Dream London (18 page)

“Why?”

“Because it will make things easier.”

“But then they’ll know who I am!”

“Of course they will,” said Rudolf, his frustration obvious. “Lying here all the time gives you time to think. You should all try it sometime, instead of simply rushing off to get yourself killed.”

“People have gone to some trouble to provide me with a cover story,” I said. “All so I could get into Angel Tower. You want me just to abandon that?”

If Rudolf had had a body he’d have thrown his head back whilst he laughed at me. “You don’t get it, Jim, do you? You think that they want you because of your leadership abilities? You’re a fool. You’re nothing more than a good looking thug, and they know it. People only follow you because of your looks. That’s the way things work in Dream London.”

“Lying in a bed has made you bitter, Rudolf,” I said.

“Lying in a bed has given me clarity,” said Rudolf.

“Enough chat,” said Amit. “Off you go. I need to resurrect him. Oh, and make sure you get him back here by five at the latest tomorrow. He will be feeling quite sick by then, and it will take time to reattach him to his vital organs.”

“Very well.”

“I have a question,” said Mr Monagan, holding up his hand. “Before we go. Do you mind, Mister James?”

“I don’t mind,” I said. Amit raised his eyes to the ceiling.

“Tell me, Mr Donati,” said Mr Monagan. “What did you do to upset Mister Amit so much?”

“I’ll answer that,” said Amit. “Mr Donati is a man who can make numbers dance. Only when Dream London came, the numbers stopped dancing for him, and then we saw the truth.”

“And then I tried to run,” said Rudolf.

“And we caught him and brought him here, and he ran away again. That wasn’t very wise, was it, Mr Donati?”

“Not when every train that you ride out brings you back in again,” said Rudolf. “Dream London is impossible to escape from. Things can come in, but nothing can get out.”

“Nothing?”

“Well, perhaps it would be better put that nothing can
escape
from Dream London.”

The head on the bed had a way of tilting itself back and forth. Now it tilted to me, and Rudolf Donati was looking at me with big liquid brown eyes and smiling.

“Nothing can escape, James. What does that remind you of?”

“What?” I said.

Rudolf wasn’t listening.

“What puzzles me is how time is passing out in the old world. Does everything seem to be moving a little slower in Dream London? Perhaps you could ask the Americans about that.”

A
MIT LED US
from the room and back down the spiral staircase. I was sure it had grown a few steps since we had come in. In the restaurant two boys were looking at something in shiny black cases that had been set out on the restaurant tables. When they saw us, the black salwar kameez-clad waiters hurriedly snapped the cases shut, but not quickly enough. I’d had a good look at the polished brass instruments inside. Trumpets or cornets, I can’t tell the difference.

The two boys folded their hands together and smiled at us sweetly as we walked by.

“What are they doing here?” I asked. “What are you planning?”

Amit just smiled.

“Alright, don’t tell me. You look ridiculous in that turban, you know.”

“I’m just grateful to remain above ground, James. Haven’t you noticed there are less of us ethnic types around?”

I was about to ask him what he meant, but Amit held open the door for us.

“I hope that you will return soon to experience the cuisine of the East.”

“Oh, thank you!” said Mr Monagan. “Truly, that was the most delightful meal I have ever experienced!”

Amit shook his head in disbelief.

I frowned and followed Mr Monagan into the alley.

W
E WALKED IN
silence, back towards the main streets. Mr Monagan hesitated.  He looked to our right.

“I can feel something,” he said. “Something over there...”

I realised where we were.

“That’d be the Spiral,” I said. I took his arm. “Come on, it’s late. We don’t want to get pulled towards that. Not now.”

We walked on. High above, in the narrow slit between the two buildings, the stars were out in an inky blue sky.

“What now?” asked Mr Monagan.

“We go home to bed,” I said. “You have a busy day tomorrow, looking after Belltower End. And so do I.”

“I think I will need a little something to eat first, Mr James.”

“Something to eat? You just had a curry!”

“I know, and very nice it was too. But I shall need a little something extra before I go to bed.”

I shouldn’t have been surprised. He must have had a high metabolism, given how strong he was.

“There’s an all night café on the way back,” I said.

“No need, Mr James. I can see a trail of ants over there. I’ll follow them to their nest. That’ll keep me going.”

“You eat ants?” I said. “Of course you do.”

“I prefer water termites,” said Mr Monagan, seriously. “The nests used to grow at the edge of the swamp. My mother taught me where to dig into them so we could take some of the termites without disturbing the others.”

“What’s so good about water termites?”

“They harvest from both the water and the land. Their meat is a mixture of surf and turf. Utterly delicious!”

The orange man seemed to glow at the declaration. Then he shook his head, sadly. “It’s a shame, but they’re no more.”

“What happened?” I asked.

“Republican ants. Ants which use the power of the river to break free from their caste. They overthrew their hive’s queen and caused things to be run to their benefit. They grew stronger and cleverer. They wiped out all the poor water termites.”

The power of the river. That was an interesting phrase. Was that how Mr Monagan chose to explain the changes?

T
HERE HAD BEEN
a storm at the Poison Yews in my absence. I returned to find the Sinfield family blown to the extremities of the house.

Anna met me in the hallway, a red circle imprinted on her lips.

“So you came back a second time,” she said.

“Where’s your father?”

“In the drawing room with Shaqeel. Mother’s in the kitchen.” Her face remained impassive. “There’s been a huge row. I’d stay in your room if I were you.”

“I need to see Alan.”

I made my way to the drawing room. Alan and Shaqeel sat side by side on a large chaise longue, not touching. Shaqeel wore a deep, self-satisfied grin.

“James,” said Alan. “You missed dinner.”

“I wasn’t hungry. Not after lunch.”

