Dream London (41 page)

“Oh, for heaven’s sake.” I thrust the goggles into his hand, and then turned and ran. Mister Monagan ran along at my side.

“You gave him back his goggles,” he said.

“I know. I’m getting soft.”

“You’re a good man, Mister James.”

I didn’t reply. We ran across the grass, back towards the gates. Two people amongst hundreds, Captain Wedderburn’s army, heading home.

On across the grass, past the scattered instruments of the Egg Market band, on towards the gates of Dream London.

“And then on to Angel Tower!” I called. “On to Angel Tower!”

Through the gates, back into our world, I felt a hand on my shoulder, pulling me to the side, a familiar voice speaking in my ear...

CHOCOLATE

HONEY PEPPERS

“N
OT THAT WAY
, Captain Wedderburn.”

“Bill!” I said. I staggered, disoriented. This world seemed different. Smaller, less wild. More perfumed and sexual. I needed a moment to gather myself. Now I did I took in what I was looking at.

It was Bill, but not as I remembered her. Gone were the skirts and petticoats of a Dream London whore. Now her auburn hair was pinned up beneath a sky blue beret, her slim form decked out in a pale grey uniform. She wasn’t alone, either. A group of men and women in similar uniforms stood behind her, looking dangerously real against the kaleidoscope background. It was a sight that seemed so strange in Dream London: soldiers dressed in modern battle fatigues. Dressed in uniforms such as the one I used to wear. Each of them was carrying a long rifle, and I reached out and touched one.

“Will it work?” I asked.

“The weapons will be good for a day or so,” said Bill. “That will be long enough.” She looked over my shoulder.

There were more of Bill’s soldiers moving through the square in good order, easily and without fuss, but there was no hiding the look of wonder on their faces as they scanned their surroundings. These were people only recently arrived in Dream London, and look what they could see: the growing gate to the parks, the warped shape of the surrounding buildings, shot with silver, the moon too big above us.

They had arrived just at the turning point, just as London had awoken from its dream. My army came charging through the gate. Bill’s soldiers took charge of them, marshalled them in good order.

“Mister Monagan!” called Bill. “Will you be so good as to direct these men to Angel Tower?”

She waved a hand at the surrounding soldiers. Mister Monagan tore off a smart salute.

“It will be my pleasure, Miss Bill!”

“How did they all get here?” I asked, feeling a little dazed. The square was filling with soldiers of all nations, all of them wearing the same pale blue beret.

“By train, of course,” said Bill. “It’s easy enough to get into Dream London. All we needed was the reason to attack.”

“And I gave it you,” I said.

“If you say so, James. This is a last ditch effort since the nuclear strike failed.”

Soldiers were still flooding into the square. The contrast between them and my ragtag army was marked.

“What shall I do now?” I asked.

“Whatever you like,” said Bill. She raised an arm. “Okay,” she called. “We’re moving out! Follow Mr Monagan!”

“Mr Monagan?” I said. “But what about me? Don’t you want my help?”

Bill shrugged.

“You’ve played your part,” she said, and that was it. I was dismissed from her thoughts.

She turned and moved out.

I watched, stunned as the soldiers formed up in good order and headed off towards Angel Tower. They would succeed, I thought. Dream London feared the organised.

But where did that leave me?

I stood and watched them go, suddenly at a loss. My tongue, forgotten in all the excitement, wriggled in my mouth. Suddenly, I felt very, very thirsty.

“Bill!” I called, but she had gone.

A
ND THAT WAS
how I came to find myself in the middle of an emptying square. All alone in the middle of the changing days of Dream London. Sounds were evaporating from the square. I saw guitars and accordions broken under foot, varnished wood shattered into pieces, bellows torn and wheezing out their last breaths. Even the sounds of the approaching brass bands were muted as they changed direction, heading off towards Angel Tower.

