cb.imajica2-第31节

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t　the　knack　of　charming　the　women　he　spoke　to　into　some　action　on　his　behalf。　Instead　of　an　exchange　of　flatteries　he　was　served　a　chilly　salad　of　officiousness　and　condescension。　He　had　unpaid　bills；　he　was　told；　and　his　supplies　would　not　be　reconnected　until　payment　was　forthing。　He　ate　some　toast　Mrs。　Erskine　had　made；　drank　several　cups　of　tea；　then　went　down　into　the　basement　and　left　a　note　for　the　caretaker　that　he　was　now　back　in　residence　and　could　he　please　have　his　hot　water　turned　on。
　That　done；　he　ascended　to　the　studio　again　and　bolted　the　door　behind　him。　One　conversation　for　the　day　was　enough；　he'd　decided。　He　drew　the　blinds　at　the　windows　and　lit　two　candles。　They　smoked　as　their　dusty　wicks　first　burned；　but　their　light　was　kinder　than　the　glare　of　the　day；　and　by　it　he　started　to　go　through　the　snowdrift　of　mail　that　had　gathered　behind　the　door。　There　were　bills　in　abundance；　of　course；　printed　in　increasingly　irate　colors；　plus　the　inevitable　junk　mail。　There　were　very　few　personal　letters；　but　among　them　were　two　that　gave　him　pause。　Both　were　from　Vanessa；　whose　advice　that　he　should　slit　his　lying　throat　had　found　such　a　distressing　echo　in　Athanasius'　exhortation　at　the　Erasure。　Now　she　wrote　that　she　missed　him；　and　a　day　didn't　go　by　without　her　thinking　of　him。　The　second　missive　was　even　more　direct。　She　wanted　him　back　in　her　life。　If　he　wanted　to　play　around　with　other　women　she　would　learn　to　acmodate　that。　Would　he　not　at　least　make　contact　with　her？　Life　was　too　short　to　bear　grudges；　on　either　side。
　He　was　buoyed　up　somewhat　by　her　appeals；　and　even　more　so　by　a　letter　from　Klein；　scrawled　in　red　ink　on　pink；　paper。　Chester's　faintly　camp　tones　rose　from　the　page　as　Gentle　scanned　it。
　Dear　Bastard　…　Boy；　Klein　had　written。　Whose　heart　are　you　breaking；　and　where？　Scores　of　forlorn　women　are　presently　weeping　on　my　lap；　begging　me　to　forgive　you　your　trespasses　and　invite　you　back　into　the　bosom　of　the　family。　Among　them；　the　delectable　Vanessa。　For　God's　sake　e　home　and　save　me　from　seducing　her。　My　groin　is　wet　for　you；
　So　Vanessa　had　gone　to　Klein；　desperation　indeed。　Though　she'd　met　Chester　only　once　that　Gentle　could　recall；　she'd　subsequently　professed　to　loathing　him。　Gentle　kept　all　three　letters；　though　he　had　no　intention　of　acting　upon　their　appeals。　There　was　only　one　reunion　he　was　eager　for；　and　that　was　with　the　house　in　Clerkenwell。　He　couldn't　face　the　idea　of　venturing　out　in　daylight；　however。　The　streets　would　be　too　bright　and　too　busy。　He'd　wait　until　dark；　when　he　could　move　across　the　city　as　the　invisible　he　aspired　to　be。　He　set　a　match　to　the　rest　of　the　letters　and　watched　them　burn。　Then　he　went　back　to　bed　and　slept　through　the　afternoon　in　preparation　for　the　business　of　the　night。
　
