按键盘上方向键 ← 或 → 可快速上下翻页，按键盘上的 Enter 键可回到本书目录页，按键盘上方向键 ↑ 可回到本页顶部！
————未阅读完？加入书签已便下次继续阅读！
e Forty…Niner Room and the Mendocino Room were just doors； sensibly rectangular and with no peaks。 Yet for one moment he had seemed to see openings like modified cathedral arches。 Filling these openings had been iron drop…gates…the sort that could be raised or lowered by turning a windlass。 Drop…gates with hungry…looking iron spikes at the bottom。 When the gate was lowered to block the entrance； the spikes fitted neatly into holes in the floor。
No stone archways； Jack…O。 See for yourself。 Just doorways。 You saw drop…gates like that in the Tower of London； on that tour you went on with Mom and Uncle Tommy； three years ago。 You're just freaking a little； that's all 。 。 。
But the feeling in the pit of his stomach was unmistakable。
They were there； all right。 I flipped…for just a second I was in the Territories。
Clank。
Jack whirled back the other way； sweat breaking out on his cheeks and forehead； hair beginning to stiffen on the nape of his neck。
He saw it again…a flash of something metallic in the shadows of one of those rooms。 He saw huge stones as black as sin； their rough surfaces splotched with green moss。 Nasty； soft…looking albino bugs squirmed in and out of the large pores of the decaying mortar between the stones。 Empty sconces stood at fifteen… or twenty…foot intervals。 The torches that the sconces had once held were long since gone。
Clank。
This time he didn't even blink。 The world sideslipped before his eyes； wavering like an object seen through clear running water。 The walls were blackish mahogany again instead of stone blocks。 The doors were doors and not latticed…iron drop…gates。 The two worlds； which had been separated by a membrane as thin as a lady's silk stocking； had now actually begun to overlap。
And； Jack realized dimly； his Jason…side had begun to overlap with his Jack…side…some third being which was an amalgamation of both was emerging。
I don't know what that bination is； exactly； but I hope it's strong…because there are things behind those doors 。 。 。 behind all of them。
Jack began to sidle up the hallway again toward the lobby。
Clank。
This time the worlds didn't change； solid doors remained solid doors and he saw no movement。
Right behind there； though。 Right behind…
Now he heard something behind the painted double doors…written in the sky above the marsh scene were the words HERON BAR。 It was the sound of some large rusty machine that had been set in motion。 Jack swung toward
（Jason swung toward）
toward that opening door
（that rising drop…gate）
his hand plunging into
（the poke）
the pocket
（he wore on the belt of his jerkin）
of his jeans and closing around the guitar…pick Speedy had given him so long ago。
（and closing around the shark's tooth）
He waited to see what would e out of the Heron Bar； and the walls of the hotel whispered dimly： We have ways of dealing with fushing feeves like you。 You should have left while there was still time 。 。 。
。 。 。because now； little boy； your time is up。
5
Clank 。 。 。 THUD！
Clank 。 。 。 THUD！
Clank 。 。 。 THUD！
The noise was large and clumsy and metallic。 There was something relentless and inhuman about it which frightened Jack more badly than a more human sound would have done。
It moved and shuffled its way forward with its own slow idiot rhythm：
Clank 。 。 。 THUD！
Clank 。 。 。 THUD！
There was a long pause。 Jack waited； pressed against the far wall a few feet to the right of the painted doors； his nerves so tightly wound they seemed to hum。 Nothing at all happened for a long time。 Jack began to hope the clanker had fallen back through some interdimensional trapdoor and into the world it had e from。 He became aware that his back ached from his artificially still and tautly erect posture。 He slumped。
Then there was a splintering crash； and a huge mailed fist with blunt two…inch spikes sprouting from the knuckles slammed through the peeling blue sky on the door。 Jack shrank back against the wall again； gaping。
And； helplessly； flipped into the Territories。
6
Standing on the other side of the drop…gate was a figure in blackish； rusty armor。 Its cylindrical helmet was broken only by a black horizontal eye…slit no more than an inch wide。 The helmet was topped by a frowzy red plume…white bugs squirmed in and out of it。 They were the same sort； Jason saw； as those which had e out of the walls first in Albert the Blob's room and then all over Thayer School。 The helmet ended in a coif of mail which draped the rusty knight's shoulders like a lady's stole。 The upper arms and forearms were plated with heavy steel brassards。 They were joined at the elbows with cubitieres。 These were crusted with layers of ancient filth； and when the knight moved； the cubitieres squealed like the high； demanding voices of unpleasant children。
