preston&child.thecabinetofcuriosities-第89节

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　either　drowned　or　exploded。　Exotic；　but　too　time…consuming。　Nearby　was　a　large　wheel　on　which　people　could　be　broken…too　much　trouble。　A　cat…o'…nine　tails；　studded　with　iron　hooks。　He　hefted　it；　lashed　it　overhead；　laid　it　back　down；　again　wiping　his　hands。　The　stuff　was　filthy。　All　this　junk　had　probably　been　hanging　around　in　Leng's　dingy　subbasement　for　more　than　a　century。
　There　had　to　be　something　here　that　would　be　suitable　for　his　needs。　And　then　his　eye　fell　on　an　executioner's　axe。
　〃What　do　you　know？〃　said　Fairhaven；　his　smile　broadening。　〃Perhaps　you'll　get　your　wish；　after　all。〃
　He　plucked　the　axe　from　its　mounting　hooks　and　gave　it　a　few　swings。　The　wooden　shaft　was　almost　five　feet　long；　fitted　with　several　rows　of　dull　brass　nails。　It　was　heavy；　but　well　balanced　and　sharp　as　a　razor。　It　made　a　whistling　noise　as　it　cut　through　the　air。　Sitting　below　the　axe　was　the　second　part　of　the　executioner's　outfit：　a　tree　stump；　well　worn　and　covered　with　a　dark　patina。　A　semicircle　had　been　hollowed　from　it；　clearly　intended　to　receive　the　neck。　It　had　been　well　used；　as　many　chop　marks　attested。　He　set　down　the　axe；　rolled　the　block　over　to　Pendergast；　tipped　it　flat；　positioned　the　block　in　front　of　the　agent。
　Suddenly；　Pendergast　resisted；　struggling　feebly；　and　the　Surgeon　gave　him　a　brutal　kick　in　the　side。　Pendergast　went　rigid　with　pain；　then　abruptly　fell　limp。　The　Surgeon　had　a　brief；　unpleasant　sensation　of　déjà　vu；　remembering　how　he　had　pushed　Leng　just　a　little　too　hard　and　ended　up　with　a　corpse。　But　no：　Pendergast　was　still　conscious。　His　eyes；　though　clouded　with　pain；　remained　open。　He　would　be　present　and　conscious　when　the　axe　fell。　He　knew　what　was　ing。　That　was　important　to　the　Surgeon：　very　important。
　And　now　another　thought　occurred　to　him。　He　recalled　how；　when　Anne　Boleyn　was　to　be　put　to　death；　she'd　sent　for　a　French　executioner；　skilled　in　the　art　of　decapitating　with　a　sword。　It　was　a　cleaner；　quicker；　surer　death　than　an　axe。　She　had　knelt；　head　erect；　with　no　unseemly　block。　And　she　had　tipped　the　man　well。
　The　Surgeon　hefted　the　axe　in　his　hands。　It　seemed　heavy；　heavier　than　it　had　before。　But　surely　he　could　swing　it　true。　It　would　be　an　interesting　challenge　to　do　without　the　block。
　He　shoved　the　block　away　with　his　foot。　Pendergast　was　already　kneeling　as　if　he　had　arranged　himself　in　position；　hands　limp　at　his　sides；　head　drooping；　helpless　and　resigned。
　〃Your　struggles　cost　you　that　quick　death　you　asked　for；〃　he　said。　〃But　I'm　sure　we'll　have　it　off　in…oh…no　more　than　two　or　three　strokes。　Either　way；　you're　about　to　experience　something　I've　always　wondered　about。　After　the　head　goes　rolling　off；　how　long　does　the　body　remain　conscious？　Do　you　see　the　world　spinning　around　as　your　head　falls　into　the　basket　of　sawdust？　When　the　executioner　raised　the　heads　in　Tower　Yard；　crying　out　'Behold　the　head　of　a　traitor！；'　the　eyes　and　lips　continued　to　move。　Did　they　actually　see　their　own　headless　corpse？〃
