cb.imajica2-第80节

按键盘上方向键 ← 或 → 可快速上下翻页，按键盘上的 Enter 键可回到本书目录页，按键盘上方向键 ↑ 可回到本页顶部！
————未阅读完？加入书签已便下次继续阅读！


　they　quietly　parted　to　let　her　go　her　way　alone；　down　to　the　water。　There　she　sat；　not　daring　to　glance　back　at　the　temple　where　her　fate　was　being　decided；　but　gazing　out　over　the　basin。
　What　now？　she　wondered。　If　she　was　called　back　into　the　presence　of　the　Goddesses　to　be　told　she　wasn't　fit　to　make　any　decision　concerning　the　Reconciliation；　she'd　be　quite　happy　with　the　judgment。　She'd　leave　the　problem　in　surer　hands　than　hers　and　return　to　the　corridors　around　the　basin；　where　she　might　after　a　time　reinvent　herself　and　e　back　into　this　temple　as　a　novice；　ready　to　learn　the　way　to　fold　light。　If；　on　the　other　hand；　she　was　simply　shunned；　as　Jokalaylau　clearly　wanted；　if　she　was　driven　from　this　miraculous　place　back　into　the　wilderness　outside；　what　would　she　do？　Without　anyone　to　guide　her；　what　knowledge　did　she　possess　to　help　choose　between　the　ways　ahead？　None。　Her　tears　dried　after　a　time；　but　what　came　in　their　place　was　worse：　a　sense　of　desolation　that　could　only　be　Hell　itself；　or　some　neighboring　province；　divided　from　the　main　by　infernal　jailers；　made　to　punish　women　who　had　loved　immoderately　and　who　had　lost　perfection；　for　want　of　a　little　shame。
　
　
　20
　
　In　his　last　letter　to　his　son；　written　the　night　before　he　boarded　a　ship　bound　for　France…his　mission　to　spread　the　gospel　of　the　Tabula　Rasa　across　Europe…Roxborough；　the　scourge　of　Maestros；　had　set　down　the　substance　of　a　nightmare　from　which　he'd　just　woken。
　I　dreamed　that　I　drove　in　my　coach　through　the　damnable　streets　of　Clerkenwell；　he　wrote；　I　need　not　name　my　destination。　You　know　it；　and　you　know　too　what　infamies　were　planned　there。　As　is　the　way　in　dreams；　I　was　bereft　of　self…government；　for　though　I　called　out　many　times　to　the　driver；　begging　him；　for　my　soul's　sake；　not　to　take　me　back　to　that　house；　my　words　had　no　power　to　persuade　him。　As　the　coach　turned　the　corner；　however；　and　the　Maestro　Sartori's　house　came　in　sight；　Bellamare　reared　up　affrighted　and　would　go　no　further。　She　was　ever　my　favorite　bay；　and　I　felt　such　a　flood　of　gratitude　towards　her　for　refusing　to　carry　me　to　that　unholy　step　that　f　climbed　from　the　coach　to　speak　my　thanks　into　her　ear。
　And　lo！　as　my　foot　touched　the　ground　the　cobbles　spoke　up　like　living　things；　their　voices　stony　but　raised　in　a　hideous　lamentation；　and　at　the　sound　of　their　anguish　the　very　bricks　of　the　houses　in　that　street；　and　the　roofs　and　railings　and　chimneys；　all　made　similar　cry；　their　voices　joined　in　sorrowful　testament　to　Heaven。　I　never　heard　a　din　its　like；　but　I　could　not　stop　my　ears　against　it；　for　was　their　pain　not　in　some　part　of　my　making？　And　I　heard　them　say：
　Lord；　we　are　but　unbaptized　things　and　have　no　hopes　to　e　into　your　Kingdom；　but　we　beseech　you　to　bring　some　storm　down　upon　us　and　grind　us　into　dust　with　your　righteous　thunder；　that　we　may　be　scoured　and　destroyed　and　not　suffer　plicity　with　the　deeds　performed　in　our　sight。
