They do, generally.’ A shadow fell from the trapdoor above and we scooted back round the front again, in time to watch a hail of small rocks fall past. ‘Christ.’
Upwards we went, swinging round and round the column depending on where the most dangerous missiles were coming from. As we got closer to the top the front became increasingly the safer of the two, because the way the rampart jutted out over the support made it difficult for the archers to get a proper angle on us. Unfortunately there was no way we would be able to negotiate the overhang, and the trapdoor was well guarded.
We got closer and closer until we were nestled under the base, nearly as high as we could go, and Stray arrows began to zip alarmingly close to us again, fired by soldiers who were hanging right off the rampart, their feet held by other men. The barrage began to intensify as the others started using this tactic, and the stones began to hit their mark more often. Alkland’s grip became looser, and I was finding it difficult to hang on myself when I heard a loud grating from above. We were being forced round the column towards the trapdoor, and suddenly I realised what they were going to do. They were going to pour the oil anyway, the bastards.
‘Stark, I’m going to fall,’ wailed Alkland, and looking at him, I could see he was right. The grating turned into a scraping as the soldiers slowly tipped the cauldron on its side, and I lunged out and grabbed the Actioneer just as he was about to fall. Unfortunately I had to swing round the back of the column to get him and I looked up to see the enormous black lip of the cauldron tipping further over and for a moment really thought that finally, we’d had it.
Then suddenly there was the sound of shouting, the lip edged backwards and after a moment, hands reached down through the trapdoor to haul us up.
‘Stark, greetings. It is beyond my limited, though regal, powers of expression to evoke my pleasure at meeting you once more.’
‘Yeah, er, hi,’ I said, and bowed slightly.
The room Alkland and I had been led to by the soldiers, now hushed and deferential, was a huge marbled chamber strung with panels of multi-coloured silks. Rows of liveried soldiers and servants lined the corridor we’d been led down, and the lines continued into the King’s reception. We walked along a deep blue carpet into the centre of the room.
The King sat in a large gold throne at the end, flanked on either side by a pair of crowned women wearing white gowns, each holding a large greyhound-like dog on a jewelled leash. One of the women looked rather like Zoe, a woman who lives in my building, but that didn’t necessarily mean anything. Sometimes it does, sometimes it doesn’t. It’s not important. Or maybe it is: I don’t know. If I tried to get my head too tightly round these things I’d end up out on the streets, collecting string and shouting at traffic. Behind them stood noble-looking men, all with twirly moustaches and dressed in tight-fitting silk jackets and voluminous short trousers. The King, a charismatic mid-forties with tidy brown beard, regarded us in smiling silence for a moment, tapping his cigar ash into an object that appeared to be one of those free-standing ashtrays you find in hotel lobbies.
I’d never seen him before, of course, but he knew me. You know the way how in dreams you can be with people whose faces you’ve never seen before, and yet know that they’re friends of yours? It works sort of like that. It’s actually a little more complex, and to do with me, but basically, it’s like that.
‘I must apologise,’ continued the King, ‘for the vigilance of my soldiers. They assumed that you were scouts of the Bastard Usurper Quentor, vile bespoiler of purity, and scourge, these last twenty years, of the kingdom and its peace. Backed by the evil witch Illeriamnit he has grown strong, and my honoured men must at all times be careful, for he has the glamour and oftentimes changes his shape to appear as a raven, or a fair maid. But he shall never win,’ he concluded convolutedly, voice raised in an imperious bellow, ‘for we, nobles and stout yeomen alike, shall stand firm in the defence of the memory of my dear mother the good Queen Twambo, and never, never fall!’
Everyone, servants, soldiers and nobles alike, burst into spontaneous twittering applause.
Oh Christ, I thought: what a bunch of drongos. Uncharitable, I know, but I hate these sword and sorcery things. They’re like fairy tales made up by computer programmers. Still, I know how to behave, so I bowed more deeply this time, nudging Alkland to follow suit.
‘Absolutely,’ I said earnestly. Alkland muttered something too, a broad, zoned smile on his face. I think it was all getting a bit much for him.
