cb.damnationgame-第77节

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he　armful　perhaps。　But　the　good　was　worth　celebrating；　however　many　stains　the　man　had。　Marty　wanted　to　tattoo　the　date　of　this　recognition　on　the　palm　of　his　hand。
　　〃There's　a　hotel；〃　Halifax　was　saying。　〃It　used　to　be　called　the　Orpheus；　apparently。　It's　up　the　Edgware　Road；　Staple　Corner。　Terrible；　rundown　place。　Waiting　for　the　demolition　squad；　I　shouldn't　be　surprised。〃　〃He's　there　alone？〃　〃Yes。〃　Halifax　sighed；　thinking　of　how　the　mighty　had　fallen。　〃Perhaps；〃　he　suggested　after　a　moment；　〃you　might　take　him　some　peaches　too？〃
　　
　　He　went　into　the　shop　and　came　back　with　a　tattered　copy　of　the　London　A　to　Z　Street　Atlas。　He　flicked　through　the　age…creamed　pages　looking　for　the　appropriate　map；　all　the　while　sounding　his　dismay　at　this　turn　of　events；　and　his　hope　that　things　might　still　turn　out　well。　〃Lot　of　streets　been　leveled　around　the　hotel；〃　he　explained。　〃These　maps　are　well　out　of　date；　I'm　afraid。〃　Marty　peered　at　the　page　Halifax　had　selected。　A　cloud；　bearing　the　rain　that　had　already　dampened　Kilburn　and　points　northwest；　covered　the　sun　as　Halifax's　stained　index　finger　traced　a　route　across　the　map　from　the　thoroughfares　of　Holborn　to　the　Hotel　Pandemonium。
　　
　　
　　XIII　At　the　Hotel　Pandemonium
　　
　　67
　　Hell　is　reimagined　by　each　generation。　Its　terrain　is　surveyed　for　absurdities　and　remade　in　a　fresher　mold；　its　terrors　are　scrutinized　and；　if　necessary；　reinvented　to　suit　the　current　climate　of　atrocity；　its　architecture　is　redesigned　to　appall　the　eye　of　the　modern　damned。　In　an　earlier　age　Pandemonium…the　first　city　of　Hell…stood　on　a　lava　mountain　while　lightning　tore　the　clouds　above　it　and　beacons　burned　on　its　walls　to　summon　the　fallen　angels。　Now；　such　spectacle　belongs　to　Hollywood。　Hell　stands　transposed。　No　lightning；　no　pits　of　fire。
　　In　a　wasteland　a　few　hundred　yards　from　a　highway　overpass　it　finds　a　new　incarnation：　shabby；　degenerate；　forsaken。　But　here；　where　fumes　thicken　the　atmosphere；　minor　terrors　take　on　a　new　brutality。　Heaven；　by　night；　would　have　all　the　configurations　of　Hell。　No　less　the　Orpheus…hereafter　called　Pandemonium…Hotel。
　　It　had　once　been　an　impressive　building；　and　could　have　been　again　if　its　owners　had　been　willing　to　invest　in　it。　But　the　task　of　rebuilding　and　refurbishing　such　a　large　and　old…fashioned　hotel　was　probably　financially　unsound。　Sometime　in　its　past　a　fire　had　raged　through　the　place；　gutting　the　first；　second　and　third　floors　before　being　extinguished。　The　fourth　floor；　and　those　above；　were　smoke…spoiled；　leaving　only　the　vaguest　signs　of　the　hotel's　former　glamor　intact。
　　The　vagaries　of　the　city　planning　department　had　taken　a　further　toll　on　the　building's　chances　of　restoration。　As　Halifax　had　described；　the　land　to　either　side　of　the　hotel　had　been　cleared　for　some　projected　redevelopment。　None　had　been　undertaken；　however。　The　hotel　stood　in　splendid　isolation；　mated　about　with　feed　roads　to　and　from　the　Ml；　no　more　than　three　hundred　yards　from　one　of　the　busiest　stretches　of　concrete　and　tarmac　in　the　south　of　England。　Thousands　of　drivers　glanced　its　way　every　day；　but　its　shabby　grandeur　was　by　now　so　familiar　they　probably　scarcely　registered　its　existence。　Clever；　Marty　thought；　to　hide　in　such　plain　sight。
