cb.imajica1-第8部分
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and the purr of the car replaced it。 He threw every ounce of his energy into the run； reaching the bright street to find it deserted by traffic。 He turned north； racing past the underground station towards the Elephant and Castle。 Now he did glance behind； to see the car following steadily。 It had three occupants： the voiders and another； sitting in the back seat。 Sobbing with breathlessness he ran on； and…Lord love it！…a taxi appeared around the next corner； its yellow light announcing its availability。 Concealing his pain as best he could； knowing the driver might pass on by if he thought the hailer was wounded； he stepped out into the street and raised his hand to wave the driver down。 This meant unclasping one hand from the other； and the mite took instant advantage； working its way up into his wrist。 But the vehicle slowed。
〃Where to； mate？〃
He astonished himself with the reply； giving not Esta…brook's address but that of another place entirely。
〃Clerkenwell；〃 he said。 〃Gamut Street。〃
〃Don't know it；〃 the cabbie replied； and for one heart…stopping moment Chant thought he was going to drive on。
〃I'll direct you；〃 he said。
〃Get in； then。〃
Chant did so； slamming the cab door with no little satisfaction and barely managing to reach the seat before the cab picked up speed。
Why had he named Gamut Street？ There was nothing there that would heal him。 Nothing could。 The flea…or whatever variation in that species it was that crawled in him…had reached his elbow； and his arm below that pain was now pletely numb； the skin of his hand wrinkled and flaky。 But the house in Gamut Street had been a place of miracles once。 Men and women of great authority had walked in it and perhaps left some ghost of themselves to calm him in extremis。 No creature； Sartori had taught； passed through this Dominion unrecorded； even to the least…to the child that perished a heartbeat after it opened its eyes； the child that died in the womb； drowned in its mother's waters…even that unnamed thing had its record and its consequence。 So how much more might the once…powerful of Gamut Street have left； by way of echoes？
His heart was palpitating； and his body full of jitters。 Fearing he'd soon lose control of his functions； he pulled the letter to Estabrook from his pocket and leaned forward to slide the half window between himself and the driver aside。
〃When you've dropped me in Clerkenwell I'd like you to deliver a letter for me。 Would you be so kind？〃
〃Sorry； mate；〃 the driver said。 〃I'm going home after this。 I've a wife waiting for me。〃
Chant dug in his inside pocket and pulled out his wallet； then passed it through the window； letting it drop on the seat beside the driver。
〃What's this？〃
〃All the money I've got。 This letter has to be delivered。〃
〃All the money you've got； eh？〃
The driver picked up the wallet and flicked it open； his gaze going between its contents and the road。
〃There's a lot of dosh in here。〃
〃Have it。 It's no good to me。〃
〃Are you sick？〃
〃And tired；〃 Chant said。 〃Take it； why don't you？ Enjoy it。〃
〃There's a Daimler been following us。 Somebody you know？〃
There was no purpose served by lying to the man。 〃Yes；〃 Chant said。 〃I don't suppose you could put some distance between them and us？〃
The man pocketed the wallet and jabbed his foot down on the accelerator。 The cab leapt forward like a racehorse from the gate； its jockey's laugh rising above the guttural din of the engine。 Whether it was the cash he was now heavy with or the challenge of outrunning a Daimler that motivated him； he put his cab through its paces； proving it more mobile than its bulk would have suggested。 In under a minute they'd made two sharp lefts and a squealing right and were roaring down a back street so narrow the least miscalculation would have taken off handles； hubs； and mirrors。 The mazing didn't stop there。 They made another turn； and another； bringing them in a short time to South…wark Bridge。 Somewhere along the way； they'd lost the Daimler。 Chant might have applauded had he possessed two workable hands； but the flea's message of corruption was spreading with agonizing speed。 While he still had five fingers under his mand he went back to the window and dropped Estabrook's letter through； murmuring the address with a tongue that felt disfigured in his mouth。
〃What's wrong with you？〃 the cabbie said。 〃It's not fucking contagious； is it； 'cause if it is…〃
〃。 。。not。。 。〃Chant said。
〃You look fucking awful；〃 the cabbie said； glancing in the mirror。 〃Sure you don't want a hospital？〃
