Dream London (10 page)

J
UST BEYOND THE
Docklands I found an inn standing on the edge of the Thames itself. There I sat down to think as the sun descended towards evening. The inn behind me was crowded, and I could hear the sounds of laughter and drinking.

Three men sat on the bench near mine, and two of them were consoling the third.

“Never mind, Paul,” said one. “You’d only have been tied down if you bought this place.”

Paul wasn’t going to be comforted.

“The gentry are taking over this area,” he said bitterly. “I had enough money to buy my pub only last week! I went to the estate agents this morning and the price had doubled. Doubled! How is that fair?”

The other man shook his head in sympathy.

“Yes, but the gentry don’t want you to buy properties, do they? Better that you take a loan to buy it and that way they get interest for twenty-five years. Better yet that you have to rent it and that way they get money for life!”

It was a story I was more than familiar with. Hadn’t my attempts to buy Belltower End yielded similar results? It was a tough world all round.

I looked out across the water. The river had widened during the past year. The far bank was over a mile away. The buildings over there were not so tall as in the City, and there were things like banana palms growing between them, giving the skyline a tropical air. Large creatures grazed in the water by the far bank, and not for the first time I wondered about crossing over to get a better look at them. There had been no bridges along this stretch of the river before the changes, only the Blackwall tunnel and the Greenwich foot tunnel. Since the changes... well, no one who entered the Blackwall Tunnel had yet walked out the other side. As for the Greenwich Tunnel, it had widened as it had lengthened, the tiles in the walls turning a deep glossy green, crystal chandeliers dropping from the ceiling. Elegant shops had opened in the tunnel walls for those who could afford them.

As I sat there, lost in thought, I noticed that something was moving through the water. Something from another place, from far down one of the alien tributaries that had insinuated their way into the Thames. It looked like an orange man, swimming like a frog. Or maybe it was an oversized frog who moved like a man. Whichever, the creature was naked. It swam confidently through the crystal blue waters of the magically healed river, the dark brown bands that tiger-striped its glistening back rippling in the fading light. As it approached I saw that it carried a bag balanced on its shoulders. Two pale yellow eyes sat high on its head looking forward through the waters. It saw me, and the creature’s eyes fixed on my own. I rose to my feet as it turned and headed directly for me.

A set of stone stairs ran down to the river, the base furred in green weed. One wide orange hand reached up and seized the lowermost step, and the creature began to climb out of the river. He was more man than frog and I saw now that he walked upright like a human. But his body was smooth; there was nothing between his legs but smooth orange skin. His face was almost human: his mouth a little too wide, his eyes too large and bulging, his nose two slits, but he looked handsome enough in his odd way. He was smiling at me as he climbed the steps, and now as he approached the top he held out one hand.

“Good evening, kind sir!” he said. “Good evening!”

“Hello,” I said, carefully.

“Pardon my ignorance, but whom do I have the pleasure of addressing?”

“Call me James,” I said.

“James! James! What a most excellent name! I am Mr Monagan!”

He was jerking his hand at me, eager that I should take it. Slowly, I did so and shook it. His hand was surprisingly warm and already dry, I noticed. The water seemed to have no purchase on his body.

“Pleased to meet you, James,” he said, shaking my hand. He looked around himself and then hesitated a moment. “Excuse me for asking, but this is London, isn’t it? London, the city of humans?”

“I haven’t heard it described that way before, but yes, this is London.”

He cut a little jig there and then before me, such was his delight.

“Thank you, kind sir! London! And to think they told me I could not swim that far! To think that they told me I should never make it here! Well, here I am! London. The place where I can finally be accepted as a human being!”

A human being, I thought?

Well, why not? This was Dream London after all.

(A FEELING OF FULFILMENT)

MR MONAGAN

T
HERE WAS A
large, naked frog man standing before me. Despite myself, my eyes kept flickering down to the empty space between his legs. The orange frog man looked horrified when he noticed where I was looking.

“Oh, sir! Of course! I almost forgot! Clothes! They told me, I must wear clothes! They insisted that I bring them with me, and I thought they were joking! It seems that I too was mistaken! Now, just a minute...”

At that he took hold of the black leather bag that he had carried on his back and unlaced the top. A breath of spice puffed into the air, the smell of warmth and other places that waited at the dim ends of sinuous tributaries, lands lost to green moss, pickerel weed and bald cypress. The creature produced a pair of black trousers and quickly pulled them on. That was followed by a white shirt and a red patterned tie that he carefully knotted around his neck.

“I’ve been practising,” he said, with some pride. He reached into his bag once more and pulled out a green waistcoat, a pair of black brogues and, last of all, a bowler hat. This he pulled firmly down on his head so that the brim almost touched his two bulging eyes.

“Now, Mister James. I have money! Allow me to buy you a drink by way of welcome!” He reached once more into his black bag and began to draw out, like it says in the carol, a purse of stretching leather skin. There was something about his trusting enthusiasm that thawed even my cold, suspicious nature.

“Better not to announce your money, Mr Monagan,” I said.

He looked crestfallen.

“But why? I earned this myself! Working on the paddleships that made their way into Aquarius.”

I glanced around. Mr Monagan’s tall orange frame was attracting attention. Already three men dressed in black jackets had nonchalantly leant themselves against the wall of the inn behind us, docker’s hooks tucked into their belts. They were eyeing Mr Monagan as if he were a piece of cargo himself. Now, Captain James Wedderburn is not so hard hearted as to leave a stranger to be gulled by others. Not when he may have the opportunity to do so himself.

“How about we go somewhere else?” I suggested. “Come on. There is a place I know that’s a little more discreet.”

