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.
He was a handsome man, now he was no longer in bits, with dark hair fading to grey and dark eyes. He wore a well tailored suit, with silver cufflinks and a silver ring on his right hand. I could just make out the stitch marks about his wrist where it had been reattached.
“Rudolf,” I said, sitting down next to him. “Do you really think we should draw attention to ourselves so?”
He laughed.
“Captain, you tried entering Angel Tower in disguise and look where that got you. You really think that whatever controls Angel Tower is not aware of you? You’re Captain Wedderburn, famous throughout half of Dream London.”
“Half?” I said, rather pleased with his comment, notwithstanding Anna’s earlier words.
“The bottom half.”
I looked up at Angel Tower, up past the point where glass and concrete turned to stone and wood, up beyond the point where the black dots of the birds circled the tower, up as high as I could to the vanishing peak, lost in a blue of morning so bright it hurt the eyes. The sky seemed deeper in Dream London.
“Do you think that whoever’s up there knows I’m coming?” I said.
“Of course they know,” laughed Rudolf. He drained the cup of espresso. “Oh, I shouldn’t drink this when so far from my kidneys, but a man has to live when he can. I so r
arely get out nowadays.”
I ignored him.
“If they know, then what’s the point of all this?”
“Captain! Where are your manners? You’re not listening to me. Indulge me a little on my day out.”
Rudolf sipped at his coffee.
“All this subterfuge and running around in disguise,” he said, and he took another sip. “That’s old world thinking. The Cartel and the Americans, the Indians and the rest of them, they still think that you can conceal the inside. They don’t realise that in Dream London, the surface is all that there is! I keep telling them that, but they won’t listen. All this messing about in the towers. They should be heading to the parks!”
“You said that before. If that’s how you really feel, why don’t we go there now?”
“To do what? You wouldn’t even find a way in.”
Rudolf snapped his fingers, and a waiter in a long white apron approached.
“Three more espressos,” he said.
“Three espressos?” I said, but Rudolf simply smiled.
“What are we waiting for?” I asked.
“The right moment,” he said. “We won’t get on the Writing Floor by subterfuge, but by style.”
“What’s the point? You just said that the towers aren’t important.”
“I know that, but maybe this way you get to stick one on the Cartel. Wouldn’t that be nice?”
“I hate it when people use levers on me.”
He grinned, a brilliant white smile.
“Very good, Captain Wedderburn! That’s the thing about the dashing hero! He’s so easy to manipulate!”
“I thought I was a rogue.”
“Rogue, hero. What’s the difference? They both do things the common herd dare not. Ah! The coffee!”
The waiter placed three little cups on the table and Rudolf placed one finger to his lips. With his other hand he pulled something from his pocket. He dropped a little yellow pill into one of the cups.
“You should go to the Writing Floor, Captain Wedderburn,” said Rudolf, as if nothing had happened. “That’s the place where they are reshaping Dream London. I think that Bill and the rest will find what is happening there interesting.”
“Reshaping Dream London through the Writing Room? How?”
“Words, Captain Wedderburn. What is a magic spell but words? And that is the place where they write the words. Not that we are dealing with magic here, of course. I already told you that.”
He waved his hand to encompass the entire city.
“What you see here, Captain, is what you get when science is explained by artists! Something which looks beautiful, but doesn’t make any sense. Still, that’s the world that we chose.”
“I didn’t choose it,” I said.
I heard the sound of a guitar and my mood fell further. A young woman stepped forward, incredibly pretty, with blonde hair and an elfin face. She wore a simple green dress that only just reached her long, shapely legs. She began to sing in a breathless, little girl voice. A song about the past and simpler times.
“Ah, a guitar,” said Rudolf. “A street player! That’s how they defeat us, you know. We have been made into individuals, whereas they work together. That’s what they’re doing on the Writing Floor. Rewriting the words to make us value this sort of thing.”
“How do you know all this?”
Rudolf Donati rolled his eyes.
“You ask that, Captain Wedderburn, sitting there in that jacket, every inch the dashing military figure, and not at all like a man who barely avoided a dishonourable discharge? Captain, I learned long ago that a good-looking man in the right suit with a winning smile can get what he wants. All it takes is the ability to tell a story. I was an accountant, Captain Wedderburn. I rewrote the world through numbers. The world still had the same number of boats and trees and bottles of wine and loaves of bread after I had finished my calculations, and yet all of a sudden people found themselves broke, or suddenly rich. Dream London is much the same; it’s all about surface, and not about substance. Ah, here we go. This is the man that you want. Mr Hellebore! Over here!”
Mr Hellebore was a man dressed in a black suit just like any of the other businessmen who streamed towards Angel Tower. He came to an embarrassed halt before us.
“Excuse me, I don’t think that I...”
“Mr Hellebore,” said Rudolf. “So glad I caught you! Please, take a seat...”
“I’m sorry, but I’m in rather a hurry...”
“Captain, make him sit down.”
