sk.thetalisman-第143节

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e　Forty…Niner　Room　and　the　Mendocino　Room　were　just　doors；　sensibly　rectangular　and　with　no　peaks。　Yet　for　one　moment　he　had　seemed　to　see　openings　like　modified　cathedral　arches。　Filling　these　openings　had　been　iron　drop…gates…the　sort　that　could　be　raised　or　lowered　by　turning　a　windlass。　Drop…gates　with　hungry…looking　iron　spikes　at　the　bottom。　When　the　gate　was　lowered　to　block　the　entrance；　the　spikes　fitted　neatly　into　holes　in　the　floor。
　　No　stone　archways；　Jack…O。　See　for　yourself。　Just　doorways。　You　saw　drop…gates　like　that　in　the　Tower　of　London；　on　that　tour　you　went　on　with　Mom　and　Uncle　Tommy；　three　years　ago。　You're　just　freaking　a　little；　that's　all　。　。　。
　　But　the　feeling　in　the　pit　of　his　stomach　was　unmistakable。
　　They　were　there；　all　right。　I　flipped…for　just　a　second　I　was　in　the　Territories。
　　Clank。
　　Jack　whirled　back　the　other　way；　sweat　breaking　out　on　his　cheeks　and　forehead；　hair　beginning　to　stiffen　on　the　nape　of　his　neck。
　　He　saw　it　again…a　flash　of　something　metallic　in　the　shadows　of　one　of　those　rooms。　He　saw　huge　stones　as　black　as　sin；　their　rough　surfaces　splotched　with　green　moss。　Nasty；　soft…looking　albino　bugs　squirmed　in　and　out　of　the　large　pores　of　the　decaying　mortar　between　the　stones。　Empty　sconces　stood　at　fifteen…　or　twenty…foot　intervals。　The　torches　that　the　sconces　had　once　held　were　long　since　gone。
　　Clank。
　　This　time　he　didn't　even　blink。　The　world　sideslipped　before　his　eyes；　wavering　like　an　object　seen　through　clear　running　water。　The　walls　were　blackish　mahogany　again　instead　of　stone　blocks。　The　doors　were　doors　and　not　latticed…iron　drop…gates。　The　two　worlds；　which　had　been　separated　by　a　membrane　as　thin　as　a　lady's　silk　stocking；　had　now　actually　begun　to　overlap。
　　And；　Jack　realized　dimly；　his　Jason…side　had　begun　to　overlap　with　his　Jack…side…some　third　being　which　was　an　amalgamation　of　both　was　emerging。
　　I　don't　know　what　that　bination　is；　exactly；　but　I　hope　it's　strong…because　there　are　things　behind　those　doors　。　。　。　behind　all　of　them。
　　Jack　began　to　sidle　up　the　hallway　again　toward　the　lobby。
　　Clank。
　　This　time　the　worlds　didn't　change；　solid　doors　remained　solid　doors　and　he　saw　no　movement。
　　Right　behind　there；　though。　Right　behind…
　　Now　he　heard　something　behind　the　painted　double　doors…written　in　the　sky　above　the　marsh　scene　were　the　words　HERON　BAR。　It　was　the　sound　of　some　large　rusty　machine　that　had　been　set　in　motion。　Jack　swung　toward
　　（Jason　swung　toward）　
　　toward　that　opening　door
　　（that　rising　drop…gate）　
　　his　hand　plunging　into
　　（the　poke）
　　the　pocket
　　（he　wore　on　the　belt　of　his　jerkin）　
　　of　his　jeans　and　closing　around　the　guitar…pick　Speedy　had　given　him　so　long　ago。
　　（and　closing　around　the　shark's　tooth）
　　He　waited　to　see　what　would　e　out　of　the　Heron　Bar；　and　the　walls　of　the　hotel　whispered　dimly：　We　have　ways　of　dealing　with　fushing　feeves　like　you。　You　should　have　left　while　there　was　still　time　。　。　。
