cb.booksofblood2-第12部分

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　It　was　as　much　as　he　could　do　to　keep　upright；　to　prevent　himself　from　sliding　down　the　incline　towards　the　unknown。　The　lighter　flickered　as　an　icy　air　blew　it　out。
　'Shit；'　said　Cameron　as　he　was　plunged　into　darkness。　Whether　the　word　alerted　the　trio　outside；　or　whether　God　deserted　him　totally　at　that　moment　and　invited　them　to　open　the　door；　he　would　never　know。　But　as　the　door　swung　wide　it　pushed　Cameron　off　his　feet。　Too　numb　and　too　frozen　to　prevent　his　fall　he　collapsed　to　the　ice　floor　as　the　smell　of　the　goat　wafted　into　the　room。
　
　Cameron　half　turned。　Voight's　double　was　at　the　door；　as　was　the　chauffeur；　and　the　third　man　in　the　Mercedes。　He　wore　a　coat　apparently　made　of　several　goat…skins。　The　hooves　and　the　horns　still　hung　from　it。　The　blood　on　its　fur　was　brown　and　gummy。
　'What　are　you　doing　here；　Mr　Cameron？'　asked　the　goat…coated　man。
　Cameron　could　barely　speak。　The　only　feeling　left　in　his　head　was　a　pin…point　of　agony　in　the　middle　of　his　forehead。
　'What　the　hell　is　going　on？'　he　said；　through　lips　almost　too　frozen　to　move。
　'Precisely　that；　Mr　Cameron；'　the　man　replied。　'Hell　is　going　on。'
　
　As　they　ran　past　St　Mary…le…Strand；　Loyer　glanced　behind　him；　and　stumbled。　Joel；　a　full　three　metres　behind　the　leaders；　knew　the　man　was　giving　up。　So　quickly　too；　there　was　something　amiss。　He　slackened　his　pace；　letting　McCloud　and　Voight　pass　him。　No　great　hurry。　Kinderman　was　quite　a　way　behind；　unable　to　pete　with　these　fast　boys。　He　was　the　tortoise　in　this　race；　for　sure。　Loyer　was　overtaken　by　McCloud；　then　Voight；　and　finally　Jones　and　Kinderman。　His　breath　had　suddenly　deserted　him；　and　his　legs　felt　like　lead。　Worse；　he　was　seeing　the　tarmac　under　his　running　shoes　creaking　and　cracking；　and　fingers；　like　loveless　children；　seeking　up　out　of　the　ground　to　touch　him。　Nobody　else　was　seeing　them；　it　seemed。　The　crowds　just　roared　on；　while　these　illusory　hands　broke　out　of　their　tarmac　graves　and　secured　a　hold　on　him。　He　collapsed　into　their　dead　arms　exhausted；　his　youth　broken　and　his　strength　spent。　The　enquiring　fingers　of　the　dead　continued　to　pluck　at　him；　long　after　the　doctors　had　removed　him　from　the　track；　examined　him　and　sedated　him。
　He　knew　why；　of　course；　lying　there　on　the　hot　tarmac　while　they　had　their　pricking　way　with　him。　He'd　looked　behind　him。　That's　what　had　made　them　e。　He'd　looked　…'And　after　Loyer's　sensational　collapse；　the　race　is　open　wide。　Frank　the　Flash　McCloud　is　setting　the　pace　now；　and　he's　really　speeding　away　from　the　new　boy；　Voight。　Joel　Jones　is　even　further　behind；　he　doesn't　seem　to　be　keeping　up　with　the　leaders　at　all。　What　do　you　think；　Jim？'
　'Well　he's　either　pooped　already；　or　he's　really　taking　a　chance　that　they'll　exhaust　themselves。　Remember　he's　new　over　this　distance　…'
　'Yes；　Jim　…'
　'And　that　might　make　him　careless。　Certainly　he's　going　to　have　to　do　a　lot　of　work　to　improve　on　his　present　position　in　third　place。'
　Joel　felt　giddy。　For　a　moment；　as　he'd　watched　Loyer　begin　to　lose　his　grip　on　the　race；　he'd　heard　the　man　praying　out　loud。　Praying　to　God　to　save　him。　He'd　been　the　only　one　who　heard　the　words…
　'Yea；　though　I　walk　through　the　shadows　of　the　Valley　of　Death　I　shall　fear　no　evil；　for　thou　art　with　me；　thy　rod　and　thy　staff　they。　
　
　The　sun　was　hotter　now；　and　Joel　was　beginning　to　feel　the　familiar　voices　of　his　tiring　limbs。　Running　on　tarmac　was　hard　on　the　feet；　hard　on　the　joints。　Not　that　that　would　make　a　man　take　to　praying。　He　tried　to　put　Loyer's　desperation　out　of　his　mind；　and　concentrate　on　the　matter　in　hand。
　There　was　still　a　lot　of　running　to　do；　the　race　was　not　even　half　over。　Plenty　of　time　to　catch　up　with　the　heroes：　plenty　of　time。
　As　he　ran；　his　brain　idly　turned　over　the　prayers　his　mother　had　taught　him　in　case　he　should　need　one；　but　the　years　had　eroded　them：　they　were　all　but　gone。
　
　'My　name；'　said　the　goat…coated　man；　'is　Gregory　Burgess。　Member　of　Parliament。　You　wouldn't　know　me。　I　try　to　keep　a　low　profile。'
　'MP？'　said　Cameron。
