sk.thetalisman-第88节

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　　Never　mind；　it's　not　a　trick；　not　a　trick　at　all…it's　magic。　It's　magic　and　I　did　it　before　when　I　was　little　and　I　can　do　it　again；　Speedy　said　so　that　blind　singer　Snowball　said　so；　too；　THE　MAGIC　JUICE　IS　IN　MY　MIND…
　　He　bore　down　with　all　his　force；　all　his　effort　of　will　。　。　。　and　the　ease　with　which　they　flipped　was　stupefying；　as　if　a　punch　aimed　at　something　which　looked　like　granite　hit　a　cleverly　painted　papier…maché　shell　instead；　so　that　the　blow　you　thought　would　break　all　your　knuckles　instead　encountered　no　resistance　at　all。
　　　
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　　To　Jack；　with　his　eyes　screwed　tightly　shut；　it　felt　as　if　the　floor　had　first　crumbled　under　his　feet　。　。　。　and　then　disappeared　pletely。
　　Oh　shit　we're　going　to　fall　anyway；　he　thought　dismally。　
　　But　it　wasn't　really　a　fall；　only　a　minor　sideslip。　A　moment　later　he　and　Wolf　were　standing　firmly；　not　on　hard　bathroom　tile　but　on　dirt。
　　A　reek　of　sulphur　mingled　with　what　smelled　like　raw　sewage　flooded　in。　It　was　a　deathly　smell；　and　Jack　thought　it　meant　the　end　of　all　hope。
　　'Jason！　What's　that　smell？'　Wolf　groaned。　'Oh　Jason　that　smell；　can't　stay　here；　Jacky；　can't　stay…'　
　　Jack's　eyes　snapped　open。　At　the　same　moment　Wolf　let　go　of　Jack's　hands　and　blundered　forward；　his　own　eyes　still　tightly　shut。　Jack　saw　that　Wolf's　ill…fitting　chinos　and　checked　shirt　had　been　replaced　by　the　Oshkosh　biballs　in　which　Jack　had　originally　seen　the　big　herdsman。　The　John　Lennon　glasses　were　gone。　And…
　　…and　Wolf　was　blundering　toward　the　edge　of　a　precipice　less　than　four　feet　away。
　　'Wolf！'　He　lunged　at　Wolf　and　wrapped　his　arms　around　Wolf's　waist。　'Wolf；　no！'
　　'Jacky；　can't　stay；'　Wolf　moaned。　'It's　a　Pit；　one　of　the　Pits；　Morgan　made　these　places；　oh　I　heard　that　Morgan　made　them；　I　can　smell　it…'
　　'Wolf；　there's　a　cliff；　you'll　fall！'
　　Wolf's　eyes　opened。　His　jaw　dropped　as　he　saw　the　smokey　chasm　which　spread　at　their　feet。　In　its　deepest；　cloudy　depths；　red　fire　winked　like　infected　eyes。
　　'A　Pit；'　Wolf　moaned。　'Oh　Jacky；　it's　a　Pit。　Furnaces　of　the　Black　Heart　down　there。　Black　Heart　at　the　middle　of　the　world。　Can't　stay；　Jacky；　it's　the　worst　bad　there　is。'　
　　Jack's　first　cold　thought　as　he　and　Wolf　stood　at　the　edge　of　the　Pit；　looking　down　into　hell；　or　the　Black　Heart　at　the　middle　of　the　world；　was　that　Territories　geography　and　Indiana　geography　weren't　the　same。　There　was　no　corresponding　place　in　the　Sunlight　Home　to　this　cliff；　this　hideous　Pit。
　　Four　feet　to　the　right；　Jack　thought　with　sudden；　sickening　horror。　That's　all　it　would　have　taken…just　four　feet　to　the　right。　And　if　Wolf　had　done　what　I　told　him…
　　If　Wolf　had　done　just　what　Jack　had　told　him；　they　would　have　flipped　from　that　first　stall。　And　if　they　had　done　that；　they　would　have　e　into　the　Territories　just　over　this　cliff's　edge。
　　The　strength　ran　out　of　his　legs。　He　groped　at　Wolf　again；　this　time　for　support。
　　Wolf　held　him　absently；　his　eyes　wide　and　glowing　a　steady　orange。　His　face　was　a　grue　of　dismay　and　fear。　'It's　a　Pit；　Jacky。'　