　　。　。　。because　now；　little　boy；　your　time　is　up。
　　　
　　　5
　　
　　Clank　。　。　。　THUD！
　　Clank　。　。　。　THUD！
　　Clank　。　。　。　THUD！
　　The　noise　was　large　and　clumsy　and　metallic。　There　was　something　relentless　and　inhuman　about　it　which　frightened　Jack　more　badly　than　a　more　human　sound　would　have　done。
　　It　moved　and　shuffled　its　way　forward　with　its　own　slow　idiot　rhythm：
　　Clank　。　。　。　THUD！
　　Clank　。　。　。　THUD！
　　There　was　a　long　pause。　Jack　waited；　pressed　against　the　far　wall　a　few　feet　to　the　right　of　the　painted　doors；　his　nerves　so　tightly　wound　they　seemed　to　hum。　Nothing　at　all　happened　for　a　long　time。　Jack　began　to　hope　the　clanker　had　fallen　back　through　some　interdimensional　trapdoor　and　into　the　world　it　had　e　from。　He　became　aware　that　his　back　ached　from　his　artificially　still　and　tautly　erect　posture。　He　slumped。
　　Then　there　was　a　splintering　crash；　and　a　huge　mailed　fist　with　blunt　two…inch　spikes　sprouting　from　the　knuckles　slammed　through　the　peeling　blue　sky　on　the　door。　Jack　shrank　back　against　the　wall　again；　gaping。
　　And；　helplessly；　flipped　into　the　Territories。
　　　
　　　6
　　
　　Standing　on　the　other　side　of　the　drop…gate　was　a　figure　in　blackish；　rusty　armor。　Its　cylindrical　helmet　was　broken　only　by　a　black　horizontal　eye…slit　no　more　than　an　inch　wide。　The　helmet　was　topped　by　a　frowzy　red　plume…white　bugs　squirmed　in　and　out　of　it。　They　were　the　same　sort；　Jason　saw；　as　those　which　had　e　out　of　the　walls　first　in　Albert　the　Blob's　room　and　then　all　over　Thayer　School。　The　helmet　ended　in　a　coif　of　mail　which　draped　the　rusty　knight's　shoulders　like　a　lady's　stole。　The　upper　arms　and　forearms　were　plated　with　heavy　steel　brassards。　They　were　joined　at　the　elbows　with　cubitieres。　These　were　crusted　with　layers　of　ancient　filth；　and　when　the　knight　moved；　the　cubitieres　squealed　like　the　high；　demanding　voices　of　unpleasant　children。
　　Its　armored　fists　were　crazy　with　spikes。
　　Jason　stood　against　the　stone　wall；　looking　at　it；　unable　in　fact　to　look　away；　his　mouth　was　dry　as　fever　and　his　eyeballs　seemed　to　be　swelling　rhythmically　in　their　sockets　in　time　to　his　heartbeat。
　　In　the　knight's　right　hand　was　le　martel　de　fer…a　battle…hammer　with　a　rusty　thirty…pound　forged…steel　head；　as　mute　as　murder。
　　The　drop…gate；　remember　that　the　drop…gate　is　between　you　and　it…
　　But　then；　although　no　human　hand　was　near　it；　the　windlass　began　to　turn；　the　iron　chain；　each　link　as　long　as　Jack's　forearm；　began　to　wind　around　the　drum；　and　the　gate　began　to　rise。
　　　
　　　7
　　
　　The　mailed　fist　was　withdrawn　from　the　door；　leaving　a　splintered　hole　that　changed　the　mural　at　once　from　faded　pastoral　romantic　to　surrealist　bar…sinister：　it　now　looked　as　if　some　apocalyptic　hunter；　disappointed　by　his　day　in　the　marshes；　had　put　a　load　of　birdshot　through　the　sky　itself　in　a　fit　of　pique。　Then　the　head　of　the　battle…hammer　exploded　through　the　door　in　a　huge　blunt　swipe；　obliterating　one　of　the　two　herons　struggling　to　achieve　liftoff。　Jack　raised　his　hand　in　front　of　his　face　to　protect　it　from　splinters。　The　martel　de　fer　was　withdrawn。　There　was　another　brief　pause；　almost　long　enough　for　Jack　to　think　about　running　again。　Then　the　spiked　fist　tore　through　again。　It　twisted　first　one　way　and　then　the　other；　widening　the　hole；　then　withdrew。　A　second　later　the　hammer　slammed　through　the　middle　of　a　reed…bed　and　a　large　chunk　of　the　right…hand　door　fell　to　the　carpet。