‘What brings you, therefore, once more to our hallowed kingdom, O Stark, lone swordsman of the path of righteousness?’
Ignoring Alkland’s quiet giggling, I took a pace forward.
‘Well, O King, it’s like this. I come not on my own account, but as a guide, an escort, for the Lord Fell of Alkland.’ I gestured towards the Actioneer, who bowed again, quaking with suppressed laughter. ‘His lordship’s in a spot of grief at this time, and we are travelling long in search of a solution to his troubles.’
‘I see,’ said the King sagely. ‘I perceive indeed that he has the mark of evil on him.’ This, I assumed, was a reference to Alkland’s facial colouring, though who knows. Maybe he didn’t like his jacket. ‘Where does the source of this evil lie?’
‘I fear our quest lies far from here, over the mountains and through the, er, through the realms of Spangle, probably.’
‘Spangle. Where is that, O warrior?’
I pressed on, improvising wildly.
‘Many, many leagues hence, my liege. Miles away. Through the Corridor of Yoper and the constellation of Everlasting Sound.’
Finally it got too much for Alkland, and a burst of laughter escaped. The King swivelled his gaze towards him.
‘His lordship finds something amusing?’
‘No, no,’ I said quickly, ‘’tis but a part of the curse laid upon him. Sometimes, such is the evil hex laid upon him by the warlock Telephone, he laughs at completely inappropriate times.’
Alkland got the message and sobered up enough to keep a straight face. The King nodded, and turned to me again.
‘Well, O Stark, if you will accept my counsel, I ordain that you rest here a while. Dragons are abroad this night, and the travel of many miles is upon you.’
‘That would be super, actually,’ I said.
‘It is agreed then. At nine we shall feast, but first I offer up unto you the facilities of our castle. A shower perhaps, a chance to freshen up?’
‘Perfect.’
‘Good. Obyrk will show you to your rooms, and your BufPuffs will be there presently. We look forward to conferring with you further. There is much we must speak of.’
The soldier I’d engaged in shouted diplomacy with appeared at my side, and we bowed towards the King once more before being led back down the carpet and out into the corridor.
‘Sorry about all the shooting earlier,’ said Obyrk cheerfully, as he led us through a bewildering array of high-ceilinged stone rooms and corridors. ‘You know how it is.’
‘What are BufPuffs?’ asked Alkland, struggling to keep up.
‘Shower attendants,’ replied the soldier. ‘They shower with you to mute the sound of falling water and stop there being too much space in the cubicle.’
‘Oh,’ said Alkland, baffled, and I smiled. BufPuffs sounded like a euphemism if I’d ever heard one. The King’s hospitality obviously extended beyond that of most hosts.
Then for a moment I felt slightly odd. Nothing major, just a tiny strange feeling, as if I’d forgotten something. It passed.
We were shown into a large, bare room. The stone walls had been covered with light brown tiles. A stone table stood to one side, on which was laid a wide variety of fruit and canapés. Obyrk left, telling us to wait, and Alkland immediately made a lunge for the food. He’d stuffed several of the canapés into his mouth before he noticed what I’d seen immediately. His hands were now changing colour too.
‘Let me look,’ I said, and he held them out to m
e. ‘It’s not too bad,’ I told him, after a close inspection. ‘They’re colouring on the backs, but the palms are still healthy. It’s the palms that matter.’
‘It’s not good, though, is it?’
‘No.’ The back of my mind was itching, tickling. Something was happening, though I couldn’t tell what.
‘What are we doing here?’ Unbeknownst to him, the Actioneer’s hand had crept back to the snacks, and he look surprised to find another canapé in front of his mouth. He continued with his mouth full. ‘I mean, is this near my stream or whatever, or what? And don’t say “wait and see”.’
‘We’re resting,’ I said. ‘You have to, or—’ I forgot what I was going to say next. ‘Or—’ shaking my head vigorously, I tried to remember. I’d forgotten because some other thought was trying to push its way up. What the hell was it?
‘Stark, are you all right?’
‘I’m fine. You have to, or—’ suddenly the block faded, and I remembered what I was saying. ‘You have to rest, or you get strained. It’s like when you go without sleep back home. For a while it’s okay, then you get very tired, and eventually you’ll actually start hallucinating. It’s the same here, even more so, because you can’t dream.’
