cb.imajica1-第105部分

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　〃An　obsession；　in　other　words。〃
　〃That's　one　such　flame；　yes。〃
　〃Why　would　we　want　to　burn　down　these　walls　in　the　first　place？　Don't　they　protect　us？〃
　〃Because　if　we　don't；　we　die　inside；　kissing　our　own　reflections；〃　Nikaetomaas　said；　the　reply　too　well　turned　to　be　improvised。
　〃Athanasius　again？〃　Gentle　said。
　〃No；〃　said　Nikaetomaas。　〃An　aunt　of　mine。　She's　been　locked　up　in　the　Bastion　for　years；　but　in　here〃…Nikaetomaas　pointed　to　her　temple…〃she's　free。〃
　〃And　what　about　the　Autarch？〃　Gentle　said；　turning　his　gaze　up　towards　the　fortress。
　〃What　about　him？〃
　〃Is　he　up　there；　kissing　his　reflection？〃
　〃Who　knows？　Maybe　he's　been　dead　for　years；　and　the　state's　running　itself。〃
　〃Do　you　seriously　believe　that？〃
　Nikaetomaas　shook　her　head。　〃No。　He's　alive；　behind　his　walls。〃
　〃What's　he　keeping　out；　I　wonder？〃
　〃Who　knows？　Whatever　he's　afraid　of；　I　don't　think　it　breathes　the　same　air　that　we　do。〃
　Before　they　left　the　rubble…strewn　thoroughfares　of　the　Kesparate　called　Hittahitte；　which　lay　between　the　gates　of　the　Eurhetemec　Kesparate　and　the　wide　Roman　streets　of　Yzordderrex's　bureaucratic　district；　Nikaetomaas　dug　around　in　the　ruins　of　a　garret　for　some　means　of　disguise。　She　found　a　collection　of　filthy　garments　which　she　insisted　Gentle　don；　then　found　some　equally　disgusting　for　herself。　Their　faces　and　physiques　had　to　be　concealed；　she　explained；　so　that　they　could　mingle　freely　with　the　wretched　they'd　find　gathered　at　the　gates。　Then　they　headed　on；　their　climb　bringing　them　into　streets　lined　with　buildings　of　classical　severity　and　scale；　as　yet　unscorched　by　the　torches　that　were　being　passed　from　hand　to　hand；　roof　to　roof；　in　the　Kesparates　below。　They　would　not　remain　pristine　much　longer；　Nikaetomaas　predicted。　When　the　rebels'　fire　reached　these　edifices…the　Taxation　Courts　and　the　Bureaus　of　Justice…it　would　leave　no　pillar　unblack…ened。　But　for　now　the　travelers　moved　between　monoliths　as　quiet　as　mausoleums。
　On　the　other　side；　the　reason　for　their　donning　of　stinking　and　louse…ridden　clothes　became　apparent。　Nikaetomaas　had　brought　them　not　to　one　of　the　great　gates　of　the　palace　but　to　a　minor　opening；　around　which　a　group　dressed　in　motley　indistinguishable　from　their　own　was　gathered。　Some　of　them　carried　candles。　By　their　fitful　light　Gentle　could　see　that　there　was　not　a　single　body　that　was　whole　among　them。
　〃Are　they　waiting　to　get　in？〃　he　asked　his　guide。
　〃No。　This　is　the　gate　of　Saint　Creaze　and　Saint　Evendown。　Have　you　not　heard　of　them　in　the　Fifth？　I　thought　that's　where　they　were　martyred。〃
　〃Very　possibly。〃
　〃They　appear　everywhere　in　Yzordderrex。　Nursery　rhymes；　puppet　plays…〃
　〃So　what　happens　here？　Do　the　saints　make　personal　appearances？〃
　〃After　a　fashion。〃
　〃And　what　are　these　people　hoping　for？〃　Gentle　asked；　casting　a　glance　among　the　wretched　assembly。　〃Healing？〃
　They　were　certainly　in　dire　need　of　such　miracles。　Crippled　and　diseased；　suppurating　and　broken；　some　of　them　looked　so　weak　they'd　not　make　it　till　morning。
