Walker nodded. “I thought the natives would have pulled it down by now.”
“Perhaps we underestimate the natives,” Kojiro said. “After all, what did Shakespeare ever do to them?”
Kojiro started walking towards the building. Walker followed.
“It’s a timber frame structure,” Kojiro said, pointing at the Globe’s exterior. “Held together by wooden pegs. Not a single nail exists because it was designed to be an authentic recreation of the past. A contemporary lime plaster was used on the walls and painted over with lime wash. All of this meticulous work was done to bring us a little bit closer to the seventeenth century – closer to William Shakespeare himself.”
“How do you know all that stuff?” Walker asked.
“I know everything about this place,” Kojiro said, not taking his eyes off the theatre. “This is my church.”
They went inside the theatre.
It felt to Walker like he was stepping back in time. Like he was walking through a magic portal that led hundreds of years back to a London that had only ever existed before in the pages of a history book, or on a television or movie screen.
The theatre was smaller inside than Walker had expected. The stage was a level platform, raised about five feet off the ground. There were three entrances at the back of the stage and Walker imagined the actors in their flamboyant Elizabethan costumes, making a dramatic entrance from those doors much to the delight of the audience. Three levels of wooden galleries ran along the wall of the theatre. The roof over the stage was a particular delight; it was painted with stars, moons and various signs of the zodiac. Under this, were several columns that looked like red and gold marble but were in fact, made of wood.
The thatched roof was only a partial roof, running along the edge of the upper building. The true ceiling of the Globe was the sky itself.
“It’s an open-air theatre?” Walker said.
“There was no artificial lighting back then,” Kojiro said, putting the box heater on the ground. “Sunlight was all they had.”
“Sunlight?” Walker said, “I’m surprised they were able to have any plays at all.”
Kojiro’s lips spread out into a smile. At the same time, a soft breeze blew his long black hair away from his features, which hinted strongly of the Orient.
“Good point,” he said.
“I can see why you like to come here though,” Walker said. “It feels like we just stepped outside of London. Does that make sense?”
“Yes,” Kojiro said.
“One thing I don’t get,” Walker said. “Why didn’t any gangs set up base here? It’d be a pretty cool hideout, no?”
Kojiro pointed a finger towards the open roof. Walker looked up at the sky and laughed at his stupidity.
“Aye, good point.”
Kojiro glanced over his shoulder towards the stage.
“I have a gift for you Walker,” he said. “That’s the real reason we took this detour. Think of it as a welcome gift now that you’re one of us. I brought it here, not long after you came into our fold. I suspected you’d be staying with us and so I put it aside here, waiting for the right moment to present it to you.”
Walker was taken aback. “A gift? For me?”
“Wait here.”
Kojiro walked towards the stage. He climbed up onto the platform and approached the left-hand entrance at the back. His long black coat swayed behind him as he strolled elegantly across the stage. Kojiro disappeared through the doorway and a few seconds later, reappeared carrying something long and narrow, wrapped under a sheet of dirty cloth. He put the package on the stage, jumped back down onto the main floor, and grabbing the parcel again, approached Walker.
“For you,” he said with a bow of the head.
“What is it?” Walker said. He put his axe down and took the package out of Kojiro’s hands with a slight nod of the head.
“Open it,” Kojiro said.
The package was heavier than Walker had expected. Yet with all the enthusiasm of a child sitting under the Christmas tree, he unwrapped several layers of cloth, dropping them onto the floor one at a time.
Walker looked down at what was buried within the last unfolded piece of cloth.
“It’s an axe,” he said.
It was indeed – it was a long handled axe, the likes of which Walker had never seen before. The wooden handle was at least four or five feet long and the iron head was thin – too thin for the likes of chopping wood, which made Walker think that the weapon in his hands was specifically designed for velocity, in other words for splitting skulls as quickly as possible.
“Wow,” Walker said, looking up at Kojiro. “I don’t know what to say.”
“It’s a replica battle-axe,” Kojiro said. “High quality of course. Taken from my source. It’s believed to resemble some of the battle-axes used by the Vikings in the tenth or eleventh centuries. A strangely elegant weapon, don’t you think? I know you’ve been getting used to the small axe but there are obvious advantages to fighting with a longer haft. It’ll give you greater range for a start. The light head will make you faster. Learn how to hold it with a spaced grip. Learn how to use it at close range. This is a good weapon – a complete weapon. It’ll make you a better killer.”
Walker bowed his head once again.
“Thank you Kojiro,” he said.
Kojiro nodded. “Show me your gratitude by becoming a master,” he said. “Remember, be creative always. We’ll need you going forwards if the Sleeping Giants are to expand.”
“What about my other axe?” Walker asked, looking at the battered and bloodstained weapon at his feet. He felt guilty just seeing it lie on the floor, like a discarded thing. “It’s saved my life on more than one occasion,” he said. “I don’t think I can just throw it into the river and be done with it.”
“We’ll keep it here,” Kojiro said, pointing a thumb over his shoulder. “Behind the stage, where I’ve carved out a little storage place. It’ll be safe, should you ever need it again.”