‘And this is a five-star version of the homely kitchen we saw last night?’
‘Sort of, but more than that. We should be safe here as well. Nerds though they are, these people are on the right side.’
‘And which side is that?’
‘The side of whoever gets here first. And that’s us.’
‘That,’ said Alkland with feeling, ‘qualifies as good news.’
‘Tomorrow we’ll find your stream. You’ll be stronger there, and we can have a crack at diffusing your Something together. For the moment, it’s a time out.’
Someone pushed aside the thick velvet curtain that served as a door, and two women entered the room.
‘Good evening, sires,’ they said in unison, smiling.
Alkland and I stared at them. Both women were identical, with beautiful pert faces and immaculately bobbed honey blonde hair. (They reminded me slightly of a teacher I had when I was about seven, for whom I’d nurtured a bit of a crush. Miss Taylor, that was her name. The memory was complex, warm with the feeling of childish infatuation, but streaked with embarrassment. One of my classmates had left a note on her desk on Valentine’s Day, signed with my name and saying that I loved her.) Their eyes were large and bright, smiles white with perfect teeth, and both were clad only in luxurious brown towelling bath robes.
‘Er, hi,’ I said. ‘Sorry, are we in your room?’
‘Oh no,’ they laughed, again in unison. ‘We’re your BufPuffs.’
Suddenly I realised that ‘BufPuff’ wasn’t a euphemism. These women really did come into your shower just to mute the sound of falling water and prevent there being too much space, whatever that meant. Weird way to earn a living.
‘Right,’ I said, slightly bewildered. ‘Shower time then, I guess.’
‘Stark,’ Alkland muttered quietly, ‘are these people really coming in our showers with us?’
‘Yes, I think they probably are.’
‘I see.’
What was that? It’s there again, whatever is pulling at me. Christ, I wish I could work out what it is. There’s something I’ve got to do, something I need to find…
The two women slipped off their bath robes simultaneously. Both had identical bodies, perfect, white, and very, very clean. They knelt down and started to chatter amongst themselves, waiting for us to get ready for our showers.
‘Oh shit,’ I said, suddenly. ‘Shit.’
‘What?’ said Alkland, startled.
‘I’ve forgotten something,’ I said hurriedly, grabbing my coat.
‘What?’
‘I don’t know. I’ve just forgotten something, I’ve left something behind.’
‘Stark, what are you talking about?’
‘I’ve got to go back. I’ve got to go back now’
‘Where? Go back where, Stark?’
‘Wherever I left it. Look,’ I said urgently, ‘I’ve got to go. You have your shower. I’ll be back in time for dinner.’
‘Where are you going?’
‘I don’t know. I’ve just got to go. I’ll be back.’ I ran to the door, leaving Alkland’s staring face behind me, threw aside the curtain and pelted into the corridor. I ran down the wide stone walkways, passing gaggles of nobles. Servants hurried around, crossing my path, walking the other way, carrying trays of food and baskets of flowers. I dodged them and ran as quickly as I could to the main door, the guttering torches on the walls turned into streaks of yellow light. The huge wooden doors were slightly ajar and I slipped out. No one tried to stop me, or even seemed to see me as I made my way across the main courtyard.
The battlements were strangely deserted and I vaulted up onto them at one of the corners. Then I remembered the trapdoors, climbed back down and opened one of them instead. Before I lowered myself through I looked down: it was a long way. But I had to go. I had to go back and find what I’d left behind. I’d be back for dinner though, I was sure of it.
I dangled my legs through the hole, feeling with my toes for a foothold on the column. I found one and slid quickly down until my shoulders were through, scrabbling for handholds. Then I was clinging to the column, scuttling down as quickly as I could.
I had to go. I had to go back. I had to find it, and once I’d found it I could come back again. I’d find it and come back, and I’d be back in time for dinner. I’d hardly be gone at all. I’d be back in time for dinner. The column was much taller than it had been before and it wasn’t going down to the plain we’d crossed any more. It just kept going down and down and I wondered desperately where it stopped because I had to get to the bottom and find my way back to wherever it was I’d left whatever I’d left behind behind. I had to find it, and bring it back.
