The Eisenhorn TrilogyXenos(科幻战争)-第32部分

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posts　announced　''Hololiths！　Most　Lifelike！　Most　Agreeable！''　below　which　a　smaller　notice　said　A　most　delightful　gift；　or　a
souvenir　of　the　day；　captured　by　the　magic　art　of　a　master　hololithographer。'　A　frail　old　man　with　tufted　white　hair　and　small
spectacles　was　seated　outside　the　booth　on　a　folding　canvas　chair；　eating　a　meat　pie　that　was　so　hot　he　had　to　keep　blowing　on　it。
'Why　don't　you　go　and　engage　his　interest？'　I　suggested。
Alizebeth　left　my　side；　pushed　through　the　noisy　crowd　and　stopped　by　his　booth。　A　sheet　of　flakboard　had　been　erected　beside　the
booth's　entrance；　and　on　it　were　numerous　hololithic　pictures　mounted　for　display：　some　miniatures；　some　landscapes；　some　family
groups。　Alizebeth　studied　them　with　feigned　interest。　The　old　man　immediately　leapt　up　off　his　chair；　stowed　the　half…eaten　pie　behind
the　board　and　brushed　the　crumbs　off　his　robes。　I　moved　round　to　the　side；　staying　in　the　crowd；　watching。　I　paused　to　examine　the
caged　birds；　though　in　fact　I　was　looking　through　their　cages　at　the　booth　tent。
The　old　man　approached　Bequin　courteously。
'Madam；　good　afternoon！　I　see　your　attention　has　been　arrested　by　my　display　of　work。　Are　they　not　fairly　framed　and　wellcomposed？'
'Indeed；'　she　said。

'You　have　a　good　eye；　madam；'　he　said；　'for　so　often　in　these　countiy　fairs　the　work　of　the　hololithgrapher　is　substandard。　The
composition　is　frequently　poor　and　the　plate　quality　fades　with　time。　Not　so　with　your　humble　servant。　I　have　plied　this　trade　of
portraiture　for　thirty　years　and　I　fancy　I　have　skill　for　it。　You　see　this　print　here？　The　lakeshore　at　Entreve？'
'It　is　a　pleasing　scene。'
'You　are　very　kind；　madam。　It　is　handcoloured；　like　many　of　my　frames。　But　this　very　print　was　made　in　the　summer　of…　329；　if　my
memory　serves。　And　you'll　appreciate；　there　is　no　fading；　no　loss　of　clarity；　no　discolouration。'
'It　has　preserved　itself　well。'
'It　has；'　he　agreed；　merrily。　'I　have　patented　my　own　techniques；　and　I　prepare　the　chemical　compounds　for　the　plates　by　hand；　in　my
modest　studio　adjoining。'　He　gestured　to　his　trailer。　That　is　how　I　can　maintain　the　quality　and　the　perfect　grade　of　the　hololiths；　and
reproduce　and　print　them　to　order　with　no　marked　loss　of　standard　from　original　to　duplicate。　My　reputation　rests　upon　it。　Up　and
down　the　byeways　of　the　land；　the　name　Bakunin　is　a　watchword　for　quality　portraiture。'
Alizebeth　smiled。　'It's　most　impressive；　Master　Bakunin。　And　how　much…？'
'Aha！'　he　grinned。　'I　thought　you　might　be　tempted；　madam；　and　may　I　say　it　would　be　a　crime　for　your　beauty　to　remain　unrecorded！
My　services　are　most　affordable。'
I　moved　round　further；　edging　my　way　to　the　side　of　his　booth　until　he　and　Alizebeth　were　out　of　sight　behind　the　awning。　I　could　hear
him　still　making　his　pitch　to　her。
On　the　side　of　the　trailer；　further　bold　statements　and　enticements　were　painted　in　a　flourishing　script。　A　large　sign　read　''Portraits　two
crowns；　group　scenes　three　crowns；　gilded　miniatures　a　half…crown　only；　offering　many　a　striking　and　famous　backdoth　for　a　crown
additional。''
I　wandered　behind　the　trailer。　It　was　parked　at　the　edge　of　the　fairground；　near　to　a　copse　of　fintle　and　yew　that　screened　the　meadow
