cb.imajica2- 第1部分

　
　LIKE　THE　THEATER　DISTRICTS　OF　so　many　great　cities　across　the　Imajica；　whether　in　Reconciled　Dominions　or　in　the　Fifth；　the　neighborhood　in　which　the　Ipse　stood　had　been　a　place　of　some　notoriety　in　earlier　times；　when　actors　of　both　sexes　had　supplemented　their　wages　with　the　old　five…acter…hiring；　retiring；　seduction；　conjunction；　and　remittance…all　played　hourly；　night　and　day。　The　center　of　these　activities　had　moved　away；　however；　to　the　other　side　of　the　city；　where　the　burgeoning　numbers　of　middle…class　clients　felt　less　exposed　to　the　gaze　of　their　peers　out　seeking　more　respectable　entertainment。　Lickerish　Street　and　its　environs　had　sprung　up　in　a　matter　of　months　and　quickly　became　the　third　richest　Kesparate　in　the　city；　leaving　the　theater　district　to　decline　into　legitimacy。
　Perhaps　because　it　was　of　so　little　interest　to　people；　it　had　survived　the　traumas　of　the　last　few　hours　better　than　most　Kesparates　its　size。　It　had　seen　some　action。　General　Mattalaus'　battalions　had　passed　through　its　streets　going　south　to　the　causeway；　where　rebels　were　attempting　to　build　a　makeshift　bridge　across　the　delta；　and　later　a　party　of　families　from　the　Caramess　had　taken　refuge　in　Koppocovi's　Rialto。　But　no　barricades　had　been　erected；　and　none　of　the　buildings　burned。　The　Deliquium　would　meet　the　morning　intact。　Its　survival；　however；　would　not　be　accorded　to　general　disinterest；　rather　to　the　presence　at　its　perimeter　of　Pale　Hill；　a　site　which　was　neither　a　hill　nor　pale；　but　a　circle　of　remembrance　in　the　center　of　which　lay　a　well；　used　from　time　immemorial　as　a　repository　for　the　corpses　of　executed　men；　suicides；　paupers；　and；　on　occasion；　romantics　who　favored　rotting　in　such　pany。　Tomorrow's　rumors　would　whisper　that　the　ghosts　of　these　forsaken　souls　had　risen　to　defend　their　terrain；　preventing　the　vandals　and　the　barricade　builders　from　destroying　the　Kesparate　by　haunting　the　steps　of　the　Ipse　and　the　Rialto　and　howling　in　the　streets　like　dogs　maddened　from　chasing　the　et's　tail。
　With　her　clothes　in　rags　and　her　throat　uttering　one　seamless　supplication；　Quaisoir　went　through　the　heart　of　several　battles　quite　unscathed。　There　were　many　such　grief…stricken　women　on　the　streets　of　Yzordderrex　tonight；　all　begging　Hapexamendios　to　return　children　or　husbands　into　their　arms；　and　they　were　for　the　most　part　given　passage　through　the　lines；　their　sobs　password　enough。
　The　battles　themselves　didn't　distress　her；　she'd　organized　and　viewed　mass　executions　in　her　time。　But　when　the　heads　had　rolled　she'd　always　made　a　swift　departure；　leaving　the　aftermath　for　somebody　else　to　shovel　up。　Now　she　had　to　tread　barefoot　in　streets　that　were　like　abattoirs；　and　her　legendary　indifference　to　the　spectacle　of　death　was　overtaken　by　a　horror　so　profound　she　had　several　times　changed　her　direction　to　avoid　a　street　that　stank　too　strongly　of　innards　and　burned　blood。　She　knew　she　would　have　to　confess　this　cowardice　when　she　finally　found　the　Man　of　Sorrows；　but　she　was　so　laden　with　guilt　that　one　more　fault　or　less　would　scarcely　matter。
