The Eisenhorn TrilogyXenos(科幻战争)-第75章

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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