　'Yes。　Independent。　Very　independent。'
　'Is　that　Voight's　brother？'
　Burgess　glanced　at　Voight's　other　self。　He　was　not　even　shivering　in　the　intense　cold；　despite　the　fact　that　he　was　only　wearing　a　thin　singlet　and　shorts。
　'Brother？'　Burgess　said。　'No；　no。　He　is　my　…　what　is　the　word？　Familiar。'
　The　word　rang　a　bell；　but　Cameron　wasn't　well…read。　What　was　a　familiar？
　'Show　him；'　said　Burgess　magnanimously。　Voight's　face　shook；　the　skin　seeming　to　shrivel；　the　lips　curling　back　from　the　teeth；　the　teeth　melting　into　a　white　wax　that　poured　down　a　gullet　that　was　itself　transfiguring　into　a　column　of　shimmering　silver。　The　face　was　no　longer　human；　no　longer　even　mammalian。　It　had　bee　a　fan　of　knives；　their　blades　glistening　in　the　candlelight　through　the　door。　Even　as　this　bizarrerie　became　fixed；　it　started　to　change　again；　the　knives　melting　and　darkening；　fur　sprouting；　eyes　appearing　and　swelling　to　balloon　size。　Antennae　leapt　from　this　new　head；　mandibles　were　extruded　from　the　pulp　of　transfiguration；　and　the　head　of　a　bee；　huge　and　perfectly　intricate；　now　sat　on　Voight's　neck。
　Burgess　obviously　enjoyed　the　display；　he　applauded　with　gloved　hands。
　'Familiars　both；'　he　said；　gesturing　to　the　chauffeur；　who　had　removed　the　cap；　and　let　a　welter　of　auburn　hair　fall　to　her　shoulders。　She　was　ravishingly　beautiful；　a　face　to　give　your　life　for。　But　an　illusion；　like　the　other。　No　doubt　capable　of　infinite　personae。
　'They're　both　mine；　of　course；'　said　Burgess　proudly。
　'What？'　was　all　Cameron　could　manage；　he　hoped　it　stood　for　all　the　questions　in　his　head。
　'I　serve　Hell；　Mr　Cameron。　And　in　its　turn　Hell　serves　me。'
　'Hell？'
　'Behind　you；　one　of　the　entrances　to　the　Ninth　Circle。　You　know　your　Dante；　I　presume？
　〃Lo！　Dis；　and　lo！　the　place
　Where　thou　hast　need　to　arm　thy　heart　with　strength。〃'
　'Why　are　you　here？'
　'To　run　this　race。　Or　rather　my　third　familiar　is　already　running　the　race。　He　will　not　be　beaten　this　time。　This　time　it　is　Hell's　event；　Mr　Cameron；　and　we　shall　not　be　cheated　of　the　prize。'
　'Hell；'　said　Cameron　again。
　'You　believe　don't　you？　You're　a　good　church…goer。　Still　pray　before　you　eat；　like　any　God…fearing　soul。　Afraid　of　choking　on　your　dinner。'
　'How　do　you　know　I　pray？'
　'Your　wife　told　me。　Oh；　your　wife　was　very　informative　about　you；　Mr　Cameron；　she　really　opened　up　to　me。　Very　acmodating。　A　confirmed　analyst；　after　my　attentions。　She　gave　me　so　much　。　。　。　information。　You're　a　good　Socialist；　aren't　you；　like　your　father。'
　'Politics　now　…'
　'Oh；　politics　is　the　hub　of　the　issue；　Mr　Cameron。　Without　politics　we're　lost　in　a　wilderness；　aren't　we？　Even　Hell　needs　order。　Nine　great　circles：　a　pecking　order　of　punishments。　Look　down；　see　for　yourself。'
　Cameron　could　feel　the　hole　at　his　back：　he　didn't　need　to　look。
　'We　stand　for　order；　you　know。　Not　chaos。　That's　just　heavenly　propaganda。　And　you　know　what　we'll　win？'
　'It's　a　charity　race。'
　'Charity　is　the　least　of　it。　We're　not　running　this　race　to　save　the　world　from　cancer。　We're　running　it　for　government。'
　Cameron　half…grasped　the　point。
　'Government；'　he　said。
　'Once　every　century　this　race　is　run　from　St　Paul's　to　the　Palace　of　Westminster。　Often　it　has　been　run　at　the　dead　of　night；　unheralded；　unapplauded。　Today　it　is　run　in　full　sunshine；　watched　by　thousands。　But　whatever　the　circumstance；　it　is　always　the　same　race。　Your　athletes；　against　one　of　ours。　If　you　win；　another　hundred　years　of　democracy。　If　we　win　。　。　。　as　we　will　。　。　。　the　end　of　the　world　as　you　know　it。'
　At　his　back　Cameron　felt　a　vibration。　The　expression　on　Burgess'　face　had　abruptly　changed；　the　confidence　had　bee　clouded；　the　smugness　was　instantly　replaced　by　a　look　of　nervous　excitement。
　'Well；　well；'　he　said；　his　hands　flapping　like　birds。　'It　seems　we　are　about　to　be　visited　by　higher　powers。　How　flattering　…'
　
　Cameron　turned；　and　peered　over　the　edge　of　the　hole。　It　didn't　matter　how　curious　he　was　now。　They　had　him；　he　may　as　well　see　all　there　was　to　see。
　A　wave　of　icy　air　blew　up　from　the　sunless　circle　and　in　the　darkness　of　the　shaft　he　could　see　a　shape　approaching。