Arcadia (6 page)

*

‘You were one of Angela Meerson’s team, I believe,’ More said. ‘I have been asked to interview everyone to see if they have any useful information.’

It was a few hours after Angela had vanished, and the entire place was in a state of panic. Chang knew that More had questioned many of those who had worked with her, and would be questioning many more in due course. He didn’t mind; everybody had their job to do and he was perfectly polite, almost diffident in the way he put his questions. Many would have put on a show of authority to demonstrate how powerful they were.

‘That’s right. I am a physicist by training, although my job here
is to analyse data, mainly. It doesn’t really matter what it is. Often enough, I don’t know myself.’

‘You are low-grade, low-level.’

‘Yes,’ he said with the slightest hesitation.

‘I see you have had an unusual career.’

Chang sighed. ‘That again. I once expressed doubts about whether the organisation of society was either permanent or necessarily beneficial.’

‘I’d be careful how you speak.’

‘Oh, don’t worry. Angela disabled all the listening devices in here. She hated eavesdropping. As I say, I expressed doubts in a vague way. It was picked up and I was offered reconditioning to sort out any latent antisocial tendencies. I refused, one thing led to another and I briefly ended up in a Retreat. That was more than thirty years ago. It is still on my file. I suppose it will be for ever.’

‘Angela recruited you?’

‘Two years ago. I was cheap. It was hard to get a job.’

They were sitting in Chang’s cubicle in the far distant, most insalubrious part of the operation, a mile or so from the centre through ever more depressing and neglected corridors, then buried three floors underground. There was a smell of stale air, and oil from the heating system, which Jack found almost insupportable.

‘Can you shed any light on this mess? Where she’s gone? You understand, I’m sure, that it would be a good idea to have some conspicuous display of loyalty from you at the moment.’

Chang shook his head. ‘I realise that, and I am trying to come up with something. If you mean did she say or do anything that should have aroused suspicion, then the answer is no. On the contrary, she had been working hard and was looking forward to completing the next stage of the project.’

‘Tell me about her. The file on her just has information. I want to know what she was like.’

‘I can tell you a bit,’ Chang said, ‘but she was never very
forthcoming about herself. Apart from working and popping stimulants, I don’t think she did much. She was very obsessed.’

‘How old is she?’

‘Actual age is seventy-eight; biological is early twenties. She got a top-up three days ago, and there’s some gone missing. I checked. If she took some with her, she might well live for another century or more.’

‘Character? Is she capable of sabotage, terrorism, illegality, subversion?’

‘Oh, easily; she’d love it.’

‘Did you like her?’

‘What a question! I never really thought about it. She was certainly the most stimulating person I ever worked for. Once you learned how to handle her moods she could be very kind as well, although she was completely ruthless in the way she worked. So – yes. I suppose I liked her. I liked working for her, certainly.’

More grunted, then stood up to leave.

‘Good luck in your hunt,’ Chang said as he watched the man open the door. ‘You may be wasting your time, though. You won’t find her if she doesn’t want you to.’

‘Where do you think she’d go?’

Chang thought. ‘If it was me, I’d hide out amongst the renegades. But then, it isn’t me. So,’ he said with a smile, ‘that’s not much help.’

‘Then if you can think of anything …’

‘I will certainly tell you. In fact, I do have an idea, but it is a silly one. If it comes to anything I’ll let you know.’

That was it. The scene faded, a bit like a screen going dark, and he became aware of his surroundings once more. He was now sitting down, in an open space, in the open air. There was a cool breeze, which gave him pleasure.

After half an hour he tried to stand, and found he could do so easily, although he was a little unsteady at first. Then he began to walk – this was harder and more tiring, but he went slowly, stopping for a rest when his legs began to ache. He walked east; there
were buildings he could see above the trees, and they might jog his memory some more. In the other direction there was nothing except wildness.