from　pastures　beyond　the　ditch。　It　was　damp　and　shaded　here；　small　animals　rustling　in　the　thickets。　I　tried　to　look　in　at　one　small
window；　but　it　was　shuttered。　I　touched　the　side　of　the　trailer　and　felt　Barbarisater　twitch　against　my　hip。　There　was　a　door　near　the　far
end　of　the　trailer。　I　tried　it；　but　it　was　locked。
'What's　your　business？'　growled　a　voice。
Three　burly　fairground　wranglers　had　approached　along　the　copse…side　of　the　booths。　They　had　been　smoking　lho…sticks　behind　their
trailer　on　a　break。
'Not　yours；'　I　assured　them。
'You　had　best　be　leaving　Master　Bakunin's　trailer　alone；'　one　said。　All　three　were　built　like　wrestlers；　their　bared　arms　stained　with
crude　tattoos。　I　had　no　time　for　this。
'Go　away　now；'　I　said；　pitching　my　will　through　my　voice。　They　all　blinked；　not　quite　sure　what　had　happened　to　their　minds；　and　then
simply　walked　away　as　if　I　wasn't　there。
I　returned　my　attention　to　the　door；　and　quickly　forced　the　lock　with　my　multi…key　To　my　surprise；　the　thin　wooden　door　still　refused
to　open。　I　wondered　if　it　was　bolted　from　inside；　but　as　I　put　more　weight　into　it；　it　did　shift　a　little；　enough　to　prove　there　there　was
nothing　physical　holding　it。　Then　it　banged　back　shut　as　if　drawn　by　immense　suction。
My　pulse　began　to　race。　I　could　feel　the　sour　tang　of　warpcraft　in　the　air　and　Barbarisater　was　now　vibrating　in　its　scabbard。　It　was
time　to　dispense　with　subtleties。
I　paced　around　to　the　front　of　the　booth；　but　there　was　no　longer　any　sign　of　Bequin　or　the　old　man。　Stooping；　I　went　in　under　the
entrance　flap。　An　inner　drop　curtain　of　black　cloth　stopped　exterior　light　from　entering　the　tent。
I　pushed　that　aside。
'I　will　be　with　you　shortly；　sir；'　Bakunin　called；　'if　you　would　give　me　a　moment。'
'I'm　not　a　customer；'　I　said。　I　looked　around。　The　tent　all；　and　lit　by　the　greenish　glow　of　gas　mantles　that　ran；　I　supposed；
off　the　trailer　supply。　Alizebeth　was　sat　at　the　far　side　on　a　ladderback　chair　with　a　dropcloth　of　cream　felt　behind　her。　Bakunin　was
facing　her；　carefully　adjusting　his　hololithic　camera；　a　brass　and　teak　machine　mounted　on　a　wooden　tripod。　He　looked　round　at　me
curiously；　his　hands　still　polishing　a　brass…rimmed　lens。　Alizebeth　rose　out　of　her　seat。
'Gregor？'　she　asked。
'The　good　lady　is　just　sitting　for　a　portrait；　sir。　It's　all　very　civilised。'　Bakunin　peered　at　me；　unsure　what　to　make　of　me。　He　smiled　and
offered　his　hand。　'I　am　Bakunin；　artist　and　hololithographer。'
'I　am　Eisenhorn；　Imperial　inquisitor。'
'Oh；'　he　said　and　took　a　step　backwards。　'I…　I…'
'You're　wondering　why　a　servant　of　the　Ordos　has　just　walked　into　your　booth；'　I　finished　for　him。　Bakunin's　mind　was　like　an　open
book。　There　was；　I　saw　at　once；　no　guile　there；　except　for　the　natural　money…making　trickery　of　a　fairground　rogue。　Whatever　else　he
was；　Bakunin　was　no　heretic。
'You　took　a　portrait　of　Lord　Froigre　at　the　fete　held　on　his　lands　just　the　other　day？'　I　said；　thinking　of　the　picture　on　the　harpsichord
back　at　the　hall。
'I　did；'　he　said。　'His　lordship　was　pleased。　I　made　no　charge　for　the　work；　sir。　It　was　a　gift　to　thank　his　lordship　for　his　hospitality。　I
thought　perhaps　some　of　his　worthy　friends　might　see　the　work　and　want　the　like　for　themselves；　I…'
He　doesn't　know；　I　thought。　He　has　no　clue　what　this　is　about。　He's　trying　to　work　out　how　he　might　have　drawn　this　investigation　to
himself。
'Lord　Froigre　is　dead；'　I　told　him。