He was a lot smaller than I, and easily bullied. I pointed to him, pointed to the seat and gave him a look that showed just how puny I thought he was.
“You were asked to sit down,” I said in a low voice.
“Listen,” he said. “I don’t know what you...”
“Shut up.”
He swallowed hard and sat down on the seat. I’ve used that look before. It’s astonishing how easily most people are cowed.
One or two people cast a glance in our direction. When they caught sight of me they simply continued walking.
Rudolf Donati leant forward and gave a charming smile.
“Mr Hellebore. What is the word of the day?”
Mr Hellebore had turned red by now.
“The word of the day?” he said. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
Rudolf pushed the third cup of espresso towards Mr Hellebore.
“We bought you a drink,” he said.
“I don’t want a drink!”
“Don’t be so rude!” I said. “Mr Donati has bought you a drink. Say thank you.”
“... thank you...”
He looked at me, a flush creeping up his face. I knew his type. Fussy, fully aware of his own importance, more than happy to bully those subordinate to him. If I was working for him, I had no doubt he would make the most of the situation. I felt little shame about picking on him. “Drink up, there’s a good boy.”
He picked up the cup and touched it to his lips. A monkey helping itself to sugar cubes on a nearby table saw this and began to laugh.
“Lovely,” said Mr Hellebore, quickly putting the cup down.
“And the rest!” I snarled.
He drained the rest of the espresso.
Rudolf beamed.
“Now,” he said. “I bought you a coffee, you owe me a favour. What’s the word of the day?”
“Is there a truth potion in here?”
Rudolf laughed.
“A truth potion? Why would I need a truth potion? I know everything and everyone. That’s my power! I know the word of the day. It’s lobsters!”
“Lobsters.” Mr Hellebore licked his lips. “Then why ask me? Why make me drink this coffee?”
“Because I didn’t want you to go to work today.”
Mr Hellebore stared at Rudolf. Then he belched. He hiccuped and he belched again.
“Have you poisoned me?” he said.
“No. Just given you a bad tummy. You’ll spend the rest of the day on the toilet.”
“You...” Mr Hellebore gulped and put a hand to his mouth. He retched.
“In there,” said the waiter, reappearing with the bill.
Mr Hellebore stumbled off, one hand to his mouth.
Rudolf Donati was counting out Dream London shillings onto the waiter’s tray.
“This should pay for the cleaning costs,” he said.
“I wish you wouldn’t use my café for this sort of thing,” said the waiter.
“Oh, Albert! You can’t tell me that no one else has ever thrown up in your bathroom before. Come on, I’ve tasted your pumpkin ravioli.”
“I don’t have to listen to this,” said Albert, pocketing the shillings and walking away.
Rudolf turned to me and beamed his brilliant white smile.
“Well done, Captain. You make a great bully! Mr Hellebore was quite terrified.”
“I’m not a bully,” I said. “I was just playing the part Dream London gave me.”
>
Rudolf grinned.
“You sound like Amit. You can’t blame Dream London for all your faults, James. You brought them in with you. All the changes did was give them soil in which to grow. You’re a bully now and always have been, it’s just that you’re charming so you get away with it. But a bully you remain, nonetheless. You’re nothing but a bully and a pimp.”
“Take that back, Donati. I look after my girls.”
My voice was low, as it always is when I’m angry.
“Take that back? What does that mean? The words have been said. Okay. I take it back. You still heard what I said.”
“I’m not a bully.”
“Of course you are. That’s what a rogue is. You do things your way and bully other people into accepting it.”
“I’m...”
“You are. Don’t look at me like that, I was the same myself, only I didn’t use my muscles, I used my mind. I know that, because I know everything.”
“I’m not really like that...”
“Really? It’s on that fortune you carry round in your pocket and don’t look at. Like all bullies, you’re a coward at heart, aren’t you? You can’t face the future.”
I’d heard enough.
“One more word, Donati, and I’ll feel through your pockets and feed you one of your own pills. You know I’ll do it.”
“Oh, I do,” said Rudolf. “But you have more important things to do now. You know the word of the day. Go into Angel Tower and ride the lift up to the Writing Floor. You’ll be welcome there.”
“How? They’ll know I’m not Mr Hellebore.”
“So what? I told you, this is Dream London. The substance is unimportant. It’s all about the surface. That young woman playing the guitar is no good, but everyone loves her because she’s attractive and she’s singing from the heart. She’s labelled as authentic and that’s all that matters. Now, off you go. I have a day to enjoy before I go back to Amit Singh and my kidneys. Off you go to the Writing Floor. I’m heading to Moules’ for lunch, and then afterwards I may visit the Race Track. I hear the Giraffe handicap is being run this afternoon.”
I clenched my fists as I stared at the man, but I thought better of it. I turned and made my way to Angel Tower.
Walking through the entrance into the grand hall with the eye high above, I caught a glimpse of two people standing outside, watching me. A tall man with a little girl by his side. Honey Peppers had caught up with me again.
Dream London Page 14