After a while he came to a street. Houses with little gardens and trees, extraordinary flowers growing everywhere. More birds. Black ones, ones with red patches on their breasts, big fat grey ones. Once he jumped in fright. There was another wild animal on a wall, furry and looking decidedly dangerous. It examined him with pale green eyes and he stopped uncertainly until he noticed that everyone else ignored it as though it was the most normal thing in the world. The beast stared with what appeared surprisingly like disdain, then looked away and began licking itself. It, at least, saw nothing unusual in him.

And the noise! People talking, different sorts of vehicle in chaotic movement. The wind in the trees, the birds singing. The smells too, floating everywhere, some sweet, most foul, alarming. There was no control to anything, no order, just random movements.

Two people walked past him, talking. Could he understand them? He followed closely, until one turned round and looked at him suspiciously. He had heard enough, though; he had understood. Could he speak? He had not been impressed by his one attempt with the girl. The idea made him feel nervous, but it seemed necessary to find out. He stood to one side, summoned his courage, and prepared. Choose your target, walk up, stop, smile. Wait for eye contact but don’t stare. Polite expressions at both beginning and end of sentence. Keep your distance.

‘Excuse me, dearest Madam. Would you kindly do me the great honour of informing me of the time, please?’

Then he stopped. Time. The word jogged something deep in his memory. He was short of time. Why? Again, almost like the answer to his question, thoughts began to pour back into his head, so many that he had to sit on a wall, oblivious to the passers-by, who stared nervously at the strangely dressed man rocking to and fro, head in hands.

He had wanted to show off, maybe win himself a little praise and added job security. It had been a bad mistake. He’d contacted the security man about his ideas to show he was more important than was the case, and because More had brought up his record. More had then passed the message on to Hanslip because he also needed to show he was on top of things. He should have kept quiet.

5

The ceremony proper began at dusk; all day the senior villagers presented their dues to the Visitor, handing over wooden tablets with markings which tallied what they had produced and what they owed. Each figure was written down meticulously, and if there were any discrepancies, the elders would be called across to account for the problem. The Visitor had arrived that afternoon; the space around the great oak tree where the ceremony always took place had been carefully prepared, and the senior men of the village had dressed in their best before walking to the limits of the village territory, marked by a great stone at the side of the road.

There they had waited to greet the Visitors. It was not a grand procession – although as grand as anything the village ever witnessed. One man was on a horse, which tossed its head and neighed as its rider came to a halt. He was in his forties at least, with fair, thin hair and bright eyes; a little fat as well, and dressed in a light brown cloak of wool. On his feet were sandals of leather, another luxury. There were rules, and there were laws, which could be applied severely or gently. He did not look particularly gentle, and the villagers worried when they cast eyes on him.

Curiously, it was not he who replied to the words of welcome. Rather a much younger man on a donkey behind him dismounted and came forward. He was hesitant, almost nervous, as though he was not used to the task. This did not reassure them either; they did not want someone too inexperienced to bend the rules. Still, he had an open face, with darting eyes and a faint smile that played around his mouth; he did not appear over-impressed by himself, but everyone knew that he was as aware of the older man as they were.

‘I thank you for your welcome,’ he said, speaking each word with care, ‘and I declare that I am the Visitor you expect. Does anybody here dispute this statement?’

No one replied. ‘Then let it be accepted.’ He took a step forward, over the boundary between the village and the great world outside.

That step cast the law into motion. He had been recognised as the Visitor, he had been welcomed, he had entered the village. Until he left again he was now the master of them all. Everything and everybody, every man and child, every animal, every tool and every sheaf of wheat, belonged to him. He could take what he wanted, leave them as much or as little as he pleased, guided only by custom. When he heard the complaints and arguments that had built up over the year waiting for resolution, he could punish any wrong-doing as he saw fit. His decisions were final.

For people who respected age and saw it as being little different from wisdom and authority, there was puzzlement that this man had come forward, not the older one on the horse. There was something unseemly about it. It had got the ceremony off to a bad start, and what started badly ended badly.