He　went　pale。　'No；　that's…　that's…'

'Master　Bakunin…　do　you　know　if　any　other　of　your　previous　subjects　have　died？　Died　soon　after　your　work　was　complete？'
'I　don't；　I'm　sure。　Sir；　what　are　you　implying？'
'I　have　a　list　of　names；'　I　said；　unclipping　my　data…slate。　'Do　you　keep　records　of　your　work？'
'I　keep　them　all；　all　the　exposed　plates；　in　case　that　copies　or　replacements　are　needed。　I　have　full　catalogues　of　all　pictures。'
I　showed　him　the　slate。　'Do　you　recognise　any　of　these　names？'
His　hands　were　shaking。　He　said；　'I'll　have　to　check　them　against　my　catalogue；'　but　I　knew　for　a　fact　he'd　recognised　some　of　them　at
once。
'Let's　do　that　together；'　I　said。　Alizebeth　followed　us　as　we　went　through　the　back　of　the　tent　into　the　trailer。　It　was　a　dark；　confined
space；　and　Bakunin　kept　apologising。　Every　scrap　of　surface；　even　the　untidy　flat　of　his　little　cot　bed；　was　piled　with　spares　and　partly
disassembled　cameras。　There　was　a　musty；　chemical　stink；　mixed　with　the　scent　of　Penshel　seeds。　Bakunin's　pipe　lay　in　a　small　bowl。
He　reached　into　a　crate　under　the　cot　and　pulled　out　several　dog…eared　record　books。
'Let　me　see　now；'　he　began。
There　was　a　door　at　the　end　of　the　little　room。　'What's　through　there？'
'My　dark　room；　along　with　the　file　racks　for　the　exposed　plates。'
'It　has　a　door　to　the　outside？'
'Yes；'　he　said。
'Locked？'
'No…'
'You　have　an　assistant　then；　someone　you　ordered　to　hold　the　door　shut？'
'I　have　no　assistant…'　he　said；　puzzled。
'Open　this　door；'　I　told　him。　He　put　down　the　books　and　went　to　the　communicating　door。　Just　from　his　body　language；　I　could　tell　he
had　been　expecting　it　to　open　easily。
'I　don't　understand；'　he　said。　'It's　never　jammed　before。'
'Stand　back；'　I　said；　and　drew　Barbarisater。　The　exposed　blade　filled　the　little　trailer　with　ozone　and　Bakunin　yelped。
I　put　the　blade　through　the　door　with　one　good　swing　and　ripped　it　open。　There　was　a　loud　bang　of　atmospheric　decompression；　and
fetid　air　swept　over　us。　A　dark；　smoky　haze　drifted　out。
'Emperor　of　Mankind；　what　is　that？'
'Warpcraft；'　I　said。　'You　say　you　mix　your　own　oxides　and　solutions？'
'Yes。'
'Where　do　you　get　your　supplies　from？'
'Everywhere；　here　and　there；　sometimes　from　apothecaries；　or　market　traders　or…'
Anywhere。　Bakunin　had　experimented　with　all　manner　of　compounds　over　the　years　to　create　the　best；　most　effective　plates　for　his
camera。　He'd　never　been　fussy　about　where　the　active　ingredients　came　from。　Some…ming　in　his　workshop；　something　in　his　rack　of
flasks　and　bottles；　was　tainted。
I　took　a　step　towards　the　dark　room。　In　the　half…light；　things　were　flickering；　half…formed　and　pale。　The　baleful　energies　lurking　in
Bakunin's　workshop　could　sense　I　was　a　threat；　and　were　trying　to　protect　themselves　by　sealing　the　doors　tight　to　keep　me　out。
I　crossed　the　threshold　into　the　dark　room。　Alizebem's　cry　of　warning　was　lost　in　the　shrieking　of　tormented　air　that　suddenly　swirled
around　me。　Glass　bottles　and　flasks　of　mineral　tincture　vibrated　wildly　in　metal　racks　above　Bakunin's　work　bench。　Jars　of　liquid
chemicals　and　unguent　oils　shattered　and　sprayed　their　contents　into　the　air。　The　little　gas…jet　burner　flared　and　ignited；　its　rubber　tube
thrashing　like　a　snake。　Glass　plates；　each　a　square　the　size　of　a　data…slate；　and　each　sleeved　in　a　folder　of　tan　card；　were　jiggling　and
