　damp　stone；　the　rough　grasp　of　the　manacles；　the　pain　in　his　ribs；　Nora's　frightened　voice；　the　occasional　distant　cry；　all　fell　away　one　by　one；　leaving　only　an　enfolding　darkness；　the　board　standing　quietly　in　a　pool　of　yellow　light。　And　still　Pendergast　waited；　breathing　deeply；　his　heartbeat　slowing。　Finally；　he　reached　forward；　touched　a　cool　chess　piece；　and　advanced　his　king's　pawn　forward　two　spaces。　Black　countered。　The　game　began；　slowly　at　first；　then　faster；　and　faster；　until　the　pieces　flew　across　the　board。　Stalemate。　Another　game；　and　still　another；　with　the　same　results。　And　then；　rather　abruptly；　came　darkness…utter　darkness。
　When　at　last　he　was　ready；　Pendergast　once　again　opened　his　eyes。
　He　was　standing　in　the　wide　upstairs　hallway　of　the　Maison　de　la　Rochenoire；　the　great　old　New　Orleans　house　on　Dauphine　Street　in　which　he　had　grown　up。　Originally　a　monastery　erected　by　an　obscure　Carmelite　order；　the　rambling　pile　had　been　purchased　by　Pendergast's　distant　grandfather　many　times　removed　in　the　eighteenth　century；　and　renovated　into　an　eccentric　labyrinth　of　vaulted　rooms　and　shadowy　corridors。
　Although　the　Maison　de　la　Rochenoire　had　been　burned　down　by　a　mob　shortly　after　Pendergast　left　for　boarding　school　in　England；　he　continued　to　return　to　it　frequently。　Within　his　mind；　the　structure　had　bee　more　than　a　house。　It　had　bee　a　memory　palace；　a　storehouse　of　knowledge　and　lore；　the　place　for　his　most　intense　and　difficult　meditations。　All　of　his　own　experiences　and　observations；　all　of　the　many　Pendergast　family　secrets；　were　housed　within。　Only　here；　safe　in　the　mansion's　Gothic　bosom；　could　he　meditate　without　fear　of　interruption。
　And　there　was　a　great　deal　to　meditate　upon。　For　one　of　the　few　times　in　his　life；　he　had　known　failure。　If　there　was　a　solution　to　this　problem；　it　would　lie　somewhere　within　these　walls…somewhere　within　his　own　mind。　Searching　for　the　solution　would　mean　a　physical　search　of　his　memory　palace。
　He　strolled　pensively　down　the　broad；　tapestried　corridor；　the　rose…colored　walls　broken　at　regular　intervals　by　marble　niches。　Each　niche　contained　an　exquisite　miniature　leather…bound　book。　Some　of　these　had　actually　existed　in　the　old　house。　Others　were　pure　memory　constructs…chronicles　of　past　events；　facts；　figures；　chemical　formulae；　plex　mathematical　or　metaphysical　proofs…all　stored　by　Pendergast　in　the　house　as　a　physical　object　of　memory；　for　use　at　some　unknown　future　date。
　Now；　he　stood　before　the　heavy　oaken　door　of　his　own　room。　Normally　he　would　unlock　the　door　and　linger　within；　surrounded　by　the　familiar　objects；　the　forting　iconography；　of　his　childhood。　But　today　he　continued　on；　pausing　only　to　pass　his　fingers　lightly　over　the　brass　knob　of　the　door。　His　business　lay　elsewhere；　below