Its armored fists were crazy with spikes。
Jason stood against the stone wall； looking at it； unable in fact to look away； his mouth was dry as fever and his eyeballs seemed to be swelling rhythmically in their sockets in time to his heartbeat。
In the knight's right hand was le martel de fer…a battle…hammer with a rusty thirty…pound forged…steel head； as mute as murder。
The drop…gate； remember that the drop…gate is between you and it…
But then； although no human hand was near it； the windlass began to turn； the iron chain； each link as long as Jack's forearm； began to wind around the drum； and the gate began to rise。
7
The mailed fist was withdrawn from the door； leaving a splintered hole that changed the mural at once from faded pastoral romantic to surrealist bar…sinister： it now looked as if some apocalyptic hunter； disappointed by his day in the marshes； had put a load of birdshot through the sky itself in a fit of pique。 Then the head of the battle…hammer exploded through the door in a huge blunt swipe； obliterating one of the two herons struggling to achieve liftoff。 Jack raised his hand in front of his face to protect it from splinters。 The martel de fer was withdrawn。 There was another brief pause； almost long enough for Jack to think about running again。 Then the spiked fist tore through again。 It twisted first one way and then the other； widening the hole； then withdrew。 A second later the hammer slammed through the middle of a reed…bed and a large chunk of the right…hand door fell to the carpet。
Jack could now see the hulking armored figure in the shadows of the Heron Bar。 The armor was not the same as that worn by the figure confronting Jason in the black castle； that one wore a helmet which was nearly cylindrical； with a red plume。 This one wore a helmet that looked like the polished head of a steel bird。 Horns rose from either side； sprouting from the helmet at roughly ear level。 Jack saw a breastplate； a kilt of plate…mail； a hemming of chain…mail below that。 The hammer was the same in both worlds； and in both worlds the knight…Twinners dropped them at the same instant； as if in contempt…who would need a battle…hammer to deal with such a puny opponent as this？
Run！ Jack； run！
That's right； the hotel whispered。 Run！ That's what fushing feeves are supposed to do！ Run！ RUN！
But he would not run。 He might die； but he would not run…because that sly； whispering voice was right。 Running was exactly what fushing feeves did。
But I'm no thief； Jack thought grimly。 That thing may kill me； but I won't run。 Because I'm no thief。
'I won't run！' Jack shouted at the blank； polished…steel bird…face。 'I'm no thief！ Do you hear me？ I've e for what's mine and I'M NO THIEF！'
A groaning scream came from the breathing…holes at the bottom of the bird…helmet。 The knight raised its spiked fists and brought them down； one on the sagging left door； one on the sagging right。 The pastoral marsh…world painted there was destroyed。 The hinges snapped 。 。 。 and as the doors fell toward him； Jack actually saw the one painted heron who remained go flying away like a bird in a Walt Disney cartoon； its eyes bright and terrified。
The suit of armor came toward him like a killer robot； its feet rising and then crashing down。 It was more than seven feet tall； and when it came through the door the horns rising from its helmet tore a set of ragged slashes into the upper jamb。 They looked like quotation marks。
Run！ a yammering voice in his mind screamed。
Run； you feef； the hotel whispered。
No； Jack answered。 He stared up at the advancing knight； and his hand wrapped itself tightly around the guitar…pick in his pocket。 The spike…studded gauntlets came up toward the visor of its bird…helmet。 They raised it。 Jack gaped。
The inside of the helmet was empty。
Then those studded hands were reaching for Jack。
8
The spike…studded hands came up and grasped either side of the cylindrical helmet。 They lifted it slowly off； disclosing the livid； haggard face of a man who looked at least three hundred years old。 One side of this ancient's head had been bashed in。 Splinters of bone like broken eggshell poked out through the skin； and the wound was caked with some black goop which Ja