　Then；　as　she　came　to　the　corner　of　the　street　at　the　end　of　which　lay　Pluthero　Quexos'　playhouse；　somebody　called　her　name。　She　stopped　and　looked　for　her　summoner。　A　man　dressed　in　blue　was　rising　from　a　doorstep；　the　fruit　he'd　been　peeling　in　one　hand；　the　peeling　blade　in　the　other。　He　seemed　to　be　in　no　doubt　as　to　her　identity。
　〃You're　his　woman；〃　he　said。
　Was　this　the　Lord？　she　wondered。　The　man　she'd　seen　on　the　rooftops　at　the　harbor　had　been　silhouetted　against　a　bright　sky；　his　features　had　been　difficult　to　see。　Could　this　be　him？
　He　was　calling　someone　from　the　interior　of　the　house　on　the　steps　of　which　he'd　been　sitting；　a　sometime　bordello　to　judge　by　its　lewdly　carved　portico。　The　disciple；　an　Oethac；　emerged　with　a　bottle　in　one　hand；　the　other　ruffling　the　hair　of　a　cretinous　boy　child；　naked　and　glistening。　She　began　to　doubt　her　first　judgment；　but　she　didn't　dare　leave　until　she　had　her　hopes　confirmed　or　dashed。
　〃Are　you　the　Man　of　Sorrows？〃　she　said。
　The　fruit　peeler　shrugged。　〃Isn't　everybody　tonight？〃　he　said；　tossing　the　uneaten　fruit　away。
　The　cretin　leapt　down　the　steps　and　snatched　it　up；　pushing　the　entire　thing　into　his　mouth　so　that　his　face　bulged　and　the　juice　ran　from　his　lips。
　〃You're　the　cause　of　this；〃　the　peeler　said；　jabbing　his　knife　in　Quaisoir's　direction。　He　glanced　around　at　the　Oethac。　〃She　was　at　the　harbor。　I　saw　her。〃
　〃Who　is　she？〃　the　Oethac　said。
　〃The　Autarch's　woman；〃　came　the　reply。　〃Quaisoir。〃　He　took　a　step　towards　her。　〃You　are；　aren't　you？〃
　She　could　no　more　deny　this　than　she　could　take　flight。　If　this　man　was　indeed　Jesu；　she　couldn't　begin　her　pleas　for　forgiveness　with　a　lie。
　〃Yes；〃　she　told　him；　〃I'm　Quaisoir。　I　was　the　Autarch's　woman。〃
　〃She's　fucking　beautiful；〃　the　Oethac　said。
　〃What　she　looks　like　doesn't　matter；〃　the　fruit　peeler　told　him。　〃It's　what　she's　done　that's　important。〃
　〃Yes；〃　Quaisoir　said；　daring　to　believe　now　that　this　was　indeed　the　Son　of　David。　〃That's　what's　important。　What　I've　done。〃
　〃The　executions　。。。〃
　〃Yes。〃
　〃The　purges　。。。〃
　〃Yes。〃
　〃I've　lost　a　lot　of　friends；　and　you're　the　reason。〃
　〃Oh；　Lord；　forgive　me；〃　she　said；　and　dropped　to　her　knees。
　〃I　saw　you　at　the　harbor　this　morning；〃　Jesu　said；　approaching　her　as　she　knelt。　〃You　were　smiling。〃
　〃Forgive　me。〃
　〃Looking　around　and　smiling。　And　I　thought；　when　I　saw　you…〃
　He　was　three　paces　away　from　her　now。
　〃…your　eyes　glittering…〃
　His　sticky　hand　took　hold　of　her　head。
　〃…I　thought；　those　eyes…〃
　He　raised　the　knife…
　〃…have　to　go。〃
　…　and　brought　it　down　again；　quick　and　sharp；　sharp　and　quick；　pricking　out　his　disciple's　sight　before　she　could　start　to　scream。
　The　tears　that　suddenly　filled　Jude's　eyes　stung　like　no　tears　she'd　ever　shed　before。　She　let　out　a　sob；　more　of　pain　than　of　grief；　pushing　the　heels　of　her　hands　against　her　eye　sockets　to　stem　the　flow。　But　it　wouldn't　cease。　The　tears　kept　ing；　hot　and　harsh；　making　her　whole　head　throb。　She　felt　Dowd's　arm　take　hold　of　hers　and　was　glad　of　it。　Without　his　support；　she　was　certain　she　would　have　fallen。