　My　son；　I　marveled　at　their　clamor；　and　wept　too；　and　was　ashamed；　hearing　them　make　this　appeal　to　the　Almighty；　knowing　that　I　was　a　thousand　times　more　accountable　than　they。　O！　how　1　wished　my　feet　might　carry　me　away　to　some　less　odious　place！　I　swear　at　that　moment　I　would　have　judged　the　heart　of　a　fiery　furnace　an　agreeable　place；　and　lain　my　head　there　with　hosannahs；　rather　than　be　where　these　deeds　had　been　done。　But　I　could　not　retreat。　On　the　contrary；　my　mutinous　limbs　carried　me　to　the　very　doorstep　of　that　house。　There　was　foamy　blood　upon　the　threshold；　as　though　the　martyrs　had　that　night　marked　the　place　so　that　the　Angel　of　Destruction　might　find　it；　and　cause　the　earth　to　gape　'neath　it；　and　mit　it　to　the　Abyss。　And　from　within　was　a　sound　of　idle　chatter　as　the　men　I　had　known　debated　their　profane　philosophies。
　I　went　down　on　my　knees　in　the　blood；　calling　to　those　within　to　e　out　and　join　me　in　begging　forgiveness　of　the　Almighty；　but　they　scorned　me　with　much　laughter；　and　called　me　coward　and　fool；　and　told　me　to　go　on　my　way。　This　I　presently　did；　with　much　haste；　and　did　escape　the　street　with　the　cobbles　telling　me　I　should　go　about　my　crusade　without　fear　of　God's　retribution；　for　I　had　turned　my　back　on　the　sin　of　that　house。
　That　was　my　dream。　I　am　setting　it　down　straightway；　and　will　have　this　letter　sent　post　haste；　that　you　may　be　warned　what　harm　there　is　in　that　place　and　not　be　tempted　to　enter　Clerkenwell　or　even　stray　south　of　Islington　while　I　am　gone　from　you。　For　my　dream　instructs　me　that　the　street　will　be　forfeit；　in　due　course；　for　the　crimes　it　has　entertained；　and　1　would　not　wish　one　hair　of　your　sweet　head　harmed　for　the　deeds　I　in　my　delirium　mitted　against　the　edicts　of　Our　Lord。　Though　the　Almighty　did　offer　His　only　begotten　Son　to　suffer　and　die　for　our　sins；　I　know　that　He　would　not　ask　that　same　sacrifice　of　me；　knowing　that　I　am　His　humblest　servant；　and　pray　only　to　be　made　His　instrument　until　I　quit　this　vale　and　go　to　Judgment。
　May　the　Lord　God　keep　you　in　His　care　until　I　embrace　you　again。
　The　ship　Roxborough　boarded　a　few　hours　after　finishing　this　letter　went　down　a　mile　out　of　Dover　harbor；　in　a　squall　that　troubled　no　other　vessel　in　the　vicinity　but　overturned　the　purger's　ship　and　sank　it　in　less　than　a　minute。　All　hands　were　lost。
　The　day　after　the　letter　arrived；　the　recipient；　still　tearful　with　the　news；　went　to　seek　solace　at　the　stables　of　his　father's　bay；　Bellamare。　The　horse　had　been　jittery　since　her　master's　departure　and；　though　she　knew　Roxborough's　son　well；　kicked　out　at　his　approach；　striking　him　in　the　abdomen。　The　blow　was　not　instantly　fatal；　but　with　stomach　and　spleen　split　wide；　the　youth　was　dead　in　six　days。　Thus　he　preceded　his　father；　whose　body　was　not　washed　up　for　another　week；　to　the　family　grave。
　Pie　'oh'　pah　had　recounted　this　sorry　story　to　Gentle　as　they'd　traveled　from　L'Himby　to　the　Cradle　of　Chzercemit　in　search　of　Scopique；　It　was　one　of　many　tales　the　mystif　had　told　on　that　journey；　offering　them　not　as　biographical　details；　though　of　course　many　of　them　were　precisely　that；　but　as　entertainment；　edic；　absurd；　or　melancholy；　that　usually　opened　with：　〃I　heard　about　this　fellow　once　。。。〃