　　It　looked　like　the　huge　open…pit　molybdenum　mine　he　had　visited　with　his　mother　when　they　had　vacationed　in　Colorado　three　winters　ago…they　had　gone　to　Vail　to　ski　but　one　day　it　had　been　too　bitterly　cold　for　that　and　so　they　had　taken　a　bus　tour　to　the　Continental　Minerals　molybdenum　mine　outside　the　little　town　of　Sidewinder。　'It　looks　like　Gehenna　to　me；　Jack…O；'　she　had　said；　and　her　face　as　she　looked　out　the　frost…bordered　bus　window　had　been　dreamy　and　sad。　'I　wish　they'd　shut　those　places　down；　every　one　of　them。　They're　pulling　fire　and　destruction　out　of　the　earth。　It's　Gehenna；　all　right。'　
　　Thick；　choking　vines　of　smoke　rose　from　the　depths　of　the　Pit。　Its　sides　were　veined　with　thick　lodes　of　some　poisonous　green　metal。　It　was　perhaps　half　a　mile　across。　A　road　leading　downward　spiraled　its　inner　circumference。　Jack　could　see　figures　toiling　both　upward　and　downward　upon　this　road。
　　It　was　a　prison　of　some　kind；　just　as　the　Sunlight　Home　was　a　prison；　and　these　were　the　prisoners　and　their　keepers。　The　prisoners　were　naked；　harnessed　in　pairs　to　carts　like　rickshaws…carts　filled　with　huge　chunks　of　that　green；　greasy…looking　ore。　Their　faces　were　drawn　in　rough　woodcuts　of　pain。　Their　faces　were　blackened　with　soot。　Their　faces　ran　with　thick　red　sores。
　　The　guards　toiled　beside　them；　and　Jack　saw　with　numb　dismay　that　they　were　not　human；　in　no　sense　at　all　could　they　be　called　human。　They　were　twisted　and　humped；　their　hands　were　claws；　their　ears　pointed　like　Mr。　Spock's。　Why；　they're　gargoyles！　he　thought。　All　those　nightmare　monsters　on　those　cathedrals　in　France…Mom　had　a　book　and　I　thought　we　were　going　to　have　to　see　every　one　in　the　whole　country　but　she　stopped　when　I　had　a　bad　dream　and　wet　the　bed…did　they　e　from　here？　Did　somebody　see　them　here？　Somebody　from　the　Middle　Ages　who　flipped　over；　saw　this　place；　and　thought　he'd　had　a　vision　of　hell？
　　But　this　was　no　vision。
　　The　gargoyles　had　whips；　and　over　the　rumble　of　the　wheels　and　the　sounds　of　rock　cracking　steadily　under　some　steady；　baking　heat；　Jack　heard　their　pop　and　whistle。　As　he　and　Wolf　watched；　one　team　of　men　paused　near　the　very　top　of　the　spiral　road；　their　heads　down；　tendons　on　their　necks　standing　out　in　harsh　relief；　their　legs　trembling　with　exhaustion。
　　The　monstrosity　who　was　guarding　them…a　twisted　creature　with　a　breechclout　twisted　around　its　legs　and　a　patchy　line　of　stiff　hair　growing　from　the　scant　flesh　over　the　knobs　of　its　spine…brought　its　whip　down　first　on　one　and　then　on　the　other；　howling　at　them　in　a　high；　screeching　language　that　seemed　to　drive　silver　nails　of　pain　into　Jack's　head。　Jack　saw　the　same　silver　beads　of　metal　that　had　decorated　Osmond's　whip；　and　before　he　could　blink；　the　arm　of　one　prisoner　had　been　torn　open　and　the　nape　of　the　other's　neck　lay　in　ruined　flaps。
