rr.eastofealing-第33部分

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　'Sorry；　John。　Can't　you　wiggle　it　loose；　Soap？'
　'It's　bloody　rusted　in。　Can't　you　hear　what　I'm　saying？'
　'Let　me　get　up　there　then。'
　'There's　no　room；　John。'
　'Then　we'll　all　just　have　to　push；　that's　all。　Brace　yourself；　lads；　after　three。　Three！'
　Soap　wedged　his　shoulders　beneath　the　obstruction；　Jim　got　a　purchase　under　his　bum；　with　Omally　straining　from　below。
　'Heave。'
　'AAAGH！'
　'Oooow。'
　'Get　off　there。'
　'My　God。'
　'Again；　it's　giving。'
　'It's　not　giving；　I　am。'
　'I　felt　it　give。'
　'That　was　my　shoulder。'
　'Put　your　back　into　it。'
　'Mind　where　you're　holding。'
　'We're　there；　we're　there。'
　'Who　said　that？'
　'One　more　time。。。'
　'It's　giving。。。　It's　giving。。。　It's　gone。'
　Soap's　head　and　shoulders　battered　up　through　the　obstruction；　a　thin　and　crumbling　iron　grid　cemented　solidly　into　place　through　the　application　of　fifty…years　pigeon　guano。　'You　bastards！'　Soap's　arms　were　pinned　at　his　sides；　his　feet　lashed　out　furiously。　'You　bastards！'
　'Watch　where　you're　kicking；'　Pooley　plained。
　Soap's　muffled　voice　screamed　down　at　them　from　above。　'You　bloody　lunatics；　I'm　stuck　in　here。'
　Now；　as　you　might　reasonably　expect；　a　heated　debate　occurred　beneath　the　struggling　Soap；　as　to　what　might　be　the　best　means　of　adding　the　necessary　irresistible　force　to　the　currently　immovable　object。
　'We　must　pull　him　down　and　give　him　another　charge；'　Jim　declared。
　'Down　on　top　of　us　so　we　all　fall　down　the　hole？'
　'Grease　him　with　goose　fat。'
　'You　wally。'
　'Tickle　his　feet　then。'
　'And　you　a　millionaire；　Jim。　I　thought　you　blokes　had　it　all　sussed。'
　'A　hoist；　a　hoist；　my　kingdom　for　a　hoist。'
　'I'm　starting　to　suffocate；　lads；'　called　Soap　distantly。
　Pooley　weighed　up　the　situation。　'Doom　and　desperation；'　he　concluded。
　'Stop　everything；'　Omally　demanded。　'Enough　is　enough。　It　is　a　well…attested　fact　that　the　man　who　can　get　his　head　and　shoulders　through　a　gap　can　get　the　rest　of　him　through　also。'
　Soap　wriggled　like　a　maggot　on　a　number　nine　hook。
　'Stick　your　head　down　here；　Jim。　I　want　to　whisper。'
　Soap　thrashed　and　struggled；　but　his　movements　were　being　weaker　by　the　moment。
　'I　can't　do　that　to　Soap！'
　'It　only　takes　a　second。　Take　my　word　for　it；　it　will　do　the　trick。'
　'But　it's　not　decent。'
　'Do　it　to　Soap　or　I'll　do　it　to　you。'
　Pooley　closed　his　eyes　and　gritted　his　teeth。　Reaching　up　he　performed　a　quick　vicious　action。
　'EEEEEEEEEOOOOOOOOOOOOOOW！　'
　A　few　moments　later　three　men　lay　puffing　and　panting　in　the　entrance　to　the　loading　bay　at　Meeks　Boatyard　on　the　bank　of　the　Grand　Union　Canal。　A　few　feet　away　a　wall　of　impenetrable　turquoise　light　rose　from　the　water　and　spread　away　to　either　side　and　ever　above。
　'Too　much　to　hope　that　we'd　e　up　on　the　other　side；'　sighed　Pooley。
　Soap　Distant；　red…faced　and　clutching　at　himself；　looked　daggers　at　him。　'I'll　have　you　for　that；'　he　said　painfully。
　Jim　smiled　sickly。　'What　could　we　do？　Look　on　the　bright　side；　at　least　we　all　got　out　alive。'
　'Not　all；'　said　John　Omally。
　'Eh？'