　〃What's　wrong？〃　he　said。
　The　answer…that　she　was　sharing　some　agony　with　Quaisoir…was　not　one　she　could　voice　to　Dowd。　〃It　must　be　the　smoke；〃　she　said。　〃I　can　barely　see。〃
　〃We're　almost　at　the　Ipse；〃　he　replied。　〃But　we　have　to　keep　moving　for　a　little　while　longer。　It's　not　safe　in　the　open　air。〃
　That　was　true　enough。　Her　eyes…which　at　present　could　only　see　pulsing　red…had　been　laid　on　enough　atrocities　in　the　last　hour　to　fuel　a　lifetime　of　nightmares。　The　Yzordder…rex　of　her　longings；　the　city　whose　spicy　wind；　blowing　from　the　Retreat　months　before；　had　summoned　her　like　the　call　of　a　lover　to　bed；　was　virtually　in　ruins。　Perhaps　that　was　why　Quaisoir　wept　these　burning　tears。
　They　dried　after　a　time；　but　the　pain　lingered。　Though　she　despised　the　man　she　was　leaning　upon；　without　his　support　she　would　have　dropped　to　the　ground　and　remained　there。　He　coaxed　her　on；　step　by　step。　The　Ipse　was　close　now；　he　said：　just　a　street　or　two　away。　She　could　rest　there；　while　he　soaked　up　the　echoes　of　past　glories。　She　barely　attended　to　his　monologue。　It　was　her　sister　who　filled　her　thoughts；　her　anticipation　of　their　meeting　now　tinged　with　unease。　She'd　imagined　Quaisoir　would　have　e　into　these　streets　protected；　and　that　at　the　sight　of　her　Dowd　would　simply　retreat；　leaving　them　to　their　reunion。　But　what　if　Dowd　was　not　overtaken　by　superstitious　awe？　What　if；　instead；　he　attacked　one　or　both　of　them？　Would　Quaisoir　have　any　defense　against　his　mites？　She　began　to　wipe　at　her　streaming　eyes　as　she　stumbled　on；　determined　to　be　clear…sighted　when　the　moment　came；　and　primed　to　escape　Dowd's　leash。
　His　monologue；　when　it　ceased；　did　so　abruptly。　He　halted；　drawing　Jude　to　a　stop　at　his　side。　She　raised　her　head。　The　street　ahead　was　not　well　lit；　but　the　glow　of　distant　fires　found　its　way　between　the　buildings；　and　there；　crawling　into　one　such　flickering　shaft；　she　saw　her　sister。　Jude　let　out　a　sob。　Quaisoir's　eyes　had　been　stabbed　out；　and　her　torturers　were　ing　in　pursuit　of　her。　One　was　a　child；　one　an　Oethac。　The　third；　the　most　blood…spattered；　was　also　the　most　nearly　human；　but　his　features　were　twisted　out　of　true　by　the　pleasure　he　was　taking　in　Quaisoir's　torment。　The　blinding　knife　was　still　in　his　hand；　and　now　he　raised　it　above　his　victim's　naked　back。
　Before　Dowd　could　move　to　stop　her；　Jude　screamed；　〃Stop！〃
　The　knife　was　arrested　in　mid…descent；　and　all　three　of　Quaisoir's　pursuers　looked　around　at　Jude。　The　chiid　registered　nothing；　its　face　was　an　imbecilic　blank。　The　knife　wielder　was　equally　silent；　though　his　expression　was　one　of　disbelief。　It　was　the　Oethac　that　spoke；　the　words　he　uttered　slurred　but　ripe　with　panic。
　〃You　。　。　。　keep　。　。　。　your　distance；〃　he　said；　his　fearful　glance　going　back　and　forth　between　the　wounded　woman　and　this　echo　of　her；　whole　and　strong。
　The　blinder　found　his　voice　now；　and　began　to　hush　him；　but　the　Oethac　rattled　on。
　〃Look　at　her！〃　he　said。　〃What　the　fuck　is　this；　eh？　Look　at　her。〃
　〃Just　shut　your　trap；〃