Walker lifted the old axe into his arms. He felt pangs of sadness in his heart, like he was leaving something important behind. Some part of himself.
Kojiro reached over and gently lifted the axe out of Walker’s hands.
“It’ll be fine,” he said. “Now let’s go to the river.”
About five minutes later, they were standing on the south bank, looking upon the water. On their right-hand side, Southwark Bridge – an arch bridge linking Southwark and the city – was silent. Walker marvelled at its beautiful green and gold colour; it looked as if it had been painted only yesterday. The Thames, which had been a muddy brown colour in Walker’s mind, was today a rich blue under the winter sunlight, which reflected upon its gleaming surface. There were no signs of decay on the sprawling city that lay across the river, at least not from such a distance. It almost looked peaceful over there on the north side.
Walker saw St Paul’s Cathedral, or at least some of it. Its massive dome was instantly recognisable, even to someone as uncultured as he was.
His attention turned to the axe in his hand. His fingers were already working on finding the right grip; he squeezed and then released the wooden handle more times than he could count. Searching for something that felt right.
Walker glanced at Kojiro, who was standing to his left. The swordsman appeared to be in a trance as he gazed across the surface of the river.
“Can I ask you something?” Walker said.
“Sure,” Kojiro said, not taking his eyes off the view.
“Why the gift?” Walker asked. “I mean, you’re a nice guy mate but you’re not my type. You know, just in case you were trying to woo me with deadly weapons, aye?”
Kojiro threw his head back and laughed.
“Is it because I took you to the theatre?” he said, fighting back the laughter.
Walker suddenly felt stupid for asking the question.
“No,” he said, feeling his face turn bright red. “I’m just…people don�
��t usually give something for nothing, do they?”
Kojiro quietened down after a few moments of hilarity.
“Relax,” he said, turning to face Walker. “It’s all about the gang that’s all. I’m protecting the gang, building the gang. You’re an asset and as such you should be treated well and according to your talents.”
“What do you mean?” Walker said.
“We need people like you in the Sleeping Giants,” Kojiro said. “Warriors, thinkers, people who are skilled and capable. Man, woman or child, it doesn’t matter – we need good people if we’re ever going to be anything more that what we are, which is nothing. Sometimes it feels like I’m fighting a losing battle. The others, they seem happy to exist in their little bubble, living off Drop Parcels and the scraps of meat that the Ghosts deliver to us. But I can’t accept that. I settled for a half-life outside the M25, I’ll be damned if I’m going to do it in here. All of us, we need that something – that goal, purpose or call it what you will – to awaken the sleeping giant inside ourselves. Maybe I’ve found it. Maybe it’s still out there waiting for me. Haven’t you ever felt like you were destined for something greater Walker?”
“I guess,” Walker said, turning back to the river. “But it’s hard to dream when you’re a prisoner.”
“Don’t think of yourself as a prisoner,” Kojiro said.
“We’re not prisoners?” Walker said. “I don’t think they’re going to let us walk out of here anytime soon. Do you?”
“That’s not the way I see it.”
“Eh?”
“I don’t consider myself being trapped.”
“You like it here or something?” Walker asked.
There was a half-smile on Kojiro’s face. “It might seem like a radical perspective,” he said. “But yes I do.”
Kojiro pointed to the other side of the river, towards the towering ornaments on the horizon – the buildings, bridges and everything else in between.
“I see something beautiful,” he said. “It’s a wonderful thing. To see a blessing where everyone else sees only a curse. I tell you this Walker – Piccadilly was the best day of my life. It was the day I finally became free. Free of my parents and their unimaginative expectations. At long last, necessity had forced me to become myself. Now I get to live that way every day – or at least strive towards becoming the man I always wanted to be. If they tore down the walls today, I wouldn’t set foot outside the city. I’m never going back there. You see, those two walls don’t keep us in – they keep them out. Look at it that way, your life will change.”
Walker shook his head. “I don’t think I can wrap my head around that.”
“We aren’t the ones who’re trapped,” Kojiro said. “We are the blessed ones.”
Walker stared over at the majestic dome on top of St Paul’s Cathedral.
“I saw the Ghosts of London,” he said. “During the last Big Chase. I was there in Bedlam when it happened. I saw a lot of terrible things that night and none of them made me feel like I was blessed. I saw a woman and child being dragged into a car, screaming for their lives, destined for the Farm. Somebody else I knew was taken that night too.”
“Life is cruel on both sides of the M25,” Kojiro said. “But that’s just life. There’s always been plenty of horror to go around.”
Walker saw a small flock of seagulls resting on the river’s surface, flowing with the tide.
“One of the Ghosts,” Walker said. “He’s a Captain. Must be nearly seven feet tall and he carries a samurai sword. You ever see him before?”
“I know the one,” Kojiro said. “The tall Ghost – it’s hard to forget once you’ve seen him.”
“Do you know him?”
Kojiro shook his head. “Not personally,” he said. “He’s high-ranking, I know that much. Anywhere else in the world that man would probably be sitting behind a desk; he’d be a pencil neck and if not a pencil neck he’d be driving a bus or performing some other routine function and for what? Money? All our lives the people in this city were taught to chase it and what use is that now?”