　Omally　gestured　towards　the　open　manhole　through　which　they　had　just　emerged。　'And　then　there　were　three；'　he　said　in　a　leaden　tone。
　'Holmes；'　cried　Pooley。　'In　all　the　excitement。。。'　he　scrabbled　over　to　the　manhole　and　shouted　the　detective's　name　into　the　void。　His　voice　came　back　to　him　again　and　again；　mocking　his　cries。
　'Leave　it；　Jim。'　Omally　put　his　hand　to　his　best　friend's　shoulder。　'He　never　had　a　chance。'
　'I　didn't　think。'　Pooley　looked　up　fearfully。　'I　didn't　think。'
　'None　of　us　did。　We　only　thought　of　ourselves　and　our　own。'
　'We　left　him　to。。。'
　'Yes。'
　'The　poor　bastard。'
　'The　poor　noble　bastard。　He　saved　our　lives　at　the　expense　of　his　own。'
　Pooley　climbed　slowly　to　his　feet　and　thrust　his　hands　into　his　trouser　pockets。　He　looked　up　to　where　the　Lateinos　and　Romiith　building　rose；　filling　the　skyline。　'Oh　shit！'　he　said；　kicking　at　the　toppled　manhole　cover。　'Oh；　that's　me　finished。　Those　bastards　are　going　to　pay　for　this。'
　'Oh　yes；'　said　John　Omally。　'They　are　definitely　going　to　do　all　of　that。'
　
　30
　Professor　Slobe　withdrew　a　goose　feather　quill　from　the　inkwell；　and　scratched　out　the　fifth　day　from　the　June　calendar。　From　beyond　the　shuttered　French　windows　sounds　as　of　merriment　reached　him。　The　Brentford　Festival　had　begun。　Throughout　the　night；　the　floats　had　been　assembling　upon　the　Butts　Estate；　lumbering　through　the　darkness；　heavy　and　ponderous。　Through　a　crack　in　the　shutters　he　had　watched　their　slow　progress　and　viewed　their　silhouettes；　stark　against　an　almost　white　sky。　He　had　presided　over　many　Festivals　past　and　judged　many　a　float　petition；　but　he　had　never　seen　anything　such　as　this。　The　shapes　which　rolled　onward　through　the　night　upon　their　many　wheels　were　totally　alien；　even　to　he　who　had　seen　so　much。　They　were　the　stuff　of　nightmare；　the　dreams　of　the　delirious　and　dying　sick。　If　human　hand　had　wrought　these　monstrosities；　then　it　was　a　hand　far　better　stricken　from　the　arm。
　A　shiver　ran　up　the　long　spine　of　the　ancient　scholar　and　his　mottled　hand　closed　about　a　crystal　tumbler；　half…filled　upon　his　desk。　Sleep　had　not　touched　him　in　more　than　a　week　and　could　offer　nothing　to　soothe　the　ache　which　filled　his　heart　and　the　very　marrow　of　his　bones。　The　great　clock　upon　the　mantelshelf　was　even　now　ticking　away　mankind's　final　hours。　The　prophecies　were　being　fulfilled　and　the　helplessness；　to　one　who　knew；　but　was　yet　unable　to　act；　was　beyond　human　endurance。
　Professor　Slobe　raked　his　hand　across　the　desk　and　tumbled　a　stack　of　magazines　to　the　carpeted　floor。　puter　Weekly；　Soft…wear　Review；　Micro　Times；　Popular　Processor：　the　poison　fruits　from　the　new　technology's　tree　of　life。　Mankind　had　finally　reached　its　own　level　of　super　inpetence；　and　made　itself　obsolete。　It　had　promoted　itself　into　extinction。　Unprehending；　it　had　made　a　science　out　of　the　thing；　established　a　new　order；　laid　the　foundation　for　a　new　culture；　and　ultimately　created　a　god。　Or　more　accurately；　aided　the　reinstatement　of　one　previously　superseded。　