by Jeff Noon
You are…
Right…
Get me out of here!!!
Darkness…
A single star of light…up ahead…where’s up…where’s ahead…where is my head…this is my head…and the star’s inside my head…
Twinkle, twinkle…little star…how I wonder what you are…
The little silver star was writing letters in the night…in my head…just like…
What was it like?
LOADING SNIFFING GENERAL…PLEASE BE PATIENT.
Right…
Silver star…
Just like a cursor…that’s it…I’m in a feather…
I am a feather…
The silver star is scrolling…
1. EDIT
2. CLONE
3. HELP
4. DOOR
5. MAP
6. ESCAPE
PLEASE SELECT…
I’m thinking about the number four…
Four for a door…remember that…
Why…just remember it…
THIS OPTION WILL ALLOW YOU ACCESS THROUGH DOORS BETWEEN THEATRES…
PLEASE SELECT…
1. BLUE
2. BLACK
3. PINK
4. SILVER
5. LIFE
6. CAT
7. YELLOW
8. HOBART
Five is alive…five is alive…remember that…
I’m thinking about the number seven…because I can’t resist it…
Why not…
Because of Desdemona…
Who…
I AM SORRY…INSUFFICIENT CODING ACCESS…PLEASE RESELECT…
I’m thinking about the number eight…just for the hell of it…
I AM SORRY…INSUFFICIENT CODING ACCESS…AND ANYWAY HOBART IS IN A MEETING JUST NOW…PLEASE RESELECT…AND STOP WASTING MY TIME…
I’m thinking about the number six…
THAT’S OKAY…LOADING…PLEASE HOLD ON…
What…
Christ!
Falling…falling…really falling now…down through the layers of darkness…more and more stars in the sky as I rush through…silver stars…more and more of them…until the darkness has drained away…and I’m falling like a stone through the silverness…getting my thoughts back…one by one…until I know where I am…and who I am…and where I’m going…
A door opening in the silver…
Through…
Sniffing General was sitting at his desk, pushing something around with his paper-knife. He was a small man, not much hair, thick glasses covering his eyes, and he didn’t bother to look up as I came into his office. ‘You’ve got a nerve,’ he said. It was a thin voice, edging towards a whine.
‘I want to see the Game Cat.’
‘I mean, asking to see Hobart. That’s ridiculous.’
He’d finished with the knife now, and he was gazing down at his desk, almost lovingly. I stepped closer. A line of blue powder on a small shaving mirror, that lay face-up on his desk, and I couldn’t tell if he was smiling at the Choke powder, or his own reflection. There was a door in the wood panelling behind him, fitted out with frosted glass. The words Game Cat were etched onto a small brass plate, fixed just below the glass.
‘Is he in?’ I asked.
‘I don’t like people wasting my time,’ he said, rolling up a ten pound note. ‘Do you think I haven’t got work to do?’
‘I am a personal friend of the Cat’s.’
That made him look up. He’d already stuck the note up his left nostril, and what with that, and the thick glasses, it was all I could do not to laugh.
‘Oh they all are, they all are,’ he replied. ‘They all claim to know the Game Cat. None of them do, of course. Only I know the Game Cat.’ With that, he lowered his head, and sniffed up the line of Choke.
‘Tell him that Scribble is here to see him.’
The General looked up again, his eyes behind the glasses coming alive now, turned up by the powder. ‘I’ve had trouble from you in the past,’ he said.
‘Is that right?’
‘Oh yes. Tapewormer, I think it was. I’ve got the details somewhere.’ He was shuffling through the piles of paper on his desk. ‘It was you, wasn’t it? Yes. Scribble. That was the name. It’s all down here somewhere. You went Meta on that one, into Takshaka. Didn’t you hear me calling to you?’
I had done. But I wasn’t about to give him the satisfaction.
‘Messing about in Takshaka is not recommended. The cops don’t like it.’
‘The cops?’
‘Takshaka is a Copvurt. They store all their information there.’
‘The cops own the King Snake?’
‘Well they think they do. Really it’s the other way around. Takshaka owns them. But let’s keep the cops happy, yes?’