〃No。 Gamut Street。 I want Gamut Street。〃
〃You'll have to direct me from here。〃
The streets had all changed。 Trees gone； rows demolished； austerity in place of elegance； function in place of beauty； the new for old； however poor the exchange rate。 It was a decade and more since he'd e here last。 Had Gamut Street fallen and a steel phallus risen in its place？
〃Where are we？〃 he asked the driver。
〃Clerkenwell。 That's where you wanted； isn't it？〃
〃1 mean the precise place。〃
The driver looked for a sign。 〃Flaxen Street。 Does it ring a bell？〃
Chant peered out of the window。 〃Yes！ Yes！ Go down to the end and turn right。〃
〃Used to live around here； did you？〃
〃A long time ago。〃
〃It's seen better days。〃 He turned right。 〃Now where？〃
〃First on the left。〃
〃Here it is；〃 the man said。 〃Gamut Street。 What number was it？〃
〃Twenty…eight。〃
The cab drew up at the curb。 Chant fumbled for the handle； opened the door； and all but fell out onto the pavement。 Staggering； he put his weight against the door to close it； and for the first time he and the driver came face to face。 Whatever the flea was doing to his system； it must have been horribly apparent； to judge by the look of repugnance on the man's face。
〃You will deliver the letter？〃 Chant said。
〃You can trust me； mate。〃
〃When you've done it； you should go home；〃 Chant said。 〃Tell your wife you love her。 Give a prayer of thanks。〃
〃What for？〃
〃That you're human；〃 Chant said。
The cabbie didn't question this little lunacy。 〃Whatever you say； mate；〃 he replied。 〃I'll give the missus one and give thanks at the same time； how's that？ Now don't do anything I wouldn't do； eh？〃
This advice given； he drove off； leaving his passenger to the silence of the street。
With failing eyes； Chant scanned the gloom。 The houses； built in the middle of Sartori's century； looked to be mostly deserted； primed for demolition； perhaps。 But then Chant knew that sacred places…and Gamut Street was sacred in its way…survived on occasion because they went unseen； even in plain sight。 Burnished by magic； they deflected the threatening eye and found unwitting allies in men and women who； all unknowing； knew holiness； became sanctuaries for a secret few。
He climbed the three steps to the door and pushed at it； but it was securely locked； so he went to the nearest window。 There was a filthy shroud of cobweb across it but no curtain beyond。 He pressed his face to the glass。 Though his eyes were weakening by the moment； his gaze was still more acute than that of the blossoming ape。 The room he looked into was stripped of all furniture and decoration； if anybody had occupied this house since Sartori's time…and it surely hadn't stood empty for two hundred years…they had gone； taking every trace of their presence。 He raised his good arm and struck the glass with his elbow； a single jab which shattered the window。 Then； careless of the damage he did himself； he hoisted his bulk onto the sill； beat out the rest of the pieces of glass with his hand； and dropped down into the room on the other side。
The layout of the house was still clear in his mind。 In dreams he'd drifted through these rooms and heard the Maestro's voice summoning him up the stairs…up！ up！…to the room at the top where Sartori had worked his work。 It was there Chant wanted to go now； but there were new signs of atrophy in his body with every heartbeat。 The hand first invaded by the flea was withered； its nails dropped from their place； its bone showing at the knuckles and wrist。 Beneath his jacket he knew his torso to the hip was similarly unmade； he felt pieces of his flesh falling inside his shirt as he moved。 He would not be moving for much longer。 His legs were increasingly unwilling to bear him up； and his senses were close to flickering out。 Like a man whose children were leaving him； he begged as he climbed the stairs。
〃Stay with me。 Just a little longer。 Please。 。 。。〃
His cajoling got him as far as the first landing； but then his legs all but gave out； and thereafter he had to climb using his one good arm to haul him onward。
He was halfway up the final flight when he heard the voiders' whistle in the street outside； its piercing din unmistakable。 They had found him quicker than he'd anticipated； sniffing him out through the darkened streets。 The fear that he'd be denied sight of the sanctum at the top of the stairs spurred him on； his body doing its ragged best to acmodate his ambition。
From below； he heard the door being forced open。 Then the whistle again； harder than before； as his pursuers stepped into the house。 He began to berate his limbs； his tongue barely able to s