A
CCORDING TO ITS
landlord, the Spotted Dog had originally been located in Barking. During the changes it had drifted west, passing through the Docklands before ending up in the maze of alleys near Belltower End. It had stretched itself as it travelled, its wooden floors ageing and cracking, its booths becoming deeper and darker. An ideal place to sit unnoticed in the shadows.

“What is this?” asked Mr Monagan, holding up his glass.

“Port,” I said, pouring myself a glass from the jug.

“It’s very good. And such a pretty colour, too! It’s red when you hold it to the light, but dark in the shadows. We never had anything like this in Aquarius!”

“What did you drink there?” I asked, vaguely interested.

“Nothing. Why drink when you live in the water all of the time?”

He sipped at the port and smiled.

“Mmmm. It tastes warm.”

“So, why have you come here?”

“To be human,” said Mr Monagan in serious tones. I gazed at him in the dim light. His fingers were too thick; they seemed inflated by the fluid that lay inside. His skin shone oddly, and his throat constantly moved like a toad’s:
galumph galumph galumph
.

“To be human?” I said. “And what’s so great about being human?”

He smiled at that.

“Oh, Mr James! You’re teasing me! What’s so great about being human? Why! To be human is to be able to live! To be human is to be able to be what you wish to be! A bird will just be a bird, it will live in the air! A frog is just a frog, doomed to remain in the damp, eating dragonflies or mice and snakes. But a human, a human can live where he will! In the air, in the swamp, in the fields! A human can be what he wants to be!”

These words were spoken with such enthusiasm, his eyes were shining so, that I felt quite taken aback. Behind him, three whores shared a jug of port, resting before the evening’s work began, and I wondered how they would feel to hear Mr Monagan’s description of the joy of being human.

One of them noticed me and held out a copper coin. I passed her a piece of striped candy. Her hand closed around it and she resumed her conversation.

“Sounds wonderful,” I said, turning back to Mr Monagan. “Tell me, what do you expect to live on whilst you’re here?”

Mr Monagan’s smile wavered a moment.

“Mr James, I don’t understand what you mean.”

“What I mean is, you’ll need to eat, you’ll need somewhere to sleep. Both cost money here in Dream London. A lot of money.”

Mr Monagan smiled again.

“There is enough food in the river for me,” he said, happily. “There are fish and crabs and eels, there are bugs and weeds and crustaceans enough for all! And as for sleeping, who needs to pay to sleep?”

“You need a room to sleep in, or they’ll call you a vagrant and call the Dream London police to take you away to the cells. You can’t pay your bribe, they’ll send you to court. You can’t pay your fine, they’ll put you in the workhouse.”

“Oh! But surely that would be a good thing. I
want
to work, Mr Jim. How else can I earn money to become human?”

“You don’t earn money in a workhouse, Mister Monagan,” I said. “Not for yourself. You work to pay for your board and lodging, and you’re always in arrears. Your debt begins to mount the moment you pass the door, and you’re in there for the rest of your life. And then the debt will fall upon your children, and their children, and where will it end? The gates of the workhouse are the door to slavery...”

He stared at me, eyes wide in horror.

“But Mr James! That’s not fair!”

I laughed at that.

“Whoever said that humans were fair? There are the predators, and there are the herd. You choose where you stand.”

He looked as if he were about to burst into tears. He looked so sad that even I felt a little pity for him.

“Mr James,” he said, hesitantly, “do you know of a room where I could sleep?”

I pulled the scroll from my pocket. It unrolled itself just where I expected it to...

Go to the docks and meet your greatest friend, the one you will betray...

I looked across at Mr Monagan, an idea forming. What was waiting for me back at Belltower End? I remembered the Daddio’s Quantifier from last night, the big man that had held a knife to my back whilst I was caught in the accordion trap. Honey Peppers might be back at Belltower End now, looking for me. She might have brought reinforcements. What if they were watching my flat, right now? It wouldn’t be wise for me to return there...

“Do I know of a room where you could sleep, Mr Monagan?” I said, and the cruel businesslike streak of Jim Wedderburn was now ascendant. “Maybe I do. But I wonder if I should rent it to you?”

He looked crestfallen.

“I would be very grateful,” he said in a little voice.

“Would you? Would you really?”

I looked down at the scroll again. Captain Wedderburn had betrayed quite a few people in the past. Why should Mr Monagan be any different? After all, I’d only just met him.

Your greatest friend...
said the scroll.

I felt guilty, and as so often happens when people think they are about to do wrong, I took it out on the person I was about to do wrong to.

“So what are you, then?” I asked, unable to keep the question in check any longer. “A frog that got lucky?”

Mr Monagan’s mouth dropped open, his eyes widened, and I saw the hurt look of horror that came over his face.

“A frog! Oh, Mr James! How could you be so rude?”

He was so utterly without guile that I felt quite chastened. Something about his innocence ducked under the layers of cynicism I had built up over the years and cut straight to my heart.

“I’m sorry,” I said. “I didn’t mean to be...”

“No matter,” he said. “No offence taken.” He looked down at the table as he spoke and it was quite clear just how hurt he was.

“Mr Monagan, I’m sorry!” I was surprised myself at just how sorry I felt. There was something about his innocent trust that touched something inside me.

“Listen,” I said. “I can let you have somewhere to live. And something better than that, too. Do you want a job?”

“A job? Oh! Mr James!”

Mr Monagan’s eyes were shining with wonder.

I thought about the Moston girls who, even now, Honey Peppers should be settling into their new quarters at Belltower End. Second Eddie and the rest of them would be of no use around their precocious sexual charms. Perhaps Mr Monagan would be just the man to handle them.