‘I just want to see the Game Cat, Sniffing General,’ I said. ‘I have an appointment.’
‘Oh they all do,’ the General replied. ‘You wouldn’t believe the number of appointments I have to deal with. Of course the Game Cat has never heard of them before. It’s all so tiresome. And then there was that other incident, wasn’t there?’
‘Which one?’
‘That Curious incident. Yes. That was most difficult.’
‘What are you saying?’ I asked.
‘Really, Mister Scribble…vehemence will get you nowhere. Yes. English Voodoo it was. You lost somebody very worthy that day. She went through a door into Curious Yellow, if I recall. Got swapped. You know that Hobart has to work out all the details of these transactions? Hobart has better things to do. And do you know who gets blamed for it? That’s right I do. I got a right dressing down that day, let me tell you.’
‘Pity about the Game Cat then,’ I said.
‘What do you mean?’
‘I thought the Cat did the same? Got lost in Curious Yellow. Isn’t that how he ended up here?’
The General was silent for a moment. Just the sound of his nostrils sniffing up the Choke powder, deeper and deeper. ‘You seem to know a lot, Mr Scribble?’
‘I’ve been around,’ I told the General. And then, ‘Tell Geoffrey that I’m here.’
That clinched it.
‘Geoffrey?’ he asked.
‘Yes. Tell him I’ve come to visit.’
The Sniffing General considered it for a moment, and then pressed a button on his desk. He spoke into an intercom; ‘Game Cat…ahum!…yes, yes…sorry to disturb you…there’s a somebody out here, wants to see you, sir. Calls himself Scribble…’
I heard the Cat answering from the speaker, but it was all lost in static.
Sniffing General seemed to get the gist of it, ‘Game Cat will see you now.’
There is a room in England somewhere, but it’s nowhere to be seen. It exists only in the mind, and only in the mind of those that have been there. This is where the Game Cat lives, surrounded by his objects. Swapped objects. Kitchen sinks and golf clubs, stuffed animals and antique globes, fishing rods and bus tickets. All the paraphernalia of England that the Cat had gathered around him, swapped in countless desperate deals, from all the people that had come to visit, seeking solace.
I was just the latest.
‘Scribble,’ the Cat said. ‘So nice of you to make it.’
Game Cat was sitting in a wicker armchair, with a balloon glass of deep red wine in his hand. He was wearing a purple smoking jacket, and—get this—he had tartan slippers on his feet.
‘Would you like a drink, young man?’ he asked.
‘You know what I want, Cat,’ I answered.
‘You should drink more wine, Scribble. Oh I know that Fetish is all the rage these days, amongst the children, but really…only wine does the job. It certainly eases the pain, my kittling. Ah! How the children love that talk.’ He held his glass up to the light from a table lamp. The lamp was the shape of a golden dancing fish, and its glow was soothing. Another gift, I guess, from another grateful visitor.
‘Yes, certainly,’ he said, reading my mi
nd. ‘When people visit me they usually bring something along…some gift…some small thing.’ He gestured towards the array of objects in his room. ‘Did you bring anything along, Scribble?’
‘Nothing.’
‘That’s a shame. You sure you don’t want a drink?’
‘You know what I’m thinking, Cat.’
‘My, my, those are violent thoughts.’
‘Give me that fucking Yellow!’
‘Really, I will not stand for this. Shall I call the General?’
‘Do what the fuck you like! Just give me the Curious!’
‘He will have you removed. It is quite painful, if I remember—’
‘Cat! I want Curious! Now!’
‘Scribble…’
‘The feather!’
He looked at me. ‘I don’t have Curious Yellow.’ And there was something in his eyes, some injury…maybe he was telling the truth. No, he was lying!
‘Liar! Tristan told me. You’re hooked on it!’
He took a sip from his wine glass, like he didn’t care.
‘You know where Tristan is?’ I asked.
‘I know.’
‘He got captured.’
‘I know, yes.’
‘It means nothing to you?’
I was playing him along, trying for a reaction.
‘Young man,’ he said, ‘you can never play me.’
How was I going to handle this?