　He　waited　until　the　first　stars　appeared　in　a　sky　of　elegiac　blue　before　he　raised　the　blinds。　The　street　outside　was　quiet；　but　given　that　he　lacked　the　cash　for　a　cab　he　knew　he'd　have　to　brush　shoulders　with　a　lot　of　people　before　he　reached　Clerkenwell。　On　a　fine　evening　like　this；　the　Edgware　Road　would　be　busy；　and　there'd　be　crowds　on　the　Underground。　His　best　hope　of　reaching　his　destination　unscrutinized　was　to　dress　as　blandly　as　possible；　and　he　took　some　time　hunting　through　his　depleted　wardrobe　for　those　clothes　that　would　render　him　most　invisible。　Once　dressed；　he　walked　down　to　Marble　Arch　and　boarded　the　Underground。　It　was　only　five　stations　to　Chancery　Lane；　which　would　put　him　on　the　borders　of　Clerkenwell；　but　after　two　he　had　to　get　off；　gasping　and　sweating　like　a　claustrophobic。　Cursing　this　new　weakness　in　himself；　he　sat　in　the　station　for　half　an　hour　while　more　trains　passed　through；　unable　to　bring　himself　to　board。　What　an　irony！　Here　he　was；　a　sometime　wanderer　in　the　wilds　of　the　Imajica；　incapable　of　traveling　a　couple　of　miles　by　tube　without　panicking。　He　waited　until　his　shaking　subsided　and　a　less　crowded　train　came　along。　Then　he　reboarded；　sitting　close　to　the　door　with　his　head　in　his　hands　until　the　journey　was　over。　By　the　time　he　emerged　at　Chancery　Lane　the　sky　had　darkened；　and　he　stood　for　several　minutes　on　High　Hoiborn；　his　head　thrown　back；　soaking　up　the　sky。　Only　when　the　tremors　had　left　his　legs　did　he　head　up　Gray's　Inn　Road　towards　the　environs　of　Gamut　Street。　Almost　all　the　property　on　the　main　thoroughfares　had　long　since　been　turned　to　mercial　use；　but　there　was　a　network　of　streets　and　squares　behind　the　barricade　of　darkened　office　buildings　which；　protected　perhaps　by　the　patronage　of　notoriety；　had　been　left　untouched　by　the　developers。　Many　of　these　streets　were　narrow　and　mazy；　their　lamps　unlit；　their　signs　missing；　as　though　blind　eyes　had　been　turned　to　them　over　the　generations。　But　he　didn't　need　signs　and　lamps；　his　feet　had　trodden　these　ways　countless　times。　Here　was　Shiverick　Square；　with　its　little　park　all　overgrown；　and　Flaxen　Street；　and　Almoth；　and　Sterne。　And　in　their　midst；　cocooned　by　anonymity；　his　destination。
　He　saw　the　corner　of　Gamut　Street　twenty　yards　ahead　and　slowed　his　pace　to　take　pleasure　in　the　moment　of　reunion。　There　were　innumerable　memories　awaiting　him　there；　the　mystif　among　them。　But　not　all　would　be　so　sweet；　or　so　wele。　He　would　have　to　ingest　them　carefully；　like　a　diner　with　a　delicate　stomach　ing　to　a　lavish　table。　Moderation　was　the　way。　As　soon　as　he　felt　a　surfeit；　he'd　retreat　and　return　to　the　studio　to　digest　what　he'd　learned；　let　it　strengthen　him。　Only　then　would　he　return　for　a　second　helping。　The　process　would　take　time；　he　knew；　and　time　was　of　the　essence。　But　so　was　his　sanity。　What　use　would　he　be　as　a　Reconciler　if　he　choked　on　the　past？
　With　his　heart　thumping　hard；　he　came　to　the　corner　and；　turning　it；　finally　laid　his　eyes　upon　the　sacred　street。　Perhaps；　during　his　years　of　forgetfulness；　he'd　wandered　through　these　backwaters　all　unknowing　and　seen　the　sight　before　him　now。　But　he　doubted　it。　More　likely；　his　eyes　were　seeing　Gamut　Street　for　the　first　time　in　two　centuries。　It　had　changed　scarcely　at　all；　preserved　from　the　city　planners　and　their　hammer…wielding　hordes　by　the　feits　whose　makers　were　still　rumored　here。　The　trees　planted　along　the　pavement　were　weighed　down　with　unkempt　foliage；　but　their　sap's　tang　was　sharp；　the　air　protected　from　the　fumes　of　Holborn　and　Gray's　Inn　Road　by　the　warren　of　thoroughfares　between。　Was　it　just　his　fancy；　or　was　the　tree　outside　number　28　particularly　lush；　fed　perhaps　by　a　seepage　of　magics　from　the　step　of　the　Maestro's　house？
