cb.damnationgame-第66节
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〃Marty；〃 she shouted at him。 〃Can you hear？ It's Breer。〃 The name awoke horrors。 A cold girl； sitting at her table laid with her own meat。 His terrible； unspeakable joke。 The image slapped the fog from Marty's head。 The thing that had performed that horror was downstairs； he remembered now； all too well。 He looked at Carys with clear； if tearful； eyes。
〃What happened？〃 〃No time；〃 she said。
He limped after her toward the door。 She was still carrying one of the planks she'd pulled from the window； its nails still in place。 The noise from below mounted still； the din of unhinged door and mind。
The pain in Marty's torn leg； which the room had so skillfully dulled； now raged up again。 He needed support from Carys to make his way down the first flight of stairs。 They made the descent together； his hand； bloody from touching the wound； marking their passage on the wall。
Halfway down the second flight of stairs； the cacophony from the cellar stopped。
They stood still； waiting for Breer's next move。 From below there came a thin creak as the Razor…Eater pushed the cellar door wide。 Other than the dim light from the kitchen； which had several corners to round before it reached the hallway； there was nothing to illuminate the scene。 Hunter and prey； both camouflaged by darkness； hung on to this tenuous moment； neither knowing if the next would bring catastrophe。 Carys left Marty behind and slipped down the remaining steps to the bottom of the stairs。 Her feet were all but silent on the carpetless stairs； but after the sense deprivation of Mamoulian's room Marty heard her every heartbeat。
Nothing moved in the hallway； she beckoned Marty down after her。 The passageway was still； and apparently empty。 Breer was near； she knew： but where？ He was large and cumbersome： hiding places would be difficult to find。 Perhaps； she prayed； he hadn't escaped after all； merely given up； exhausted。 She stepped forward。
Without warning； the Razor…Eater emerged from the door of the front room； roaring。 The carving knife descended in a swooping stroke。 She succeeded in sidestepping the blow； but in doing so all but lost her balance。 It was Marty's hand that caught her arm； and dragged her out of the way of Breer's second slash。 The force of the Razor…Eater's charge propelled him past her。 He slammed against the front door； the glass rattled。
〃Out！〃 Marty said； seeing the way clear along the passage。 But this time Carys had no intention of running。 There was a time for running and a time for confrontation； she might never have another opportunity to thank Breer for his many humiliations。 She shrugged Marty's hold off and took the wooden club she still carried in a two…handed grasp。
The Razor…Eater had righted himself； the knife still in his hand； and now he took a raging step toward her。 She preempted his attack； however。 She raised the plank and ran at him； delivering a blow to the side of his head。 His neck； already fractured by his fall； snapped。 The nails in the plank pierced his skull； and she was obliged to relinquish her weapon； leaving it fixed like a fifth limb to the side of Breer's head。 He fell to his knees。 His twitching hand dropped the knife while the other scrabbled for the plank and wrenched it from his head。 She was glad of the darkness； the slosh of blood and the tattoo his feet beat on the bare boards were more than enough to appall。 He knelt upright for several moments； then pitched forward； pressing the cutlery in his belly all the way home。
She was satisfied。 This time； when Marty pulled at her； she went with him。
As they made their way along the corridor there was a sharp rapping on the wall。 They stopped。 What now？ More possessing spirits？
〃What is it？〃 he asked。
The rapping ceased； then began again； this time acpanied by a voice。
〃Be quiet； will you？ There's people trying to sleep in here。〃 〃Next door；〃 she said。 The thought of their plaints struck her as funny； and by the time they'd made their way out of the house； past the wreckage of the cellar door and Breer's cooling camomile； they were both laughing。
They slipped away down the darkened alleyway behind the house to the car； where they sat for several minutes； tears and laughter ing on them in alternating waves； two mad people； the Calibanese might have guessed； or else adulterers； amused by a night of adventures。
XI Kingdom e
56