Alan glanced at Shaqeel, and then he lowered his head.

“Listen, James. I want to apologise for the way I acted at work today. I did go off the rails a bit. I’m sorry if I wasn’t as helpful as I might have been. It’s just, well, Angel Tower. You felt it, didn’t you? Things are so... different... in there. So much more... intense.”

“I understand,” I said. I did, too. “Listen, Alan, you need to get a message to Bill.”

Shaqeel placed a jet black hand over Alan’s. He shook his head.

“It’ll wait until morning,” said Alan.

I looked at Shaqeel, and I wondered at Alan’s choice of partner. Was he part of the Cartel? Or was he something else?

“No,” I said. “It won’t wait. The message has to go now. Tell Bill I’ve arranged to get onto the Writing Floor tomorrow.”

Alan raised his eyebrows.

“I’m impressed! How did you manage that?”

“Never mind. Get across there and let her know.” I thought about her threat to have the towers nuked. Anything that would calm the Pentagon Hawks should be communicated as soon as possible.

“I’m tired,” said Alan. “I just got comfortable.”

I was tired too. I stepped forward and pressed a finger on his chest.

“I don’t care. Do it now.”

Silently, Shaqeel rose to his feet. He was a big man, bigger than me. He looked down at me with a broadening smile.

“Do you really want to fight me, Shaqeel?” I asked.

“Leave him, Shaqeel,” said Alan, slowly climbing to his feet. “Come on. Let’s get some night air. Perhaps we can call around at the club?”

I watched the pair of them leave the room, and then made to head upstairs.

“Jim! Captain Jim! Come in here!” Margaret’s drunken voice called out to me from the kitchen.

I pretended I hadn’t heard. As I entered my room I heard the silver sound of a trumpet coming from somewhere. I remembered the music from last night.

There was a spider sitting on my bed, about as big as my hand. At my approach, it lifted itself into the air on eight legs and sauntered away, just a little faster than I could move to catch it. It slipped its way into a crack in a wall and was gone.

I undressed and sat down on the bed and picked up one of the books that Anna had left me to read.

Lolita.
I read the blurb.
The story of a young girl’s awakening passion for an older man. An instructive tale to be read by all teenagers...

That wasn’t right, I thought. At least, that hadn’t been right in the past.

CYAN

THE WRITING FLOOR

I
AWOKE TO
silence the next morning. The rest of the family were still in their rooms nursing hangovers, I guessed. Whether from alcohol or too much time spent arguing, I didn’t know.

There was no warm water to shave in. I looked in the mirror, remembering Rudolf Donati’s words last night. I was to dress as Captain Wedderburn today.

Very well. A face full of stubble was very Captain Wedderburn. I pulled on a pair of tight black trousers and a loose white shirt. There was a mirror in the wardrobe and I admired myself in it. Captain Wedderburn is tall and good looking, he has messy dark hair, a knowing grin, and a tendency to talk about himself in the third person.

I pulled on my green jacket, noting that the gold braid looked brighter than ever. The jacket had shrunk in length, becoming more of a bumfreezer. I felt the weight of my pistol in the inside pocket.

Somewhere outside was the sound of a door clicking and soft footsteps in the hallway.

I whisked across the room to open my door. Anna glided past in her school uniform.

“Good morning, Captain Wedderburn.”

She spoke the words without emotion.

“Do you know where your father is?”

Anna cast a glance in the direction of Shaqeel’s room.

“I don’t think he’s going to work this morning,” she said. She walked off. I placed a hand on her shoulder.

“Please don’t touch me,” she said. She looked thoughtful. “You do know I left you that book as an illustration and not an invitation?”

“Of course,” I said, snatching my hand away. “But I wanted to speak to you.”

“Very well.” She gazed at me, her dark eyes transmitting no information. “Yes, Captain Wedderburn?”

“I heard you playing last night,” I said. “You’re very good.”

“Thank you. May I go now?”

“No. I’m sorry. I just wanted to know...”

My voice trailed away. I wanted to know what was going on, and I was reduced to asking the daughter of my host.

“I mean, well, I don’t like to involve you, but...”

Anna spoke. “Captain Wedderburn, I think you must realise that I know everything that goes on in this house. I know all about the Cartel.”

“Good. Well. I thought you would.”

More silence.

“You had a question, Captain Wedderburn?”

“I was wondering. Did your father mention me before I came here? Did he say why I was chosen?”

Just for a moment I thought I saw Anna smile. But I must have been mistaken. Her voice remained impassive.

“Captain Wedderburn, I have no idea why you were chosen.”

“Oh. Well, thank you...”

“... but I will say this. You’d be the last person I’d choose to lead a secret rebellion. You’re way too obvious. You walk into a room and everyone knows that you’re there.”

“You think that they made a mistake?”

“Not at all, Captain. I think that whoever chose you did a really good job.”

At that she smiled sweetly and went on her way.

I
RODE THE
train to the City without incident. Walking from the station towards Angel Tower, I was only half aware of the increased numbers of business men who sat on the pavements, begging, in their grubby, filthy suits. I was thinking back to what Anna had said, and I felt a fool for needing a teenage girl to point this out to me. I was nothing more than a distraction. The real leaders remained in the shadows.

The scarlet and yellow creeper that clung to the grey concrete of the towers crept ever closer to the waiting beggars; it formed little alcoves around them so they sat like religious icons at the fringes of this temple to Mammon. I barely registered their presence. I felt different today, dressed as I was as Captain Wedderburn. The dark-suited crowd parted before me, the women’s gazes lingered upon me. The weight of the pistol felt so right in my pocket.

“Captain Wedderburn!”

Rudolf Donati called to me from a pavement café near to Angel Tower entrance. He was enjoying a cup of espresso.