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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