　　The　men　wailed　and　leaned　forward　even　farther；　their　blood　the　deepest　color　in　the　yellowish　murk。　The　thing　screeched　and　gibbered　and　its　grayish；　plated　right　arm　flexed　as　it　whirled　the　whip　over　the　slaves'　heads。　With　a　final　staggering　jerk；　they　yanked　the　cart　up　and　onto　the　level。　One　of　them　fell　forward　onto　his　knees；　exhausted；　and　the　forward　motion　of　the　cart　knocked　him　sprawling。　One　of　the　wheels　rolled　over　his　back。　Jack　heard　the　sound　of　the　downed　prisoner's　spine　as　it　broke。　It　sounded　like　a　track　referee's　starter…gun。
　　The　gargoyle　shrieked　with　rage　as　the　cart　tottered　and　then　fell　over；　dumping　its　load　onto　the　split；　cracked；　arid　ground　at　the　top　of　the　Pit。　He　reached　the　fallen　prisoner　in　two　lunging　steps　and　raised　his　whip。　As　he　did；　the　dying　man　turned　his　head　and　looked　into　Jack　Sawyer's　eyes。
　　It　was　Ferd　Janklow。　
　　Wolf　saw；　too。　
　　They　groped　for　each　other。
　　And　flipped　back。
　　　
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　　They　were　in　a　tight；　closed　place…a　bathroom　stall；　in　fact…and　Jack　could　barely　breathe　because　Wolf's　arms　were　wrapped　around　him　in　a　crushing　embrace。　And　one　of　his　feet　was　sopping　wet。　He　had　somehow　managed　to　flip　back　with　one　foot　in　a　toilet…bowl。　Oh；　great。　Things　like　this　never　happen　to　Conan　the　Barbarian；　Jack　thought　dismally。
　　'Jack　no；　Jack　no；　the　Pit；　it　was　the　Pit；　no；　Jack…'
　　'Quit　it！　Quit　it；　Wolf！　We're　back！'
　　'No；　no；　n…'　
　　Wolf　broke　off。　He　opened　his　eyes　slowly。
　　'Back？'
　　'You　bet；　right　here　and　now；　so　let　go　of　me；　you're　breaking　my　ribs；　and　besides；　my　foot's　stuck　in　the　damn…'　
　　The　door　between　the　bathroom　and　the　hall　burst　open　with　a　bang。　It　struck　the　inner　tile　wall　with　enough　force　to　shatter　the　frosted…glass　panel。
　　The　stall　door　was　torn　open。　Andy　Warwick　took　one　look　and　spoke　three　furious；　contemptuous　words：
　　'You　fucking　queers。'
　　He　grabbed　the　dazed　Wolf　by　the　front　of　his　checked　shirt　and　pulled　him　out。　Wolf's　pants　caught　on　the　steel　hood　over　the　toilet…paper　dispenser　and　pulled　the　whole　works　off　the　wall。　It　went　flying。　The　toilet…paper　roll　broke　free　and　went　unspooling　across　the　floor。　Warwick　sent　Wolf　crashing　into　the　sinks；　which　were　just　the　right　height　to　catch　him　in　the　privates。　Wolf　fell　to　the　floor；　holding　himself。
　　Warwick　turned　to　Jack；　and　Sonny　Singer　appeared　at　the　stall　door。　He　reached　in　and　grabbed　Jack　by　the　front　of　his　shirt。
　　'All　right；　you　fag…'　Sonny　began；　and　that　was　as　far　as　he　got。　Ever　since　he　and　Wolf　had　been　dragooned　into　this　place；　Sonny　Singer　had　been　in　Jack's　face。　Sonny　Singer　with　his　sly　dark　face　that　wanted　to　look　just　like　Sunlight　Gardener's　face　（and　as　soon　as　it　could）。　Sonny　Singer　who　had　coined　the　charming　endearment　snotface。　Sonny　Singer　whose　idea　it　had　undoubtedly　been　to　piss　in　their　beds。
　　Jack　pistoned　his　right　fist　out；　not　swinging　wildly　in　the　Heck　Bast　style　but　driving　strong　and　smooth　from　the　elbow。　His　fist　connected　with　Sonny's　nose。　There　was　an　audible　crunch。　Jack　felt　a　moment　of　satisfaction　so　perfect　it　was　sublime。
　　'There；'　Jack　cried。　He　pulled　his　foot　out　of　the　john。　A　great　grin　suffused　his　face；　and　he　shot　a　thought　at　Wolf　just　as　hard　as　he　could：
　　We　ain't　do