Lanark (80 page)

Lanark said feebly, “I would like to stay here a little longer.” “Outside, come on. This isn’t a hotel we’re running.”

He was led to the office. A different sergeant stood behind the counter and an old lady wearing jeans and a fur coat stood in front. Her face was sharp and unpleasant; her thin hair, dyed blond, was pulled into an untidy bun on top of her head and the scalp showed between the strands. She said, “Hullo, Lanark.”

The sergeant said, “You have this lady to thank for bailing you out.”

She said, “Why didn’t he appear in the magistrates court this morning?”

“Pressure of business.”

“The court didn’t look busy to me. Come on Lanark.”

Her voice was harsh and grating. He followed her to the station steps and was slightly blinded by the honey-coloured light of an evening sun sparkling on the river beyond a busy roadway. He stopped and said, “I’m sorry. I don’t know who you are.” She pulled off a fur gauntlet and with a queer, vulnerable gesture held out her hand, palm upward. One of the lines across it was deep, like a scar.

He said “Gay!” with immense regret, for though she had been ill when he last saw her she had also been attractive and young. He gazed into her lean old face, shaking his head, and her expression showed she had the same feeling about himself. She pulled on the glove and slipped her arm round his, saying quietly, “Come on, old man. We can do something better than stand round regretting our age. My car is over there.”

As they went toward it she said with sudden violence, “The whole business stinks! Everyone knew you disappeared two days ago; there were plenty of rumours but nothing was done. Twice daily I phoned every police station in the Provan region and they pretended they hadn’t heard of you till an hour ago; then the marine police station admitted they had a prisoner who
might
be you. An hour ago! After the subcommittee reports had been read and voted on and all the smiling statements made to the press. Did you know I was a journalist? I write for one of those venomous little newspapers that decent people think should be banned: the sort that print nasty stories about rich, famous, highly respected citizens.”

She opened the car door. He sat beside her and she drove off. He said, “Where are we going?”

“To the banquet. We’ll be in time for the speeches at the end.”

“I don’t want to go to a banquet. I don’t want the other delegates or anybody to see me or be reminded of me ever again.”

“You’re demoralized. It’ll wear off. My daughter is a stupid, gelid little nung. If she’d looked after you none of this would have happened. Have you guessed who caused all this?”

“I blame nobody but myself.”

She laughed almost merrily and said, “That’s a splendid excuse for letting bastards walk all over you…. Do you really not know who pushed you into that trap?”

“Gloopy?”

“Sludden.”

He looked at her. She frowned and said, “Perhaps Monboddo is in it too, but no, I don’t think so. The big chief prefers not to know certain details. Wilkins and Weems are more likely, but if so Sludden has been too smart for them. Instead of neatly carving up Greater Unthank for the council my bloody ex-husband has handed it over to Cortexin lock, stock and ballocks.”

“Sludden?”

“Sludden, Gow and all the other merry men. Except Grant. Grant objected. Grant may manage to start something.”

“I don’t understand you,” said Lanark drearily. “Sludden sent me here to argue against Unthank’s being destroyed. Will it be destroyed?”

“Yes, but not in the way they first planned. The council and creature-clusters meant to use it as a cheap supply of
human
energy, but they won’t do that now till they’ve sucked out these lovely rich juices discovered by your friend Mrs. Schtzngrm.”

“What of the pollution?”

“Cortexin will handle that. For the moment, at any rate.”

“So Unthank is safe?”

“Of course not. Bits of it have become valuable property again, but only to a few people and for a short time. Sludden has sold your resources to an organization with worldwide power run by a clique for the benefit of a clique. That isn’t safety. Why do you think were you sent here as a delegate?”

“Sludden said I was the best man available.”

“Ha! Politically speaking you don’t know your arse from your elbow. You don’t even know what the word ‘lobbying’ means. You were fucking well
certain
to pox up everything, that’s why Sludden made
you
delegate. And while people here got excited about you, and plotted against you, and passed big resolutions about world order and energy and pollution, Sludden and Cortexin were doing with Unthank exactly what they wanted. You aren’t very intelligent, Lanark.”

“I have begun to notice that recently,” said Lanark, after a pause.