If the young man understood this, he did not seek to allay their fears. He did not introduce the other man, nor even give his own name. He was the Visitor; that was all they needed to know. But he jumped to attention when the older man came down off his horse, stretched himself and rubbed his sore back.

‘I would like a drink, Visitor,’ he said in a pleasant voice. ‘I am dusty and tired. Could that be arranged, do you think?’

‘Certainly, Storyteller,’ came the reply, which sent a wave of shock through the villagers. ‘At once.’

*

Once the arrangements had been made, and the villagers assembled in the dip by the oak trees where the meetings were always
held, then the young man, the Visitor, stood up, peered at the audience severely and began to speak in a dry, monotonous voice. The older one, the Storyteller whose presence had so alarmed everyone, stood behind him, apparently uninterested in the proceedings. Still no one knew why he was there.

‘The counting took place on the fifth day of autumn, and these are the results. The settlement has in the last four seasons raised forty-two goats, sixty-seven sheep, 120 bushels of wheat and sixty-two of barley. In addition there were twenty-four pigs, 122 chickens, fifteen geese and eight oxen.’

He looked around. ‘A very much better result than last year; you are all to be congratulated. It is a blessing. The tithe is therefore four goats, six sheep, twelve bushels of wheat and six of barley. In addition, during the drought of the past few years a portion of the tithe was waived. This amounts to twelve goats …’

A quiet groan went up from the assembled villagers. They knew this was coming, of course. It was the law, and it was fair. The Visitors had been gentle during the drought; they could easily have insisted on their rights and left them to starve. But for three years they had taken less than their due and the debt had mounted up. Now there had been a bumper harvest, and there was no reason why they should not take what was owed.

The village could have taken their surplus – once enough had been put aside for the winter – loaded it onto wagons and traded it at the market. Bought cloth and pans and tools with the result. A few luxuries. It was not to be this year. A gloom descended and they all looked up at the Visitor, who was waiting for the murmuring to subside.

He didn’t look annoyed, as he had a right to be. The Visitor was not to be interrupted. Then they noticed that, if he was not actually smiling, he was at least looking faintly amused.

‘It is decided, to give proper thanks to the seasons and our common good fortune, to collect this by adding a quarter of the tenth to the next four years. This will amount, this year and the following three years, to three goats, nine sheep …’

Another murmur, but not from despair this time. Broad grins spread over all those listening. It was better than they could possibly have hoped. Yes, they’d have to pay their debt, but they’d have something to take to market as well. The Visitor had been generous; not for the first time, there were many who counted their blessings. They’d often heard tales of what life was like elsewhere, where the Visitors were not so flexible.

Their Visitor – who was trying hard to keep a solemn expression – spread out his arms. ‘The judgement is given,’ he pronounced. ‘The tithe will be made ready to depart after the Storyteller has spoken and the feast has been eaten.’

*

Even by nine o’clock, the air was still warm and thick with the insects which flew wildly around the lamps set to mark the boundaries of the assembly.

Only a few remembered the last time a Storyteller had come. If there was any reason for their rare appearances, no one knew what it was. But they knew that he knew everything. How the world was, how it operated, the laws of men and nature and of God. What was right, and what was wrong. Why it was that men walked the face of the earth, their past and their future. All this the Storytellers knew and kept safe.

Now he stepped forward, and waited until the Visitor – now seen as a very much lesser figure – walked to one side.

No one knew what to expect. Would it be some terrifying, awe-inspiring ceremony? Were they expected to listen on their knees, heads bowed reverentially? Could anyone listen, or were they meant to send the young away?

‘Firstly,’ said the old man, ‘I must thank you for your good work over the past year, and say how pleased I am to be here on this wonderful evening, when the world has been smiling on us so generously.’

He had a gentle, melodious voice, and talked just like a normal
person – well, less roughly, obviously, but there were no words they did not understand.