cb.imajica2-第11章
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〃And what were you born to do？ You can't build cities forever。〃 He glanced out at the desolation。 〃Is that why you've destroyed it？〃 he said。 〃So you can start again？〃
〃I didn't destroy it。 There was a revolution。〃
〃Which you fueled； with your massacres；〃 Gentle said。 〃I was in a little village called Beatrix； a few weeks ago…〃
〃Ah； yes。 Beatrix。〃 Sartori drew a heavy breath。 〃It was you； of course。 I knew somebody was watching me； but I didn't know who。 The frustration made me cruel； I'm afraid；〃
〃You call that cruel？ I call it inhuman。〃
〃It may take you a little time to understand； but every now and again such extremes are necessary。〃
〃I knew some of those people。〃
〃You won't ever have to dirty your hands with that kind of unpleasantness。 I'll do whatever's necessary。〃
〃So will I；〃 said Gentle。
Sartori frowned。 〃Is that a threat？〃 he said。
〃This began with me； and it'll end with me。〃
〃But which me； Maestro？ That one〃…he pointed at Gentle…〃or this？ Don't you see； we weren't meant to be enemies。 We can achieve so much more if we work together。〃 He put his hand on Gentle's shoulder。 〃We were meant to meet this way。 That's why the Pivot kept silent all these years。 It was waiting for you to e； and us to be reunited。〃 His face slackened。 〃Don't be my enemy；〃 he said。 〃The thought of…〃
A cry of alarm from outside the room cut him short。 He turned from Gentle and started towards the door as a soldier appeared in the passageway beyond； his throat opened； his hand ineptly staunching the spurts。 He stumbled and fell against the wall； sliding to the ground。
〃The mob must be here；〃 Sartori remarked； with a hint of satisfaction。 〃It's time to make your decision； brother。 Do we go on from here together； or shall I rule the Fifth alone？〃
A new din rose； loud enough to blot out any further exchange； and Sartori left off his counseling； stepping out into the passageway。
〃Stay here；〃 he told Gentle。 〃Think about it while you wait。〃
Gentle ignored the instruction。 As soon as Sartori was around the corner； he followed。 The motion died away as he did so； leaving only the low whistle from the soldier's windpipe to acpany his pursuit。 Gentle picked up his pace； suddenly fearing that an ambush awaited his other。 No doubt Sartori deserved death。 No doubt they both did。 But there was a good deal he hadn't prized from his brother yet； especially concerning the failure of the Reconciliation。 He had to be preserved from harm； at least until Gentle had every clue to the puzzle out of him。 The time would e for them both to pay the penalty for their excesses。 But it wasn't yet。
As he stepped over the dead soldier； he heard the mystifs voice。 The single word it said was： 〃Gentle。〃
Hearing that tone…like no other he'd heard or dreamt… all concern for Sartori's preservation； or his own； was overwhelmed。 His only thought was to get to the place where the mystif was； to lay his eyes on it and his arms around it。 They'd been parted for far too long。 Never again； he swore to himself as he ran。 Whatever edicts or obligations were set before them； whatever malice sought to divide them； never again would he let the mystif go。
He turned the corner。 Ahead lay the doorway that led out into the antechamber。 Sartori was on the other side； partially eclipsed； but hearing Gentle's approach he turned； glancing back into the passageway。 The smile of wele he was wearing for Pie 'oh' pah decayed； and in two strides he was at the door to slam it in his maker's face。 Realizing he was outpaced； Gentle yelled Pie's name； but the door was closed before the syllable was out； plunging Gentle into almost total darkness。 The oath he'd made seconds before was broken； they were divided again； before they could even be reunited。 In his rage Gentle threw himself against the door； but like everything else in this tower it was built to last a millennium。 However hard he hit it； all he got was bruises。 They hurt； but the memory of Sartori's leer when he'd talked about his taste for mystifs stung more。 Even now； the mystif was probably in Sartori's arms。 Embraced； kissed； possessed。
He threw himself against the door one final time； then gave up on such primitive assaults。 Drawing a breath； he blew it into his fist and slammed the pneuma against the door the way he'd learned to do in the Jokalaylau。 It had been a glacier beneath his hand on that first occasion； and the ice had cracked only after several attempts。 This time； either because his will to be on the other side of the door was stronger than his desire to free the women in the ice； or simply because he was the Maestro Sartori now； a named man who knew at least a little about the power he wielded； the steel succumbed at the first blow； and a jagged crack opened in the door。
He heard Sartori shouting on the other side； but he didn't waste time trying to make sense of it。 Instead he delivered a second pneuma against the fractured steel； and this time his hand passed all the way through the door as pieces flew from beneath his palm。 He put his fist to his mouth a third time； smelling his own blood as he did so； but whatever harm this was doing him； it had not yet registered as pain。 He caught a third breath and delivered it against the door with a yell that wouldn't have shamed a samurai。 The hinges shrieked； and the door flew open。 He was through it before it had struck the floor； only to find the antechamber beyond deserted； at least by the living。 Three corpses； panions to the soldier who'd raised the alarm； lay sprawled on the floor； all opened with single slashes。 He leapt over them to the door； his broken hand adding its drops to the pools he trod。
The corridor beyond was rank with smoke； as though something half rotted was burning in the bowels of the palace。 But through the murk； fifty yards from him； he saw Sartori and Pie 'oh' pah。 Whatever fiction Sartori had invented to dissuade the mystif from pleting its mission； it had proved potent。 They were racing from the tower without so much as a backward glance； like lovers just escaped from death's door。
Gentle drew breath； not to issue a pneuma this time but a call。 He shouted Pie's name down the passageway； the smoke dividing as his summons went； as though the syllables from a Maestro's mouth had a literal presence。 Pie stopped and looked back。 Sartori took hold of the mystif s arm as if to hurry it on； but Pie's eyes had already found Gentle； and it refused to be ushered away。 Instead it shrugged off Sartori's hold and took a step in Gentle's direction。 The curtain of smoke divided by his cry had e together again and made a blur of the mystif s face； but Gentle read its confusion from its body。 It seemed not to know whether to advance or retreat。
〃It's me！〃 Gentle called。 〃It's me！〃
He saw Sartori at the mystif s shoulder and caught fragments of the warnings he was whispering： something about the Pivot having hold of their heads。
〃I'm not an illusion； Pie；〃 Gentle said as he advanced。 〃This is me。 Gentle。 I'm real。〃
The mystif shook its head； looking back at Sartori； then again at Gentle； confounded by the sight。
〃It's just a trick；〃 Sartori said； no longer bothering to whisper。 〃e away； Pie； before it really gets a hold。 It can make us crazy。〃
Too late； perhaps； Gentle thought。 He was close enough to see the look on the mystif s face now； and it was lunatic： eyes wide； teeth clenched； sweat making red rivulets of the blood spattered on its cheek and brow。 The sometime assassin had long since lost its appetite for slaughter…that much had been apparent back in the Cradle； when it had hesitated to kill though their lives had depended upon it…but it had done so here； and the anguish it felt was written in every furrow of its face。 No wonder Sartori had found it so easy to make the mystif forsake its mission。 It was teetering on mental collapse。 And now； confronted with two faces it knew； both speaking with the voice of its lover； it was losing what little equilibrium it had left。
Its hand went to its belt； from which hung one of the ribbon blades the execution squad had wielded。 Gentle heard it sing as it came； its edge undulled by the slaughter it had already mitted。
Behind the mystif； Sartori sai