‘I don’t think you can handle it, Scribble. I know the rules of the game better than you. I know all the rules. The secret ones…the ones that don’t officially exist.’
‘Okay. You win.’
Keep it simple.
‘Yes. Let’s.’ He took another sip. ‘I went down to visit him, you know?’
‘Your brother?’
‘Yes. In his cell. I am not totally without feelings, Scribble. They had…they had hurt him somewhat…he had…he had wounds. Bruises, really. A bit of blood, not too much. He’s alive.’
‘That’s good to hear.’
‘But he seemed very sad and weary to me. He had a collection of very bad thoughts, like it was all coming to an end.’ He paused. ‘We have no secrets, of course, my brother and I.’ Another pause. ‘I told you to help him, Scribble.’
‘I tried.’
‘Did you?’ The Cat knew how to hit me.
‘Losing Suze was too much for him,’ I said.
‘Yes, I can imagine.’
‘Can you?’
‘Yes. I can imagine.’
I was getting the picture of a man without connections. Someone to whom real life was some kind of hideous prank, played by a cruel god. And so, from a very early age, the Vurt must have seemed like heaven, like the touch of a strong hand, leading him to feelings. He must have clung to the feathers, revelling in the strength they gave him, the intensity, until feathers were everything. And real life was a bad dream. Takshaka’s bite must have seemed like a gift, and the chance of getting lost, getting swapped, was all too much. Cat had taken it, fallen into it; going through the door into Curious Yellow with no regrets; losing himself to the Vurt.
‘Well that’s quite an interesting theory, Scribble,’ he said. ‘Doesn’t it remind you of somebody?’
‘You never told me about Curious Yellow. That you got lost in it.’
‘Why should I tell you?’
‘Because that means you know how to get Desdemona back.’
‘Yes. I do know.’
‘Tell me.’
‘It’s quite simple. Find the Thing. Find a working copy of Curious Yellow. Combine the two. Swapback. Quite simple.’
‘Well fuck you, Game Cat!’
‘Oh dear.’
‘You managed to get Tristan out of Curious. He said that you were working the feathers.’
‘Scribble, my dear…even at that age I was a master of the feathers. You haven’t even started yet.’
‘I want Desdemona back!’
‘How very poetic.’
‘You bastard!’ My hands were twisted up into tight fists.
EVERYTHING OKAY IN THERE, GAME CAT, SIR?
Sniffing General’s voice coming over the intercom. The Cat nodded at me as he pressed the speak button and I felt something pulling me back, the Cat’s room dissolving around me, intense pain in the body. ‘Cat! Please!’ I cried out.
Game Cat smiled, and the pain eased slightly.
‘Everything’s fine in here, General,’ the Cat was answering. ‘Thank you. We’re just discussing possible gifts that the visitor might be willing to donate. Get back to your ledgers, General.’
WILL DO, SIR. JUST CALL IF YOU NEED ME.
‘I will.’
The Cat closed off the connection and then looked up at me. With a heavy sigh he raised himself out of the wicker chair, and walked over to an antique wooden cabinet. There were five drawers in it, one above the other. He pulled open the top drawer. ‘This is my collection,’ he said.
I walked over to the cabinet. I was standing by his side, gazing down into the drawer. It was divided into sections, each section separated by a panel of wood, each section lined with purple velvet. It was a series of nests, and in each nest lay a feather. In this first drawer all the feathers were blue, various shades of. It was like looking into the sky, seeing the glints of the day there. Along the edge of each section, embossed on a brass plate, were the names of the feathers. And, these feathers being blue only, I knew most of the names by heart, having travelled them.
‘People come to me for feathers,’ the Cat said. ‘Special ones. Dreams. Dreams that they think will save them. They give me gifts in return.’
He closed the top drawer, and opened the second. Black feathers lay glistening there. Like looking into the night. Closed that one, opened the third. Pink feathers. Like looking into the flesh. The names brought back some sweet memories.
‘Of course this is only a small part of my collection. The major part I have in storage. You are seeing only the current favourites.’
He opened the fourth drawer. Silver feathers. Like looking into the moon. One of the sections was empty. The name read Sniffing General.