　He　gave　the　axe　a　practice　swing。　Why　was　it　so　heavy？　And　yet　he　was　enjoying　drawing　out　this　moment。　〃Did　you　know　that　Charlotte　Corday；　who　was　guillotined　for　assassinating　Marat　during　the　French　Revolution；　blushed　after　the　assistant　executioner　slapped　her　severed　head　before　the　assembled　crowd？　Or　how　about　the　pirate　captain　who　was　caught　and　sentenced　to　death？　They　lined　up　his　men　in　a　row。　And　they　told　him　that　after　he　was　beheaded；　whichever　men　he　managed　to　walk　past　would　be　reprieved。　So　they　cut　off　his　head　as　he　stood；　and　wouldn't　you　know　it；　but　that　headless　captain　began　to　walk　along　the　row　of　men；　one　step　at　a　time。　The　executioner　was　so　upset　that　he　wouldn't　have　any　more　victims　that　he　stuck　out　his　foot　and　tripped　the　captain。〃
　With　this　the　Surgeon　roared　with　laughter。　Pendergast　did　not　join　in。
　〃Ah　well；〃　Fairhaven　said。　〃I　guess　I'll　never　know　how　long　consciousness　lasts　after　one　has　lost　one's　head。　But　you　will。　Shortly。〃
　He　raised　the　axe　over　his　right　shoulder；　like　a　bat；　and　took　careful　aim。
　〃Give　my　regards　to　your　great…grand…uncle；〃　he　said；　as　he　tensed　his　muscles　to　deliver　the　stroke。
　
　TWELVE
　　
　NORA　PILLOWED　HER　head　on　Smithback's　shoulder；　tears　seeping　through　her　closed　eyelids。　She　felt　weak　with　despair。　She　had　done　all　she　could…and　yet；　all　she　could　was　not　enough。
　And　then；　through　the　fog　of　grief；　she　realized　something：　the　beeping　of　the　EKG　had　steadied。
　She　quickly　raised　her　head；　glanced　at　the　monitors。　Blood　pressure　had　stabilized；　and　the　pulse　had　risen　slightly；　to　60　beats　per　minute。
　She　stood　in　the　chill　room；　trembling。　In　the　end；　the　saline　solution　had　made　the　crucial　difference。　Thank　you。　Thank　you。
　Smithback　was　still　alive。　But　he　was　far　from　out　of　the　woods。　If　she　didn't　further　replenish　his　fluid　volume；　he'd　slip　into　shock。
　The　saline　bag　was　empty。　She　glanced　around　the　room；　spotted　a　small　refrigerator；　opened　it。　Inside　were　half　a　dozen　liter　bags　of　similar　solution；　feeder　lines　wrapped　around　them。　She　pulled　one　out；　detached　the　old　line　from　the　catheter；　removed　the　empty　bag　from　the　IV　rack　and　tossed　it　aside；　then　hung　the　new　bag　and　attached　its　line。　She　watched　the　fluid　dribble　rapidly　down　the　clear　tube。　Throughout；　Smithback's　vital　signs　remained　weak　but　stable。　With　any　luck；　he'd　make　it…if　she　could　get　him　out　of　here　and　to　a　hospital。
　She　examined　the　gurney。　It　was　on　wheels；　but　detachable。　There　were　straps。　If　she　could　find　a　way　out　of　the　basement；　she　just　might　be　able　to　drag　the　gurney　up　a　flight　of　stairs。　It　was　worth　a　try。
　She　searched　through　the　nearby　cabinets；　pulled　out　half　a　dozen　green　surgical　sheets；　and　covered　Smithback　with　them。　She　plucked　a　medical　light　from　one　of　the　cabinets；　slipped　it　into　her　pocket。　She　gave　another　glance　at　the　monitors　at　the　head　of　the　operating　table；　another　look　into　the　dark　opening　that　led　down　into　darkness。　It　was　from　there　that　the　sound　of　the　second　shot　had　e。　But　the　way　out　of　the　house　lay　up；　not　down。　She　hated　to　leave　Smithback；　if　only　for　a　moment；　but　it　was　vital　he　get　real　medical　attention　as　soon　as　possible。