　〃No；〃　Nikaetomaas　replied。　〃They're　here　for　sustenance。　I　only　hope　the　saints　aren't　too　distracted　by　the　revolution　to　put　in　an　appearance。〃
　She'd　no　sooner　spoken　than　the　sound　of　an　engine　chugging　into　life　on　the　far　side　of　the　gates　pitched　the　crowd　into　frenzy。　Crutches　became　weapons；　and　diseased　spittle　flew；　as　the　invalids　fought　for　a　place　close　to　the　bounty　they　knew　was　imminent。　Nikaetomaas　pushed　Gentle　forward　into　the　brawl；　where　he　was　obliged　to　fight；　though　he　felt　ashamed　to　do　so；　or　else　have　his　limbs　torn　from　their　sockets　by　those　who　had　fewer　than　he。　Head　down；　arms　flailing；　he　dug　his　way　forward　as　the　gates　began　to　open。
　What　appeared　on　the　other　side　drew　gasps　of　devotion　from　all　sides　and　one　of　incredulity　from　Gentle。　Trundling　forward　to　fill　the　breadth　of　the　gates　was　a　fifteen…foot　study　in　kitsch：　a　sculpted　representation　of　Saints　Creaze　and　Evendown；　standing　shoulder　to　shoulder；　their　arms　stretched　out　towards　the　yearning　crowd；　while　their　eyes　rolled　in　their　carved　sockets　like　those　of　carnival　dummies；　looking　down　on　their　flock　as　if　affrighted　by　them　one　moment　and　up　to　heaven　the　next。　But　it　was　their　apparel　that　drew　Gentle's　appalled　gaze。　They　were　clothed　in　their　largesse：　dressed　in　food　from　throat　to　foot。　Coats　of　meat；　still　smoking　from　the　ovens；　covered　their　torsos；　sausages　hung　in　steaming　loops　around　their　necks　and　wrists；　at　their　groins　hung　sacks　heavy　with　bread；　while　the　layers　of　their　skirts　were　of　fruit　and　fish。　The　crowd　instantly　surged　forward　to　denude　them；　the　brawlers　merciless　in　their　hunger；　beating　each　other　as　they　climbed　for　their　share。
　The　saints　were　not　without　defense；　however；　there　were　penalties　for　the　gluttonous。　Hooks　and　spikes；　expressly　designed　to　wound；　were　set　among　the　bountiful　folds　of　skirts　and　coats。　The　devotees　seemed　not　to　care；　but　climbed　up　over　the　statues；　disdainful　of　fruit　and　fish；　in　order　to　reach　the　steaks　and　sausages　above。　Some　fell；　doing　themselves　bloody　mischief　on　the　way　down；　others…scrambling　over　the　victims…reached　their　goals　with　shrieks　of　glee　and　set　about　loading　the　bags　on　their　backs。　Even　then；　in　their　triumph；　they　were　not　secure。　Those　behind　either　dragged　them　from　their　perches　or　pulled　the　bags　from　their　backs　and　pitched　them　to　acplices　in　the　crowd；　where　they　in　turn　were　set　upon　and　robbed。
　Nikaetomaas　held　on　to　Gentle's　belt　so　that　they　wouldn't　be　separated　in　this　melee；　and　after　much　maneuvering　they　reached　the　base　of　the　statues。　The　machine　had　been　designed　to　block　the　gates；　but　Nikaetomaas　now　squatted　down　in　front　of　the　plinth；　and…her　activities　concealed　from　the　guards　watching　from　above　the　gate…tore　at　the　casing　that　housed　the　vehicle's　wheels。　It　was　beaten　metal；　but　it　came　away　like　cardboard　beneath　her　assault；　its　rivets　flying。　Then　she　ducked　into　the　gap　she'd　created。　Gentle　followed。　Once　below　the　saints；　the　din　of　the　crowd　became　remoter；　the　thump　of　bodies　punctuating　the　general　hubbub。　