　Sometimes　the　stories　were　told　within　a　few　minutes；　but　Pie　had　lingered　over　this　one；　repeating　word　for　word　the　text　of　Roxborough's　letter；　though　to　this　day　Gentle　didn't　know　how　the　mystif　had　e　by　it。　He　understood　why　it　had　mitted　the　prophecy　to　memory；　however；　and　why　it　had　taken　such　trouble　to　repeat　it　for　Gentle。　It　had　half　believed　there　was　some　significance　in　Roxborough's　dream；　and　just　as　it　had　educated　Gentle　on　other　matters　pertaining　to　his　concealed　self；　so　it　had　told　this　tale　to　warn　the　Maestro　of　dangers　the　future　might　bring。
　That　future　was　now。　As　the　hours　since　Monday's　return　crept　on；　and　Jude　still　didn't　return；　Gentle　was　reduced　to　picking　his　recollections　of　Roxborough's　letter　apart；　looking　for　some　clue　in　the　purger's　words　as　to　what　threat　might　be　ing　to　the　doorstep。　He　even　wondered　if　the　man　who'd　written　the　letter　was　numbered　among　the　revenants　who　by　midmoming　could　be　glimpsed　in　the　heat　haze。　Had　Roxborough　e　back　to　watch　the　demise　of　the　street　he'd　called　damnable？　If　he　had…if　he　listened　at　the　step　the　way　he　had　in　his　dream…he　was　most　likely　as　frustrated　as　the　occupants；　wishing　they'd　get　on　with　the　work　he　hoped　would　invite　calamity。
　But　however　many　doubts　Gentle　harbored　concerning　Jude；　he　could　not　believe　she　would　conspire　against　te　Great　Work。　If　she　said　it　was　unsafe　she　had　good　reason　for　so　saying；　and；　though　every　sinew　in　Gentle's　body　raged　at　inactivity；　he　refused　to　go　downstairs　and　bring　the　stones　up　into　the　Meditation　Room；　for　fear　their　very　presence　might　tempt　him　into　warming　the　circle。　Instead　he　waited；　and　waited；　and　waited；　while　the　heat　outside　rose　and　the　air　in　the　Meditation　Room　grew　sour　with　his　frustration。　As　Scopique　had　said；　a　working　like　this　required　months　of　preparation；　not　hours；　and　now　even　those　hours　were　being　steadily　whittled　away。　How　late　could　he　afford　to　postpone　the　ceremony　before　he　gave　up　on　Jude　and　began？　Until　six？　Until　nightfall？　It　was　an　imponderable。
　There　were　signs　of　unease　outside　the　house　as　well　as　in。　Scarcely　a　minute　went　by　without　a　new　siren　being　added　to　the　chorus　of　whoops　and　wails　from　every　pass　point。　Several　times　through　the　morning；　bells　began　chiming　from　steeples　in　the　vicinity；　their　peals　neither　summons　nor　celebration　but　alarm。　There　were　even　cries　occasionally：　shouts　and　screams　from　distant　streets　carried　to　the　open　windows　on　air　now　hot　enough　to　make　the　dead　sweat。
　And　then；　just　after　one　in　the　afternoon；　Clem　came　up　the　stairs；　his　eyes　wide。　It　was　Taylor　who　spoke；　and　there　was　excitement　in　his　voice。
　〃Somebody's　e　into　the　house；　Gentle。〃
　〃Who？〃
　〃A　spirit　of　some　kind；　from　the　Dominions。　She's　downstairs。〃
　〃Is　it　Jude？〃
　〃No。　This　is　a　real　power。　Can't　you　smell　her？　I　know　you've　given　up　women；　but　your　nose　still　works；　doesn't　it？〃
　He　led　Gentle　out　onto　the　landing。　The　house　lay　quiet　below。　Gentle　sensed　nothing。
　〃Where　is　she？〃
　Clem　looked