kunin'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