　　He　parked　the　car　as　close　to　the　hotel　as　he　could；　then　slipped　in　through　a　hole　in　the　corrugated　iron　fencing　around　the　plot；　and　picked　his　way　across　the　wasteland。　The　instructions　on　the　fence…〃No　Trespassing〃　and　〃No　Dumping〃…had　been　conspicuously　ignored。　Black　plastic　bags；　bulging　with　rubbish；　were　piled　in　heaps　among　the　rubble　and　the　old　bonfires。　Many　of　the　bags　had　been　torn　open　by　children　or　dogs。　Domestic　and　manufacturing　trash　spilled　out：　hundreds　of　scraps　of　cloth…sweatshop　offcuts…were　scattered　underfoot；　rotting　food；　the　ubiquitous　tin　can；　cushions；　lampshades　and　car　engines…all　abandoned　on　a　bed　of　rubble　dust　and　gray　grass。
　　Some　of　the　dogs…wild；　Marty　guessed…looked　up　from　their　scavenging　as　he　advanced；　their　pale　flanks　dirty；　their　eyes　yellow　in　the　twilight。　He　thought　of　Bella　and　her　gleaming　family：　these　curs　hardly　seemed　of　the　same　species。　When　he　looked　their　way　they　hung　their　heads　and　watched　him　indirectly；　like　inept　spies。
　　He　went　up　to　the　main　entrance　of　the　hotel：　the　word　ORPHEUS　was　still　clearly　carved　above　the　door；　there　were　mock…Doric　columns　to　either　side　of　the　steps；　and　fancy　tilework　on　the　threshold。　But　the　door　itself　had　boards　nailed　across　it；　and　notices　warned　of　swift　prosecution　if　anyone　trespassed。　There　seemed　little　chance　of　that。　The　second…；　third…　and　fourth…story　windows　were　boarded　up　with　the　same　thoroughness　as　the　door；　those　on　the　first　floor　had　been　bricked　up　entirely。　There　was　a　door　at　the　back　of　the　building　that　was　not　boarded　up；　but　it　was　bolted　from　the　inside。　This　was　probably　where　Halifax　had　entered　the　building：　but　Whitehead　must　have　given　him　access。　Without　breaking　and　entering；　there　was　no　way　in。
　　It　was　only　on　his　second　orbit　of　the　hotel　that　he　gave　some　serious　consideration　to　the　fire　escape。　It　zigzagged　up　the　east　side　of。　the　building；　an　impressive　piece　of　wrought…iron　work　that　was　now　rusting　badly。　Further　mutilation　had　been　done　to　it　by　some　enterprising　salvage　firm；　that；　seeing　profit　in　the　scrap　metal；　had　started　to　cut　the　escape　away　from　the　wall；　only　to　give　up　on　the　job　when　it　had　reached　the　second　floor。　This　left　the　bottom　flight　missing；　the　escape's　truncated　tail　hanging　ten　or　eleven　feet　from　the　ground。　Marty　studied　the　problem。　The　fire…exit　doors　on　most　of　the　stories　had　been　nailed　up；　but　one；　on　the　fourth　story；　showed　signs　of　tampering。　Was　this　how　the　old　man　had　gained　entrance？　He　would　have　needed　help；　presumably：　Luther；　perhaps。