“I’m sorry old man, it isn’t your fault. Anyway, I’m trying to make you angry.”

“Why?”

“I want you to raise hell at this banquet.”

“Why? I won’t do it, but why?”

“Because this has been the smoothest, politest, most docile assembly in history. The delegates have handled each other as gently as unexploded bombs. All the dirty deals and greedy devices have been worked out in secret committees with nobody watching, nobody complaining, nobody reporting. We need somebody, just once, to embarrass these bastards with a bit of the truth.”

“Sludden told me to do that.”

“His reasons are not my reasons.”

“Yes. He was a politician, you are a journalist, and I like neither of you. I like nobody except my son, and I’m afraid I’ll never see him again. So I care for nothing.”

The car was passing down a quiet street. Gay parked it suddenly by a vast brick wall and folded her arms on the wheel.

She said quietly, “This is terrible. In the days of the old Elite you were a definite, independent sort of man in your limited way. I was slightly afraid of you. I envied you. I was a silly weakling then, the mouthpiece of someone who despised me. And now that I’ve lost my looks and gained some sense and self-confidence you’ve gone as feeble as putty. Did Rima chew your balls off?”

“Please don’t talk like that.”

Gay sighed and said, “Where will we go?”

“I don’t know.”

“You’re my passenger. Where do you want me to drive you?”

“Nowhere.”

“All right,” she said, reaching into the back seat. “Here’s your briefcase. My daughter found it somewhere. It was empty, apart from a scientific dictionary and this pass with your name on it.” She stuck a long strip of plastic into his breast pocket.

“Get out.”

He got out and stood on the kerb, trying to find comfort in the familiar smoothness of the briefcase handle. He expected the car to drive away but Gay got out too. She took his arm and led him to a double door, the only feature in a wilderness of wall. He said, “What place is this?” but she hummed softly to herself and touched a bell button. Each wing of the door suddenly swung inward and Lanark was appalled by the sight of two tight-mouthed security men. They spoke sharply and simultaneously, the voices springing from their shirtfronts:

“Pass, please.”

“You can see it in his pocket,” said Gay.

“Identify self.”

“He’s the Unthank delegate, slightly late, and I’m from the press.”

“Delegate may enter. No press may enter without the red card. No press may enter without the red card. Delegate may enter.”

They moved apart, leaving a narrow space between them. Gay said, “Well, goodbye, Lanark. I’m sorry I won’t be able to twist your arm when the right moment comes. But if you manage to improvise some guts, old man, I’ll certainly hear about it.”

She turned and walked away.

“Delegate may enter. Or Not,” said the security men. “Delegate may enter. Or not. Invite expression of intention by progression or retrogression. Request expression of intention. Demand expression of intention. Command expression of intention!”

Lanark stood and pondered.

“Think hard!” said the security men. “In default of expression of intention, delegate demoted to condition of obstruction. Think hard! In def of exp of int del dem to con of ob think, conofobthink, conofobthink.”

And although it made him shudder, he stepped through the narrow space between them because he could think of nowhere else to go.

CHAPTER 43.

Explanation

A concrete floor, dusty and stained by pigeon droppings, lay under a high roof upheld by iron girders. From the doorway a long blue carpet ran into the shadowy distance. He walked down this till it touched a similar carpet at right angles. He turned the corner round a little gurgling fountain in a glass bowl and heard a hubbub of voices. A dozen security guards stood before the door of a circus tent. He went forward, holding out his pass and saying loudly, “Unthank delegate!”

A displeased-looking girl in red shirt and jeans appeared between the black-clad men and said, “I’m surprised to see
you
here, Lanark. I mean, everything’s finished. Even the food.” It was Libby. He muttered that he had come for the speeches.

“Why? The’ll be horribly boring, and you look as if you hadn’t washed for a week. Why do you want to hear speeches?”

He stared at her. She sighed and said, “Come inside, but you’ll have to hurry.”

He followed her through the door. The hubbub grew deafening as she led him along between the inner wall of the tent and a line of waiters carrying out trays laden with used dishes. He glimpsed the backs of people sitting at a table which curved away to the left and right. Libby pointed to an empty chair saying, “That was yours.”