I could hear the sounds of fighting to the east. The sounds of shouting and gunfire. The world had twisted itself around the horizon, the golden moon hung in the purple sky and despite the fact I was in the middle of a crowded city, I felt completely bereft of purpose.

The Hero of Dream London was not required.

He never had been. All the time I had strode to the front of the stage and shouted and postured, I hadn’t been doing anything. I was nothing more than a misdirection, a sideshow. I was the magician’s assistant, long-legged and lovely, drawing the eye whilst the real work took place elsewhere. Okay, I had saved the workers, but they weren’t important. Not to the rest of the world. What did America and Germany and India and the rest care about a few English people marched off to the workhouse? What did the English care, for that matter? As long as Dream London could be destroyed.

I heard the roar of the crowd and the crackle of gunfire, but it all took place elsewhere, in another world, far away.

Nearby a young woman sat, looking at her broken guitar. She looked towards the park, where the band had so recently marched. Then she looked at me.

“I don’t know,” I said. “I don’t have any answers. It turns out that I never did.”

All I had was charm and a uniform. Take away the uniform and what were you left with? I was the perfect hero for this city. All gloss and effects, and underneath, there was nothing that was worth having, just sparkle and a heady scent.

I was so hungry and thirsty. There was a line of pubs standing nearby. What would Captain Wedderburn do?

I’d had enough. I needed a drink. A drink would awaken this thing in my mouth, and sort everything out, one way or the other.

I began to walk towards it, but my destiny was wrenched from my hands for one final time. Three figures crossing the square, heading towards me. A small child, two large figures looming behind her. I recognised them right away. I waited for them on square 50, aching and weary and oh so thirsty. They tapped across the stone, they came to a halt before me.

“Honey Peppers,” I said.

“You’ve been a bad man, Captain Wedderburn,” said Honey.

“No,” I said. “I’ve just been inefficient.” I made to walk around them.

“Stop right there,” she said.

“Give him to me,” said the possessive Quantifier to her left. “I’ll look after him.”

“Let me save you the effort,” I replied. “I’m going to take a drink, right now.”

Honey Peppers laughed.

“It’s too late for that, Captain. You’ve betrayed the Daddio for the last time.”

“Does it matter?” I asked. “All this might end tonight.”

“It matters to the Daddio.”

I felt something give way inside me. This was the end, I knew it. This was finally the end.

“It’s time,” said Honey Peppers, shaking her pretty gold locks. “The Daddio wants you dead. You’re to die slowly. The Quantifiers will pull you apart, joint by joint. And they’ll do it now.”

I turned and ran. Straight into the arms of the third Quantifier who had moved silently up behind me. He caught me by the wrist, squeezed the two bones there. I felt them rub together and I cried out in pain.

“Hey, he’s mine!” said the possessive Quantifier.

“Why don’t you take turns?” I gasped, defiant at the end. And then my heart froze with fear...

“Good,” said Honey Peppers, seeing my expression. “Terror at last...”

She hadn’t seen what I was looking at. A lone woman standing in the middle of the square.

Miss Elizabeth Baines. She wore a little hat and veil, an ivory blouse and pearls. She was carrying a little bag in the crook of her arm. Compared to the Quantifiers, she looked tiny.

“Elizabeth,” I said. “No! Get out of here!”

Honey Peppers turned from me to look at Elizabeth. She turned back to me and smiled.

“Would you like me to spare her, Captain Wedderburn?”

“Spare me what?” asked Miss Elizabeth Baines, virginal in her ivory blouse. She pushed her way between the Quantifiers and came to stand between me and Honey Peppers. The little girl’s face split in a huge grin.

“The virgin queen!” she said, and she turned to me. “We’ll let her watch you die, Captain, and then I’ll get the Quantifiers to fuck her to death. How do you like that, Captain? Or, no, no,” she began to jump up and down, an excited little girl. “I’ll tell you what. How about if I take her to Belltower End? Make her work off the money you’ve cost the Daddio? What do you say to that?”