My hand started to slip and before I’d noticed I was hanging on only by my feet, my weight toppled gently backwards, pulled by mild gravity. I waved my arms, trying to regain my balance.
I’ll hardly be gone at all. I’ll be back in time for dinner.
I fell away from the column and felt myself tumbling downwards, falling quicker and quicker, falling down towards the bottom, and all that mattered was that I had to find it and I had to be back in time for dinner and I fell and fell and fell and just as I thought I must surely hit the bottom soon I came to with a massive jolt to find myself sitting bolt upright on the sofa in my apartment in Colour Neighbourhood.
15
For a moment I sat there, tensed rigid, not really knowing where the hell I was. When I realised I leapt to my feet and swore viciously, shockingly, stamping round the living room and waving my fists.
The gist of my drift was that I couldn’t believe it. I said so a number of times, couched in terminology that would have made Ji shake his head in stunned disapproval. I really just couldn’t believe it.
When I’d calmed down very slightly I quickly checked round the apartment. The front door wasn’t sealed, and there was no one out in the corridor. The Centre had obviously decided that it wasn’t worth staking out the apartment when they could have someone at all the mono stations. It was possible they might have someone down in the lobby just in case, but that was a problem I could deal with later.
I fished the BugAnaly™ out of the desk and had it do a quick scan of the apartment. It was clean. The machine sensibly remained very polite and deferential throughout the procedure, calling me ‘sir’ in a hushed tone. I think it sensed that this was a time when I might very well carry out my longstanding threat of teaching it to fly the hard way. In the remains of the kitchen I nuked some water and made myself a cup of Jahavan and then stomped furiously back put into the living room, smoking heavily.
I couldn’t fucking believe it.
You have to understand that I know Jeamland very well, and for me to get caught out like that never happens. That’s th
e kind of thing that happens in real dreams, or to people the first time they go there. It shouldn’t have happened to me. I knew damn well that the impulse to go back and get something, and the belief that you’ll return and everything will be all right, is complete nonsense. It’s Jeamland playing a trick on you. Even if you do get back, the people you were with and the situation you left will have disappeared. Worse still, you may never get back, or you may fall awake. I’d woken up and left Alkland in there by himself.
What’s more, he was stuck there. I’d told him the truth when he’d asked about taking a break. Normally you can’t just wake yourself up, or most people can’t. You have to be a complete moron and get caught out by a random flicker like I had. Alkland was there for the duration, and I was here. What a complete disaster.
It could have been worse, of course. It could have happened in the jungle, or somewhere even more dangerous. As it was, Alkland should be fairly safe where he was, for a while at least. Without me there to direct him, however, he could end up on a completely different dream-line, one that could be dangerous to him and make him more difficult to track down once I got back in. All it would take would be another bubble rising to the surface and he could find himself in a lot of trouble.
Getting back in was something I had to do as soon as possible. The deal with Jeamland is this: the first time you go in, you have to go via the plain, you have to do things properly. After that, if you happen to wake up, you can only rejoin the track you were on by falling asleep and dreaming. The problem, of course, is that the more you want to go to sleep, the more difficult it becomes. You can’t use drugs to get you off, because they screw up your dreams and you end up having a spectacularly bad time.
I closed my eyes speculatively and had a go at concentrating on nothing for a while, just letting my thoughts pass in front of me. It clearly wasn’t going to work. I wasn’t going to sleep.
So I might as well do something constructive. I had a quick and much-needed shower, and even found myself grinning slightly at the realisation that Alkland would be doing the same thing, with a BufPuff in attendance. I was sorry to have missed out on that. The more I thought about it, the idea of having someone else, however platonically, share your shower sounded like quite a nice idea. Taking a shower gets boring after the first thousand or so times, don’t you find? There you are, alone with the water, trying to avoid getting scalded or frozen, spreading the soap around and, that’s it, really. Not very exciting, interesting or sociable. Maybe they hadn’t been such a bunch of berks after all.
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