He slunk into it as quietly as possible. A neighbor stared at him, said “Good God, a ghost!” and started chuckling. It was Odin. “It’s very, very, very good to see you,” said Powys, the other neighbour. “What happened? We’ve been terribly alarmed about you.”

The table formed a white-clothed circle filling most of the tent. There was a wineglass to each chair and a sign with the guest’s name and title facing outward. Red girls carried bottles about inside the circle, filling glasses. Lanark explained what had happened to him.

“I’m glad it was only that,” said Powys. “Some people whispered you’d been shot or abducted by the security guards. Of course we didn’t really believe it. If we had we’d have complained.”

“That rumour did the assembly a power of good,” said Odin cheerfully. “A lot of cowardly loudmouths were afraid to say a word during the big energy debate. Bloody idiots!”

“Well, you know,” said Powys, “I don’t mind admitting I was worried too. These guards are ugly customers, and nobody seems to know what their precise instructions are. Yes, the business of the last few days has been settled with unusual promptness, so you did not piss in vain. But it was reckless of you to pollute their river. They’re very fond of it.” Solveig came along the table filling wineglasses. He stared down at the tablecloth, hoping not to be noticed. There was a sound like a colossal soft cough then a perfectly amplified voice said, “Ladies and gentlemen, you will be glad to hear that after an absence of three days one of our most popular delegates has returned. The witty, the venerable, the
not always perfectly sober
Lord Provost Lanark of Greater Unthank is in his place at last.” Lanark’s mouth opened. Though total silence had fallen he seemed to hear a great roar go up. The multitude of glances on him—mocking, he was sure, condescending, contemptuous, amused—seemed to pierce and press him down. Someone yelled, “Give the man a drink!”

He sobbed and laid his head on the tablecloth. The hubbub of voices began again, but with more speculation than laughter in it. He heard Odin murmur, “That wasn’t necessary,” and Powys said, “No, they didn’t need to rub it in like that.” There was another soft cough and the voice said, “My lords, ladies and gentlemen, pray silence for Sir Trevor Weems, Knight of the Golden Snail, Privy Councillor of Dalriada, Chief Executive Officer of the Greater Provan Basin and Outer Erse Confederacy.”

There was some applause then Lanark heard the voice of Weems.

“This is a strange occasion for me. The man sitting on my left is the twenty-ninth Lord Monboddo. He has been many things in his time: musician, healer, dragon-master, scourge of the decimal clock,
enfant terrible
of the old expansion project,
stupor mundi
of the institute and council debates. I have known him as all these things and opposed him as every one of them. A rash, rampant, raving intellectual, that’s what I called him in the old days. Everyone remembers the unhappy circumstances in which his predecessor retired. I won’t tell you what I thought when I heard the name of the new Monboddo. If I spoke too plainly our excellent Quantum-Cortexin security guards might be obliged to lead me away under the Special Powers (Consolidation) Order and lock me in a very small room for a very long time. The fact is, I was appalled. Our whole Provan executive was flung into profound gloom when we realized we would be hosts to a general assembly chaired by the dreadful
Ozenfant
. But what has been the outcome?” There was a pause. Weems said fervently, “Ladies and gentlemen, this has been the most smoothly run, clear-sighted, coherent assembly the council has ever convened! There are many reasons for this, but I believe future historians will mainly ascribe it to the tact, tolerance and intelligence of the man sitting on my left. He need not shake his head! If he is a rebel we need more of them. Indeed, I might even be persuaded to vote for a revolution—if the twenty-ninth Lord Monboddo undertook to lead it!”

There was some loud laughter.

By slow degrees Lanark had come to sit upright again. The centre of the circle was empty. Far to the right Weems stood beside Lord and Lady Monboddo. Microphones protruded from a low bank of roses on the tablecloth before him. All the guests on that side of the circle were pink. On the other side they were sallow or brown, with the five members of the black bloc directly facing Monboddo. Several dark delegates talked quietly among themselves, not attending to the speech. Weems was saying, “… will be far too deep for me, I’m afraid, and what I do understand I’ll almost certainly disagree with. But he has heard so much from us in the past three days that it is only fair to allow him his revenge. And so, Lord Monboddo, I call on you to summarize the work of the council, Then, Now and Tomorrow.”