puter　technology　had　given　mankind　the　opportunity　to　regress；　to　cease　thinking　and　in　so　doing　cease　to　be。　Why　bother　to　add？　The　machine　can　do　it　for　us。　Mankind　had　been　subtly　tricked　into　believing　that　sophistication　was　progress。　That　godhead　technology　could　cure　man's　ills　at　the　flick　of　a　switch；　or　if　not　that；　then　after　a　few　more　years　of　further　sophistication。　Man　had　lost　sight　of　himself。　Darkness　was　soon　to　triumph　over　the　light；　and　the　real　means　of　confounding　it　were　fading　before　the　Professor's　eyes。　It　was　progress。　Mankind　had　made　so　much　progress　that　it　no　longer　had　any　hope　of　survival。　The　miracle　of　science　had　bee　a　chamber　of　horrors。
　Somewhere　in　the　dark　tower　which　pierced　the　Brentford　sky；　the　bleak　temple　of　technology；　the　dragon　lay　curled　in　its　lair。　Its　moment　of　release　drew　nigh；　and　who　was　there　to　plunge　the　sword　of　truth　into　its　black　heart？
　The　old　man　drained　his　glass　and　refilled　it。　He　watched　the　gilded　pendulum　endlessly　carving　its　arc。　Where　was　Holmes？　He　was　to　have　returned　at　daybreak；　having　followed　up　certain　of　his　own　leads；　but　he　was　hours　overdue。　The　Professor　had　put　into　his　keeping　certain　documents　which　he　felt　might　hold　an　ultimate　solution；　but　where　was　he　now？　Crowds　were　gathering　in　the　street　and　it　was　an　invitation　to　disaster　to　venture　out　of　doors。
　The　sound　of　rumbling　wheels　and　wild　applause　drew　his　eyes　once　more　towards　the　shuttered　windows。　Should　they　choose　now　to　make　an　assault　upon　the　house　the　Professor　knew　he　would　be　powerless　to　stop　them。　If　ever　there　was　a　time　to　rally　the　troops　beneath　the　banner　of　truth；　now　was　definitely　it。
　At　the　present　time；　the　Legion　of　Light　was　holed　up　in　an　outside　privy　in　Moby　Dick　Terrace。　There　was　more　than　just　a　little　of　the　Lost　Patrol　about　these　three　particular　stalwarts。
　'Can　you　see　anything？'　asked　Jim；　as　Omally　put　his　eye　once　more　to　the　door's　half…moon。
　'I　can　see　a　good　deal；'　the　brave　Sir　Knight　replied；　'and　to　be　perfectly　frank；　I　like　not　a　bit　of　it。'
　'Let's　have　a　squint；'　said　Soap　Distant。　'And　you　keep　your　hands　to　yourself；　Pooley。'
　'They're　in　my　pockets。　Have　a　care　where　you　step；　it's　crowded　in　here。'
　Soap's　pink　eye　rose　to　the　carved　cresent。　'My　God；'　said　he。
　'Not　mine；'　said　John　Omally。
　Beyond　the　broken　trelliswork　which　topped　the　garden　fence；　the　great　Festival　floats　were　moving　in　slow　procession。　The　thin　dawn　light；　now　tinting　their　silhouettes；　brought　them　form　and　solidity。　They　were　vast；　towering　to　fill　the　streets；　extending　outwards　within　inches　of　the　house　walls。　But　what　were　they？　They　had　something　of　the　look　of　great　bloated　sombre　reptiles；　with　scaled　flanks　and　rudimentary　limbs。　All　gill　slits　and　hulking　slabby　sides。　But　they　were　too　large；　too　daunting；　too　top…heavy。　They　did　not　fit。　How　many　of　these　monstrosities　had　already　passed　and　how　many　more　were　yet　to　e？　The　three　men　skulking　in　the　evil…smelling　dunny　chose　not　to　make　bets。
　Soap　tore　his　eye　from　the　hole　with　difficulty。　Already　the　terrible　pulsion　to　watc