　　Jack　could　now　see　the　hulking　armored　figure　in　the　shadows　of　the　Heron　Bar。　The　armor　was　not　the　same　as　that　worn　by　the　figure　confronting　Jason　in　the　black　castle；　that　one　wore　a　helmet　which　was　nearly　cylindrical；　with　a　red　plume。　This　one　wore　a　helmet　that　looked　like　the　polished　head　of　a　steel　bird。　Horns　rose　from　either　side；　sprouting　from　the　helmet　at　roughly　ear　level。　Jack　saw　a　breastplate；　a　kilt　of　plate…mail；　a　hemming　of　chain…mail　below　that。　The　hammer　was　the　same　in　both　worlds；　and　in　both　worlds　the　knight…Twinners　dropped　them　at　the　same　instant；　as　if　in　contempt…who　would　need　a　battle…hammer　to　deal　with　such　a　puny　opponent　as　this？
　　Run！　Jack；　run！
　　That's　right；　the　hotel　whispered。　Run！　That's　what　fushing　feeves　are　supposed　to　do！　Run！　RUN！
　　But　he　would　not　run。　He　might　die；　but　he　would　not　run…because　that　sly；　whispering　voice　was　right。　Running　was　exactly　what　fushing　feeves　did。
　　But　I'm　no　thief；　Jack　thought　grimly。　That　thing　may　kill　me；　but　I　won't　run。　Because　I'm　no　thief。
　　'I　won't　run！'　Jack　shouted　at　the　blank；　polished…steel　bird…face。　'I'm　no　thief！　Do　you　hear　me？　I've　e　for　what's　mine　and　I'M　NO　THIEF！'
　　A　groaning　scream　came　from　the　breathing…holes　at　the　bottom　of　the　bird…helmet。　The　knight　raised　its　spiked　fists　and　brought　them　down；　one　on　the　sagging　left　door；　one　on　the　sagging　right。　The　pastoral　marsh…world　painted　there　was　destroyed。　The　hinges　snapped　。　。　。　and　as　the　doors　fell　toward　him；　Jack　actually　saw　the　one　painted　heron　who　remained　go　flying　away　like　a　bird　in　a　Walt　Disney　cartoon；　its　eyes　bright　and　terrified。
　　The　suit　of　armor　came　toward　him　like　a　killer　robot；　its　feet　rising　and　then　crashing　down。　It　was　more　than　seven　feet　tall；　and　when　it　came　through　the　door　the　horns　rising　from　its　helmet　tore　a　set　of　ragged　slashes　into　the　upper　jamb。　They　looked　like　quotation　marks。
　　Run！　a　yammering　voice　in　his　mind　screamed。
　　Run；　you　feef；　the　hotel　whispered。
　　No；　Jack　answered。　He　stared　up　at　the　advancing　knight；　and　his　hand　wrapped　itself　tightly　around　the　guitar…pick　in　his　pocket。　The　spike…studded　gauntlets　came　up　toward　the　visor　of　its　bird…helmet。　They　raised　it。　Jack　gaped。
　　The　inside　of　the　helmet　was　empty。
　　Then　those　studded　hands　were　reaching　for　Jack。
　　　
　　　8
　　
　　The　spike…studded　hands　came　up　and　grasped　either　side　of　the　cylindrical　helmet。　They　lifted　it　slowly　off；　disclosing　the　livid；　haggard　face　of　a　man　who　looked　at　least　three　hundred　years　old。　One　side　of　this　ancient's　head　had　been　bashed　in。　Splinters　of　bone　like　broken　eggshell　poked　out　through　the　skin；　and　the　wound　was　caked　with　some　black　goop　which　Ja