　She　pulled　the　flashlight　from　her　pocket　and；　crossing　the　room；　stepped　through　the　doorway　into　the　stone　corridor　beyond。
　It　was　the　work　of　five　minutes　to　explore　the　basement；　a　warren　of　narrow　passages　and　small　damp　rooms；　all　of　the　same　undressed　stone。　The　passages　were　low　and　dark；　and　she　lost　her　way　more　than　once。　She　found　the　crashed　elevator…and；　tragically；　the　corpse　of　O'Shaughnessy…but　the　elevator　was　inoperable；　and　there　was　no　way　up　the　shaft。　Ultimately；　she　found　a　massive　iron　door；　banded　and　riveted；　which　clearly　led　upstairs。　It　was　locked。　Pendergast；　she　thought；　might　be　able　to　pick　the　lock…but　then　Pendergast　wasn't　here。
　At　last　she　returned　to　the　operating　room；　chilled　and　despondent。　If　there　was　another　way　out　of　the　basement；　it　was　too　well　hidden　for　her　to　find。　They　were　locked　in。
　She　approached　the　unconscious　Smithback　and　caressed　his　brown　hair。　Once　again；　her　eye　fell　on　the　opening　in　the　wall　that　gave　onto　a　descending　staircase。　It　was　pitch　black；　silent。　She　realized　it　had　been　silent　for　what　seemed　a　long　time；　ever　since　the　second　shot。　What　could　have　happened？　she　wondered。　Could　Pendergast　。　。　。
　〃Nora？〃
　Smithback's　voice　was　barely　a　whisper。　She　glanced　down　quickly。　His　eyes　were　open；　his　pale　face　tight　with　pain。
　〃Bill！〃　she　cried；　grabbing　his　hands。　〃Thank　God。〃
　〃This　is　getting　old；〃　he　murmured。
　At　first；　she　thought　he　was　delirious。　〃What？〃
　〃Getting　hurt；　waking　up　to　find　you　ministering　to　me。　The　same　thing　happened　in　Utah；　remember？　Once　was　enough。〃　He　tried　to　smile；　but　his　face　contorted　in　agony。
　〃Bill；　don't　talk；〃　she　said；　stroking　his　cheek。　〃You're　going　to　be　okay。　We're　going　to　get　you　out　of　here。　I'll　find　a…〃
　But…mercifully…he　had　already　slipped　back　into　unconsciousness。
　She　glanced　at　the　vitals　and　felt　a　huge　rush　of　relief。　They　had　improved…slightly。　The　saline　bag　continued　to　deliver　critical　fluid。
　And　then　she　heard　the　scream。
　It　came　up　from　the　dark　stairs；　faint　and　muffled。　Nevertheless　it　was　the　most　frightening；　bone…chilling　sound　she　had　ever　heard。　It　started　at　a　high；　tearing　pitch：　shrill；　inhuman。　It　remained　at　a　piercing　high　for　what　seemed　at　least　a　minute；　then　began　wavering；　ululating；　before　dropping　into　a　gasping；　slobbering　growl。　And　then　there　was　the　distant　clang　of　metal　against　stone。
　And　then；　silence　once　again。
　She　stared　at　the　opening　in　the　wall；　mind　racing　through　the　possibilities。　What　had　happened？　Was　Pendergast　dead？　His　opponent？　Were　they　both　dead？
　If　Pendergast　was　hurt；　she　had　to　help　him。　He'd　be　able　to　pick　the　lock　on　the　iron　door；　or　find　some　other　way　for　them　to　get　Smithback　out　of　this　hell…hole。　On　the　other　hand…if　the　Surgeon　was　still　alive；　and　Pendergast　dead…she'd　have　to　face　him　sooner　or　later　anyway。　It　might　as　well　be　sooner：　and　on　her　own　terms。　She　was　damned　if　she　was　going　to　wait　up　here；　a　sitting　duck；　for　the　Surgeon　to　return　and　p