working　themselves　out　of　the　wooden　racks　on　the　far　side　of　the　blacked　out　room。　There　were　thousands　of　them；　each　one　the
master　exposure　of　one　of　Bakunin's　hololiths。　The　first　yanked　clear　of　the　shelf　as　if　tugged　by　a　sucking　force；　and　I　expected　it　to
shatter　on　the　floor；　but　it　floated　in　the　air。　Quickly　others　followed　suit。　Light　from　sources　I　couldn't　locate　played　in　the　air；　casting
specks　and　flashes　of　colour　all　around。　The　air　itself　became　dark　brown；　like　tobacco。
I　raised　my　sword。　A　negative　plate　came　flying　at　my　head　and　I　struck　at　it。　Shards　of　glass　flew　in　all　directions。　Another　came　at
me　and　I　smashed　that　too。　More　flew　from　the　shelves　like　a　spray　of　playing　cards；　whipping　through　the　air　towards　me。　I　made　a
series　of　quick　uwe　sar　and　ulsar　parries；　bursting　the　glass　squares　as　they　struck　in。　I　missed　one；　and　it　sliced　my　cheek　with　its　edge
before　hitting　the　wall　behind　me　like　a　throwing　knife。
'Get　him　out　of　here！'　I　yelled　to　Alizebeth。　The　trailer　was　shaking。　Outside　there　was　a　crash　of　thunder　and　rain　started　to　hammer
on　the　low　roof。　The　hurtling　plates　were　driving　me　back；　and　Barbarisater　had　become　a　blur　in　my　hands　as　it　struck　out　to　intercept
them　all。
Then　the　ghosts　came。　Serious　men　in　formal　robes。　Gentlewomen　in　long　gowns。　Solemn　children　with　pale　faces。　A　laughing
innkeeper　with　blotchy　cheeks。　Two　farmhands；　with　their　arms　around　each　other's　shoulders。　More；　still　more；　shimmering　in　the
dirty　air；　made　of　smoke；　their　skins　white；　their　clothes　sepia；　their　expressions　frozen　at　the　moment　they　had　been　caught　by　the
camera。　They　clawed　and　tugged　at　me　with　fingers　of　ice；　pummelled　me　with　psychokinetic　fists。　Some　passed　through　me　like
wraiths；　chilling　my　marrow。　The　malevolence　hiding　in　that　little　trailer　was　conjuring　up　all　the　images　Bakunin　had　immortalised　in
his　career；　ripping　them　off　the　negative　plates　and　giving　them　form。
I　staggered　back；　tears　appearing　in　my　cloak。　Their　touch　was　as　sharp　as　the　edge　of　the　glass　plates。　Their　hollow　screaming　filled
my　ears。　Then；　with　a　sickening　lurch；　the　world　itself　distorted　and　changed。　The　trailer　was　gone。　For　a　moment　I　was　standing　on　a
sepia　shoreline；　then　I　was　an　uninvited　guest　at　a　country　wedding。　My　sword　hacking　and　flashing；　I　stumbled　on　into　a　baptism；

then　a　colourised　view　of　the　Atenate　Mountains；　then　a　feast　in　a　guild　hall。　The　ghosts　surged　at　me；　frozen　hands　clawing。　The
innkeeper　with　the　blotchy　cheeks　got　his　icy　fists　around　my　throat　though　his　face　was　still　open　in　laughter。　I　chopped　Barbarisater
through　him　and　he　billowed　like　smoke。　A　sad…faced　housemaid　pulled　at　my　arm　and　a　fisherman　struck　at　me　with　his　boat　hook。
I　began　to　recite　the　Litany　of　Salvation；　yelling　it　into　the　leering　faces　that　beset　me。　A　few　crumpled　and　melted　like　cellulose
exposed　to　flame。
I　heard　gunshots。　Gabon　was　to　my　right；　firing　his　weapon。　He　was　standing　on　the　pier　at　Dorsay　at　sunset；　in　the　middle　of　a　intervillage
game　of　knockball；　and　a　harvest　festival；　all　at　the　same　time。　The　conflicting　scenes　blurred　and　merged　around　him。　A　bride
and　her　groom；　along　with　five　mourners　from　a　funeral　and　a　retiring　arbites　constable　in　full　medals；　were　attacking　him。
'Get　back！'　I　yelled。　Barbarisater　was　glowing　white…hot。　Thunder　crashed　again；　shaking　the　earth。　Gabon　shrieked　as　the　bride's