Chad Schuckman and Tom Loomis had been bringing the message of the Church of the Resurrected Saints to the populace of London for three weeks now； and they were sick to the back teeth of it。 〃Some way to spend a vacation；〃 Tom grumbled daily as they planned their day's route。 Memphis seemed a long way off； and they were both homesick for it。 Besides； the whole campaign was proving a failure。 The sinners they encountered on the doorsteps of this godforsaken city were as indifferent to the Reverend's message of imminent Apocalypse as they were to his promise of Deliverance。
Despite the weather （or maybe because of it）； sin wasn't hot news in England these days。 Chad was contemptuous： 〃They don't know what they've got ing；〃 he kept telling Tom； who knew all the descriptions of the Deluge by heart but also knew they sounded better from the lips of a golden boy like Chad than from himself。 He even suspected that those few people who did stop to listen did so more because Chad had the looks of a corn…fed angel than because they wanted to hear the Reverend's inspired word。 Most simply slammed their doors。
But Chad was adamant。 〃There's sin here；〃 he assured Tom； 〃and where there's sin there's guilt。 And where there's guilt there's money for the Lord's Work。〃 It was a simple equation： and if Tom had some doubts about its ethics he kept them to himself。 Better his silence than Chad's disapprobation； all they had was each other in this foreign city； and Tom wasn't about to lose his guiding light。
Sometimes； though； it was difficult to keep your faith intact。 Especially on blistering days like this； when your polyester suit was itching at the back of your neck and the Lord； if He was in His Heaven； was keeping well out of sight。 Not a hint of a breeze to cool your face； not a rain cloud in sight。
〃Isn't this from something？〃 Tom asked Chad。
〃What's that？〃 Chad was counting the pamphlets they still had left to distribute today。
〃The name of the street；〃 Tom said。 〃Caliban。 It's from something。〃 〃That so？〃 Chad had finished counting。 〃We only got rid of five pamphlets。〃 He handed the armful of literature to Tom and fished for a b in the inside pocket of his jacket。 Despite the heat； he looked cool and unruffled。 By parison； Tom felt shabby； overheated and； he feared； easily tempted from the path of righteousness。 By what； he wasn't certain； but he was open to suggestions。 Chad put the b through his hair； restoring in one elegant sweep the perfect sheen of his halo。 It was important； the Reverend taught； to look your best。 〃You're agents of the Lord；〃 he'd said。 〃He wants you to be clean and tidy； to shine through every nook and cranny。〃 〃Here；〃 Chad said； exchanging the b for the pamphlets。 〃Your hair's a mess。〃 Tom took the b； its teeth had gold in them。 He made a desultory attempt to control his coxb； while Chad looked on。 Tom's hair wouldn't lie flat the way Chad's did。 The Lord probably tutted at that： He wouldn't like it at all。 But then what did the Lord like？ He disapproved of smoking； drinking； fornication； tea； coffee； Pepsi； roller coasters； masturbation。 And for those weak creatures who indulged in any or； God help them； all of the above the Deluge hovered。
Tom just prayed that the waters； when they came； would be cool。
The guy in the dark suit who answered the door of Number Eighty…two Caliban Street reminded both Tom and Chad of the Reverend。 Not physically； of course。 Bliss was a tanned； glutinous man； while this dude was thin and sallow。 But there was the same implicit authority about them both； the same seriousness of purpose。 He was drawn to the pamphlets too； the first real interest they'd had all morning。 He even quoted Deuteronomy at them…a text they were unfamiliar with…and then； offering them both a drink； invited them into the house。
It was like home from home。 The bare walls and floors； the smell of disinfectant and incense； as though something had just been cleaned up。 Truth to tell； Tom thought this guy had taken the asceticism to extremes。 The back room he led them into boasted two chairs； no more。
〃My name is Mamoulian。〃 〃How do you do？ I'm Chad Schuckman； this is Thomas Loomis。〃 〃Both saints； eh？〃 The young men looked mystified。 〃Your names。 Both names of saints。〃 〃Saint Chad？〃 the blond one ventured。
〃Oh； certainly。 He was an English bishop； we're speaking of the seventh century now。 Thomas； of course； the great Doubter。〃 He left them awhile to fetch water。 Tom squirmed in his chair。
〃What's your problem？〃 Chad snapped。 〃He's the first sniff of a convert we've had over here。〃 〃He's weird。〃 〃You think the Lord cares if he's weird？〃 Chad said。 It was a good question； and one for which Tom was shaping a reply when their host came back in。
〃Your water。〃 〃Do you live alone？〃 Chad