　He　began　towards　them；　tree　and　step；　the　memories　already　returning　in　force。　He　heard　the　children　singing　behind　him；　the　song　that　had　so　tormented　him　when　the　Autarch　had　told　him　who　he　was。　Sartori；　he'd　said；　and　this　charmless　ditty；　sung　by　piping　voices；　had　e　in　pursuit　of　the　name。　He'd　loathed　it　then。　Its　melody　was　banal；　its　words　were　nonsense。　But　now　he　remembered　how　he'd　first　heard　it；　walking　along　this　very　pavement　with　the　children　in　procession　on　the　opposite　shore；　and　how　flattered　he'd　been　that　he　was　famous　enough　to　have　reached　the　lips　of　children　who　would　never　read　or　write　or；　most　probably；　reach　the　age　of　puberty。　。All　of　London　knew　who　he　was；　and　he　liked　his　fame。　He　was　talked　about　at　court；　Roxborough　said；　and　should　soon　expect　an　invitation。　People　who'd　not　so　much　as　touched　his　sleeve　were　claiming　intimate　association。
　But　there　were　still　those；　thank　God；　who　kept　an　exquisite　distance；　and　one　such　soul　had　lived；　he　remembered；　in　the　house　opposite：　a　nymph　called　Allegra　who　liked　to　sit　at　her　dressing　table　near　the　window　with　her　bodice　half　unlaced；　knowing　she　had　an　admirer　in　the　Maestro　across　the　street。　She'd　had　a　little　curly…haired　dog；　and　sometimes　in　the　evening　he'd　hear　her　piping　voice　summon　the　lucky　hound　onto　her　lap；　where　she'd　let　it　snuggle。　One　afternoon；　a　few　paces　from　where　he　stood　now；　he'd　met　the　girl　out　walking　with　her　mother　and　had　made　much　of　the　dog；　suffering　its　little　tongue　on　his　mouth　for　the　smell　of　her　sex　in　its　fur。　What　had　bee　of　that　child？　Had　she　died　a　virgin　or　grown　old　and　fat；　wondering　about　the　man　who'd　been　her　most　ardent　admirer？
　He　glanced　up　at　the　window　where　Allegra　had　sat。　No　light　burned　in　it　now。　The　house；　like　almost　all　these　buildings；　was　dark。　Sighing；　he　turned　his　gaze　towards　number　28　and；　crossing　the　street；　went　to　the　door。　It　was　locked；　of　course；　but　one　of　the　lower　windows　had　been　broken　at　some　point　and　never　repaired。　He　reached　through　the　smashed　pane　and　unlocked　it；　then　slid　the　window　up　and　himself　inside。　Slowly；　he　reminded　himself；　go　slowly。　Keep　the　flow　under　control。
　It　was　dark；　but　he'd　e　prepared　for　that　eventuality；　with　candle　and　matches。　The　flame　guttered　at　first；　and　the　room　rocked　at　its　indecision；　but　by　degrees　it　strengthened；　and　he　felt　a　sensation　he'd　not　expected　swelling　like　the　light：　pride。　In　its　time；　this；　his　house；　had　been　a　place　of　great　souls　and　great　ambition；　where　all　monplace　debate　had　been　banned。　If　you　wanted　to　talk　politics　or　tittle…tattle　you　went　to　the　coffee　house；　if　you　wanted　merce；　to　the　Exchange。　Here；　only　miracles。　Here