fingers　ripped　through　his　face；　and　as　he　stumbled　backwards；　whizzing　glass　plates　chopped　into　him　like　axe　heads。
His　blood　was　in　the　air；　like　rain。　It　flooded　into　the　ghosts　and　stained　their　sepia　tones　crimson　and　their　pale　flesh　pink。　I　felt
fingers　like　knives　draw　across　the　flesh　of　my　arms　and　back。　There　were　too　many　of　them。
I　couldn't　trust　my　eyes。　According　to　them；　I　was　standing　on　a　river…bank；　and　also　the　front　steps　of　an　Administratum　building。　The
locations　overlaid　each　other　impossibly；　and　neither　was　real。
I　leapt；　and　lashed　out　with　my　blade。　I　hit　something；　tore　through　and　immediately　found　myself　rolling　on　the　rain…sodden　turf
behind　the　trailer。
Lightning　split　the　darkness　overhead　and　the　rain　was　torrential。　The　storm　and　the　bizarre　activity　around　Bakunin's　booth　had　sent
the　commonfolk　fleeing　from　the　meadow。　The　trailer　was　still　vibrating　and　shaking；　and　oily　brown　smoke　was　gushing　from　the
hole　in　the　side　wall　I'd　cut　to　break　my　way　out。　Inside；　lights　crackled　and　flashed　and　the　phantom　screaming　continued。　The
warptaint　was　berserk。
Bakunin　appeared；　looking　desperate；　with　Alizebeth　close　behind　him。　He　put　his　hands　to　his　mouth　in　shock　at　the　sight　of　me　torn
and　bloodied。
'Where　is　it？'　I　snarled。
'Third　shelf　up；　above　the　workbench；'　he　stammered。　The　green　bottle。　I　needed　tincture　of　mercury；　years　ago；　years　ago；　and　an　old
woman　in　one　of　the　villages　gave　it　to　me　and　said　it　would　do　as　well。　I　use　it　all　the　time　now。　The　emulsions　it　mixes　are　perfect。
My　work　has　never　been　better。'
He　looked　down　at　the　grass；　shaking　and　horrified。　'I　should　have　realised；'　he　muttered。　'I　should　have　realised。　No　matter　how　much
I　used；　the　bottle　never　emptied。'
'Third　shelf　up？'　I　confirmed。
'I'll　show　you；'　he　said；　and　sprang　to　the　trailer；　clambering　in　through　the　hole　I　had　smashed。
'Bakunin！　No！'
I　followed　him　inside；　tumbling　back　into　the　jumble　of　landscapes　and　the　maelstrom　of　screaming　ghosts。　Just　for　a　moment；　a　brief
moment；　I　saw　Aen　Froigre　amongst　them。
Then　I　was　falling　through　another　wedding；　a　hunting　scene；　a　stockman's　meeting；　a　farrier's　smithy；　the　castle　of　Elempite　by
moonlight；　a　cattle　market；　a—
I　heard　Bakunin　scream。
I　deflected　three　more　deadly　hololith　plates；　and　slashed　through　the　thicket　of　howling　ghosts。　Spectral；　as　if　it　wasn't　there；　I　saw　the
workbench　and　the　shelves。　The　green　bottle；　glowing　internally　with　jade　fire。
I　raised　Barbarisater　and　smashed　the　bottle　with　the　edge　of　the　shivering　blade。
The　explosion　shredded　the　inner　partition　wall　and　lurched　the　trailer　onto　its　side。　Dazed；　I　lay　on　the　splintered　wall；　sprawled
amongst　the　debris　of　glass　and　wood。
The　screaming　stopped。

SOMEONE　HAD　CALLED　the　local　arbites。　They　moved　in　through　the　crowds　of　onlookers　as　the　last　of　the　rain　fell　and　the　skies　began
to　clear。
I　showed　them　my　credentials　and　told　them　to　keep　the　crowd　back　while　I　finished　my　work。　The　trailer　was　already　burning；　and
Alizebeth　and　I　threw　the　last　few　hololith　prints　into　the　flames。
The　pictures　were　fading　now。　Superimposed　on　each　one；　every　portrait；　every　landscape；　every　miniature；　was　a　ghost　exposure。　An
after…image。
Bakunin；　screaming　his　last　scream　forever。



　　　　　　　　　　　（The　End）



。　…　。………【gzbysh】整理