It　was　almost　pletely　dark；　but　they　shimmied　forward　on　their　stomachs；　the　engine…huge　and　hot…dripping　its　fluids　on　them　as　they　went。　As　they　reached　the　other　side；　and　Nikaetomaas　began　to　prize　away　the　casing　there；　the　sound　of　shouting　became　louder。　Gentle　looked　around。　Others　had　discovered　Nikaetomaas1　handiwork　and；　perhaps　thinking　there　were　new　treasures　to　be　discovered　beneath　the　idols；　were　following：　not　two　or　three；　now；　but　many。　Gentle　began　to　lend　Nikaetomaas　a　hand；　as　the　space　filled　up　with　bodies；　new　brawls　erupting　as　the　pursuers　fought　for　access。　The　whole　structure；　enormous　as　it　was；　began　to　shudder；　the　bination　of　brawlers　below　and　above　conspiring　to　tip　it。　With　the　violence　of　the　rocking　increasing　by　the　moment；　Gentle　had　sight　of　escape。　A　sizable　courtyard　lay　on　the　other　side　of　the　saints；　scored　by　the　tracks　of　the　engine　and　littered　with　discarded　food。
　The　instability　of　the　machine　had　not　gone　unnoticed；　and　two　guards　were　presently　forsaking　their　meal　of　prime　steak　and　raising　the　alarm　with　panicked　shouts。　Their　retreat　allowed　Nikaetomaas　to　wriggle　free　unnoticed；　then　turn　to　haul　Gentle　after　her。　The　juggernaut　was　now　close　to　toppling；　and　shots　were　being　fired　on　the　other　side　as　the　guards　above　the　gate　sought　to　dissuade　the　crowd　from　further　burrowings。　Gentle　felt　hands　grasping　at　his　legs；　but　he　kicked　back　at　them；　as　Nikaetomaas　dragged　him　forward；　and　slid　out　into　the　open　air　as　several　cracks；　like　sudden　thunder；　announced　that　the　saints　were　tired　of　teetering　and　ready　to　fall。　Backs　bent；　Gentle　and　Nikaetomaas　darted　across　the　rind…　and　crust…littered　ground　to　the　safety　of　the　shadows　as；　with　a　great　din　the　saints　fell　backwards　like　ic　drunkards；　a　mass　of　their　adherents　still　clinging　to　arms　and　coats　and　skirts。　The　structure　came　apart　as　it　hit　the　ground；　pitching　pieces　of　carved；　cooked；　and　crippled　flesh　in　all　directions。
　The　guards　were　descending　from　the　ramparts　now；　to　stem　with　bullets　the　flow　of　the　crowd。　Gentle　and　Nikaetomaas　didn't　linger　to　watch　this　fresh　horror　but　took　to　their　heels；　up　and　away　from　the　gates；　the　pleas　and　howls　of　those　maimed　by　the　fall　following　them　through　the　darkness。
　〃What's　the　din；　Rosengarten？〃
　〃There's　a　minor　problem　at　the　Gate　of　Saints；　sir。〃
　〃Are　we　under　siege？〃
　〃No。　It　was　merely　an　unfortunate　accident。〃
　〃Fatalities？〃
　〃Nothing　significant。　The　gate's　now　been　sealed。〃
　〃And　Quaisoir？　How's　she？〃
　〃I　haven't　spoken　with　Seidux　since　early　evening。〃
　〃Then　find　out。〃
　〃Of　course。〃
　Rosengarten　withdrew；　and　the　Autarch　returned　his　attention　to　the　man　transfixed　in　the　chair　close　by。
　〃These　Yzordderrexian　nights；〃　he　said　to　the　fellow；　〃they're　so　very　long。　In　the　Fifth；　you　know；　they're　half　this　length；　and　I　used　to　plain　they　were　over　too　soon。　But　now〃…he　sighed…〃now　I　wonder　if　I　wouldn't　be　better　off　going　back　there　and　founding　a　New　Yzordderrex。　What　do　you　think？〃
　The　man　in　the　chair　didn't　reply。　His　cries　had　long　since　ceased；　though　the　rever