　　Marty　scanned　the　wall　beneath　the　fire　escape。　It　was　graffiti…strewn；　but　smooth。　There　was　no　chance　of　a　handhold　or　foothold　to　get　him　up　the　first　few　feet　and　onto　the　steps　themselves。　He　turned　to　the　wasteland；　looking　for　inspiration；　and　a　few　minutes〃　search　in　the　deepening　dusk　revealed　a　pile　of　discarded　furniture；　among　it　a　table；　three…legged；　but　serviceable。　He　hauled　it　back　to　the　fire　escape　and　then　wedged　a　collection　of　refuse　bags　beneath　it　in　lieu　of　its　missing　limb。　It　made　an　unsteady　perch　when　he　climbed　up　onto　it；　and　even　then　his　fingers　missed　the　bottom　of　the　escape。　He　was　obliged　to　jump　for　a　handhold；　and　on　the　fourth　attempt　he　achieved　one；　leaving　him　swinging　at　arm's　length　from　the　bottom　step。　A　drizzle　of　rust　scales　hit　his　face　and　hair。　The　escape　creaked。　He　mustered　his　will　and　hauled　himself　up　a　vital　few　inches；　then　struck　out　with　his　left　hand　for　a　hold　on　a　higher　stair。　His　shoulder　joints　plained；　but　he　pulled　on　upward；　hand　over　hand；　until　he　could　lift　his　leg　high　enough　to　hoist　his　whole　body　onto　the　steps。
　　The　first　stage　achieved；　he　stood　on　the　escape　and　caught　his　breath；　then　started　up。　The　structure　was　by　no　means　stable；　the　salvage　crew　had　obviously　been　at　work　loosening　it　from　the　wall。　Every　step　he　took；　a　grating　squeal　seemed　to　presage　its　capitulation。
　　〃Hold　on；〃　he　whispered　to　it；　mounting　the　steps　with　as　light　a　tread　as　he　could。　His　efforts　were　rewarded　on　the　fourth　story。　As　he　guessed；　the　door　had　been　opened　quite　recently；　and　with　no　small　sense　of　relief　he　stepped　from　the　dubious　safety　of　the　fire　escape　and　into　the　hotel　itself。
　　It　still　stank　of　the　conflagration　that　had　defeated　it：　the　bitter　smell　of　burned　wood　and　charred　carpeting。　Below　him　he　could　see…by　the　meager　light　through　the　open　fire　door…the　gutted　floors。　The　walls　were　scorched；　the　paint　on　the　banisters　diseased　with　blisters。　But　just　a　few　steps　up　from　here　the　fire's　progress　had　been　arrested。
　　Marty　started　up　the　stairs　to　the　fifth　story。　A　long　corridor　presented　itself　to　him；　with　rooms　to　right　and　left。　He　wandered　down　the　passageway　taking　a　perfunctory　look　into　each　of　the　suites　as　he　passed。　The　numbered　doors　let　onto　empty　spaces：　all　the　furniture　and　fittings　that　were　salvageable　had　been　removed　years　ago。
　　Perhaps　because　of　its　isolated　position；　and　the　difficulty　of　entering；　the　building　had　not　been　squatted　or　vandalized。　The　rooms　were　almost　absurdly　clean；　their　deep…pile　beige　carpets…too　bothersome　to　remove；　apparently…springy　as　cliff　turf　beneath　his　feet。　He　checked　every　suite　on　the　fifth　floor　before　retracing　his　path　to　the　stairs　and　going　up　another　flight。　The　scene　was　the　same　here；　although　the　suites…which　had　perhaps　once　manded　a　salable　view…were　larger　and　fewer　on　this　floor；　the　carpets；　if　anything；　lusher。　It　was　bizarre；　ascending　from　the　charred　depths　of　the　hotel　to　this　pristine；　breathless　place。　People　had　perhaps　died　in　the　blindfold　corridors　below；　asphyxiated　or　baked　to　death　in　their　dressing　gowns。　But　up　here　no　trace　of　the　tragedy　had　intruded。
　　There　was　one　floor　left　to　investigate。　As　he　climbed　the　final　flight　of　stairs　the　illumination　suddenly　strengthened　until　it　was　almost　as　bright　as　day。　The　source　was　highway　light；　finding　its　way　thro