‘I’ll have to ask for the Sniffer back, I’m afraid, when you’ve finished with it.’ He closed the fourth layer, opened the last.
Gold.
My eyes dancing, catching the waves.
Golden feathers.
Like looking into the sun.
Their very names alone bringing a dream to my head.
‘Yes, that’s how powerful they are,’ the Cat told me. ‘I’ve heard that some people take them anally. Of course one doesn’t like to think about such things.’
Only two of the names meant anything to me: Curious and Takshaka.
The section marked Curious was empty.
‘You had Curious Yellow?’ I asked.
‘I am a keeper of the feathers. Of course I had a copy.’
‘Where is it?’
Game Cat closed the drawer. ‘Tristan stole it from me,’ he said. ‘Didn’t you know that?’
‘No. I…’
‘It’s quite obvious,’ the Cat was saying. ‘Tristan didn’t like what Curious had done to me. My brother is a very conservative man, Scribble. You must understand this. Despite the hair and the Haze, and the guns…he is the white sheep of the family. He had the impression that he was losing me, to the Vurt. In fact it was the other way around; I was losing him to the pure world.’
‘He wasn’t that pure,’ I said. ‘He told me that he had some dog in him.’
‘Oh yes. Just a trace. I’m the same. Our great grandfather was an Alsatian. Of course it’s very far down in the blood stream by now. Sometimes I like to chew on a bone, more than is governed by dinner party etiquette. That’s about the extent of it, thank God. And of course he’s very jealous of me, being at a lower level, you see? Stuck to the real.’
‘Tristan stole Curious Yellow?’
‘He did.’
‘Where is it now?’
�
��I have the impression that he wanted to save the whole world from it. He is an innocent.’
‘I just want to know where it is.’
‘He threw it away.’
‘Where?’
‘You saw him do it.’
‘What?’
‘You were there.’
‘Stop this—’
‘You think that I’m not helping you. In fact I’m doing all that I can.’
I looked deep into the Game Cat’s eyes, and saw the answer there. It was way deep, but I managed it. Because really it was inside of me, and that was where I had to look. ‘My God!’
‘Indeed. You were very close.’
He smiled and nodded. ‘You will come back to me, won’t you, young man? This is your proper place. Really, you are a natural.’
‘I would prefer the real world, and Desdemona.’
‘Ah yes. The draw of the physical. Of course I could come down and give you a hand now and again. My brother…you understand?’
‘No. This is mine. No feathers. Nothing. Don’t even consider it, Cat.’ I was heading for the door.
‘One last thing, young man,’ the Cat said.
‘Yeah, I know. Be careful. Be very, very careful.’
‘You got me, my kittling.’
GAME CAT
There are only FIVE PURE MODES OF BEING. And all are equal in value. To be pure is good, it leads to a good life. But who wants a good life? Only the lonely. And so therefore we have the FIVE LEVELS OF BEING. And each layer is better than the one before. The deeper, the sweeter, the more completer.
FIRST LEVEL is the purest level. Where all things are separate and so very unsexy. There are only five pure states and their names are Dog, Human, Robo, Shadow, and Vurt.
SECOND LEVEL is the next step. It happens because the modes want to have sex, with other modes, different modes, otherness modes. Except they don’t always use Vaz, so these babies get born: Second level creatures. Or sometimes the modes get grafted together. There are many ways to change. Whatever, Second level beings go one better in the knowledge stakes. There are ten Second level beings and their names are Dogman, Robodog, Dogshadow, Vurtdog, Roboman, Shadowman, Vurtman, Roboshad, Robovurt, and Shadowvurt. Chances are you, the reader, are a Second level being of some kind.
But you just want to have sex, right? Which delivers the next level, the THIRD LEVEL, of which there are ten modes also; Robodogman, Shadowmandog, Dogmanvurt, Robodogshadow, Robovurtdog, Shadowvurtdog, Robomanshad, Robomanvurt, Shadowmanvurt, and Roboshadowvurt. These are the middle beings, where most creatures get stuck; they just haven’t got the spirit to go beyond.