“Do what you like to her,” I said, deliberately avoiding Elizabeth’s eye. “She’s nothing to do with me. She’s just some mad woman who bought a scroll.”

Honey Peppers looked slyly from me to Elizabeth.

“I think you’re just saying that,” she smiled. “I think that maybe her scroll tells the truth. You care for her, Captain Jim. Don’t ask me why, but you do. I can see it in your face.”

“What do you know about caring for people?”

“A lot,” said Honey Peppers, seriously. “You have to understand what people care for if you want to be truly cruel. How else can you destroy their dreams?”

“You know what,” said Elizabeth. “You really are a very unpleasant little girl.”

“Fuck you, whore.”

“I’m not a whore.”

“You will be. You’ll be fucked all night by men and all day by the animals in Dream London Zoo.”

“You really should watch your language, young lady...”

“Fuck you,” said Honey Peppers.

“... if nothing else, it shows a real lack of imagination.”

And Miss Elizabeth Baines bent down and slapped Honey Peppers across the face.

Honey Peppers was stunned. She put her hand to her face and gazed open mouthed at Elizabeth.

“That’s what happens to bad girls.”

Honey Peppers’ mouth began to move. She was trying to speak. After some effort, she managed to get the words out.

“You cock sucking cunt!” she gasped.

“Well, that shows more imagination, at least,” said Miss Elizabeth Baines. “Not that it’s accurate, of course. I never seem to get the opportunity.” She said the last with the faintest touch of regret. She fixed her gaze upon the Quantifiers. “Now, are you going to let him go, or do I have to make you?”

“Make us?” said Honey Peppers. “And how will you do that?”

But Miss Elizabeth Baines didn’t have to answer that question, because we could all see the answer. It was slinking forward over the ground, in black and white, tortoiseshell and ginger and gold. It was walking from the park striped in orange and gold, it was maned and it was spotted.

Cats. Miss Elizabeth Baines had a rapport with cats, and now she was calling in old favours. Or perhaps the cats were there to look after their protector, to ensure their source of food. Who could tell? From the smallest kitten in the cattery, to the tigers that had escaped from Dream London Zoo, they were all heading this way now. Every cat in London seemed to be pouring into Snakes and Ladders Square.

Honey Peppers put her hand to her mouth. Her eyes were wide with fear.

“Take them away!” called Honey, her voice muffled. “Take them away!”

The cats moved closer, their eyes fixed on Honey Peppers’ mouth. I felt the hold upon me slacken, and then the three Quantifiers were backing away, their mouths firmly closed. A cat leapt up at a Quantifier, and was batted away. Another leapt.

Honey Peppers and the three Quantifiers were being overwhelmed by a sea of feline spite.

The cats clawed and scratched, they leapt and yowled and bit. They jumped at the mouths of Honey Peppers and the Quantifiers, and the little girl and the three big men flailed and batted them away, but there were always more cats attacking, seeking their mouths, biting and clawing at what lay there.
What’s the matter?
I thought.
Cat got your tongue?

It was too much for the Quantifiers. They turned and ran, heading for the river, a flowing wave of cats following them.

Miss Elizabeth Baines stood at my side, watching them go. Only a few cats remained now, checking that their work was done, and then they too slunk off into the darkening night.

Honey Pepper lay in the square, a little girl with golden hair, mute, blood dripping from her mouth. She sat up and looked at us, and then she began to scream, a thin keening bubbling scream. She reached out to us for help, and some ancient reflex caused me to bend down.

“Leave her,” said Miss Elizabeth Baines.

“She’s just a little girl,” I said.

“The little girl died months ago.” She caught my expression. “What’s the matter?”

“Don’t you care?”

“Of course I do,” she replied, “but like I said, one can care without being sentimental. It’s the best way.”

She took hold of my arm and turned her back on the broken little girl. I tried to block the whimpering, mewling sounds she made from my mind.