“Aye,” Walker said. “I guess.”
“We can build something great,” Kojiro said, looking at Walker. “Something to rival the Ghosts, I know we can do it. You’re the first step in that process.”
Kojiro turned back to the river.
“You really missed something back then,” he said, his eyes looking out across the water.
“What do you mean?” Walker said.
“I was here,” Kojiro said. “I saw it. September 2011. It was like the water wasn’t even there after Piccadilly. It was just bodies everywhere. People were bringing them here from all over the city and dumping them in the Thames. It was like looking at the end of the world. The river was full of corpses and blood. Once you’ve seen those things Walker, there’s no going back. As far as I’m concerned, there’s nothing on the other side of the M25. That world doesn’t exist anymore.”
Chapter 14
‘POSTCARDS FROM LONDON’ – Live and Unfiltered
December 20th 2020
The man walks up a set of stone steps.
He’s inside a derelict apartment or office building somewhere in London. Someone else is there beside him, filming his ascent up the staircase. It’s dark, except for a narrow laser beam of white light coming from the second person’s camera phone.
The man walks in silence, passing the third, fourth and fifth floors. He looks up to the ceiling occasionally, as if searching for the end of the stairs. The stone walls that run alongside the staircase, once blank canvasses, are now splattered from top to bottom with second-rate graffiti.
The man is about fifty years old. He’s dressed in a tattered black suit jacket with a white t-shirt underneath. He sports a full head of dark curly hair that drops almost to his shoulders.
Slowly he turns to the camera. His face is handsome and rugged – the sort of world-weary face that belongs in an old black and white western movie from the fifties.
When he speaks, his voice is steady.
MAN: He’s not dead you know. I don’t know what it’s like on the outside anymore, but in here everybody says he’s dead. That’s wrong. There are a lot of people in this city who know better. We know that he faked his own death and that there’s a very good reason for that. He’s testing us, you and me. He’s testing us because if Phase Three is ever going to become a reality, we’re going to need people and these people must be one hundred percent committed to change. Change is never easy. We run from it all the time. What I’m going to do here today, I’ll do it for the greater good. We do it because we know he’s watching – we know you’re watching and I want to show you how committed we are to change.
The man reaches the end of the staircase at last. Without pausing for breath, he pulls open a set of double doors and walks outside onto the rooftop. The night sky is greyish-black. The cameraman spins the camera around, capturing the dark outline of tall buildings scattered across the horizon. There’s a sea of lights down below – tiny orange, yellow and white dots coming from the streetlights that still light the city every night like nothing happened.
MAN: I came here tonight for a reason. Chester George, I know you’re watching. Your supporters are still here – we’re spread out far and wide but we’re here. I don’t know how you did it, but I believe you sent these phones to us. Somehow. You did it for a reason and that reason was so that we can communicate with you. Let me show you here tonight how much we love you.
The man takes a deep breath. A brief glimpse of doubt crosses his face as he walks further along the rooftop. Then he stops at the edge and looks down. The city has never been quieter than it is at that moment. The man wipes something out of the corner of his eye and mumbles something that can’t be heard by anyone but himself. Then he turns back to the camera.
MAN: Save us Chester George. We’re waiting for you.
Without another word, he steps over the edge.
Cut to commercial.<
br />
Big Game Hunter Clarkie is sprinting through the exotic jungle. He’s carrying a large net in one hand and he’s got a supersized rifle slung over his shoulder. Exotic CGI birds are swooping down, attacking him from all angles with their brightly coloured beaks and endless rows of snapping sharp teeth.
Clarkie looks into the camera and there’s a look of exaggerated surprise on his face. He stops running and clicks his fingers. The Magic Birds pause, as if frozen in mid-air.
CLARKIE: Greetings my fellow hunters! You, yes YOU! Have you downloaded Magic Birds, version 9.0 yet? No? WHY NOT? This brand new version features the rare and elusive Golden Phoenix – the one you’ve all been waiting for. And that’s just the tip of the iceberg. COME ON! Get on with it. Everyone in London is playing it RIGHT NOW! Are you really going to let the Londoners get ahead of you?
Chapter 15
Immersion 9 – Live Chat Forums
#PostcardsfromLondon #LiveandUnfiltered
MildMax5000: Bloody hell! That cameraman wants to shoot himself, yeah? Why didn’t he lean over the edge of the building so that we could see that crazy bloke fall all the way down?
BulletVal: Sick!
MildMax5000: Not sick. I just wanna be sure you know? Might be some platform or ledge or something underneath the edge of that building. Could be a stunt, yeah? If I’m going to listen to that nutter talking about how Chester George is still alive then I want a satisfactory pay off. I want to see the mess that he makes on the pavement.
Amanda-L: Lol! Bloke’s dead. Didn’t you see the look in his eyes? That was no joke. Man was insane, emphasis on the WAS!
BulletVal: I can’t go to sleep now.
The Future of London Box Set Page 63
