He didn’t have enough hands. He wanted to block his ears from the shouting, the echoes of footsteps, the shuffling and coughing, the whispers. But he needed protection for his eyes too, for even when he closed them, the intricate details and mad colours of this place insinuated themselves into his brain: reds, sharp blues and yellows such as he’d never seen in his life. Colours his tribe hadn’t words to describe. And there were symbols too, pictures so realistic, it was as though men had been flattened into the wall and left hanging in delicate poses. There were the talking squiggles he’d seen in the crashed Globe too – writing, it was called – and it covered every surface, as if in this mass of people a man could be so lonely as to want to speak to the buildings.
He found himself on his knees, shaking and fighting for breath against the hordes around him.
‘Help me,’ he begged, not sure whom he was asking. ‘Help me …’
He had a little space on the floor all to himself as the people skirted him. Through the barrier of his hands one word reached his ears more than any other: ‘savage’. It was this that brought him back to his feet in the end. ‘It’s only noise,’ he said to himself. ‘Colours won’t hunt you.’ Even so, it was a battle to open his eyes and keep them open without screaming. And to think he had imagined that the Roof was a paradise! How could anybody live like this?
He tried to calm himself by taking his bearings, like any hunter in strange territory. But he felt nauseous and dizzy.
He was standing in what might have been a very broad street were it not for the fact that it had a ceiling two body-lengths above his head. It emitted a soft light, and squiggly messages scrolled across it constantly, sometimes accompanied by moving images of people urging polite behaviour and condemning waste.
‘In case of emergency, walk slowly. Do not push!’
The walls too writhed with pictures, but here the images had to fit themselves around doors and small trees with an infinite variety of garishly coloured leaves. Most of these plants had been smashed by the passage of bodies, smeared against the bright pictures behind them.
Stopmouth took a few deep breaths. The stink was the worst part. More than anything, he wanted to get out of this place, but he wouldn’t leave without Indrani. Not that he knew where he might find her in all this mass of people. Perhaps he’d been stupid to leave the white room. Dharam had claimed to know where Indrani was and had said that Stopmouth would be needed to help her. Perhaps he’d come back here, and if that was the case, Stopmouth should wait for his return.
But something in the young hunter’s gut told him not to trust the man. Not because he’d talked down to Stopmouth – he was used to that even from friends such as Rockface. It was more to do with the way Dharam’s eyes flicked this way and that when he spoke of Indrani, as if he wasn’t really her friend. And if Indrani truly needed to see Stopmouth, why hadn’t he been brought to her straight away? No, he’d make sure he was gone by the time Dharam came back. But where?
Just then he noticed that some of the younger passers-by had gathered into a little knot to stare at him from what they might have imagined to be a safe distance. They whispered among themselves, as excited to see him as other people were afraid. But he changed that just by talking to them. He said, ‘Help me,’ and they scattered, weaving their bodies into the crowds. All except one. This boy – and he could only be a boy even if he looked no younger than Stopmouth – stood his ground. He had a small line of hair across his upper lip. His long thin face had a certain stillness about it that seemed … unreal.
And then, just as Stopmouth had thought he was getting used to it, the clamour became overwhelming again and he fell back onto his knees, forced to cover his eyes with his arms.
I have to get away, he thought. Before Dharam returns. For Indrani, I have to. Up. Get up …
A voice close by addressed him.
‘Let me help you stand, Chief.’
Stopmouth peered through his fingers enough to make out the boy he’d seen moments before. He looked barely old enough to hunt and seemed in serious need of nourishment. Stopmouth thought: He feels sorry for me! And this brought his courage back again and pushed him to his feet.
‘Are you all right?’ asked the boy.
‘I need to find Indrani. Do you know where she is?’
‘I don’t know,’ came the reply. But he was already leading Stopmouth away through crowds that opened up around them.
‘Where are you taking me then?’
‘Somewhere … calm. I am Hiresh, by the way.’
‘I’m—’
The boy laughed. ‘Oh, I already know who you are. I think everybody does, except maybe some of the strong Religious. They won’t watch that kind of stuff. Come on.’
Somewhere calm. ‘Thank you, thank you,’ said Stopmouth. The relief was overwhelming, but soon the hunter felt ashamed at being led like this, and pulled away to walk by himself. He ignored his churning stomach and found it easier to move if he concentrated on the back of his rescuer. It wasn’t an easy task. The boy always seemed to know exactly where the gaps in the crowds would open, and he slipped into them with no more thought than Stopmouth would have used in crossing Central Square at home. The hunter’s advantage lay in his ability to create spaces around himself just by his very presence. Sometimes young men or women would try to tag along, asking bizarre questions about killing. The stench of their bodies, their feet bare or bound in rags, their gabbling voices all threatened to separate him from his new friend. But the crowds that parted for him pushed these questioners away, so that soon he and Hiresh were almost alone in a half-empty corridor whose only other occupants were men and women tossed along the walls in sleep.
They seemed to walk for a very long time. The shapes and sizes of the passageways changed constantly. Every little area seemed to have its own style of decoration. But he was careful not to glance too closely at anything. It was all too distracting, even nauseating at times. Messages urging ‘silence’ or ‘good behaviour’. Promises of ‘status’ or other rewards for the reporting of criminals. Visions of happy men and women enjoying the fruits of ‘obedience’.
Eventually they reached a corridor that was so narrow, so filled with people lying down against its walls, they were stepping over legs and arms. A few times, the hunter’s inexpert feet trod on somebody, but rarely did they even look up at him, their minds far away.
‘Why don’t they wake?’ he whispered.
‘They’re Dreaming,’ said Hiresh.
‘Are they … Are they all right?’
Hiresh laughed. ‘They’re loving it! Surfing through adventures. Stuffing their faces. You know.’
Stopmouth didn’t.
They came to a stop near a tree with broken branches. The scrolling images of the walls did not work so well here and their colours were muted.
‘So,’ said the boy, ‘this is where I live.’
‘OK,’ said Stopmouth, and plonked himself onto the floor of the corridor beside some of the Dreamers. Hiresh started making a gasping noise that it took the hunter a few moments to realize was laughter.
‘Watch,’ said the boy, trying to control himself. ‘Watch.’ He waved his hand at a part of the wall where a man in filthy white skins lay dreaming. It opened before him to reveal a little room just like the one Stopmouth had escaped from. The Dreamer fell inside when his support disappeared. Hiresh simply pushed him out again with no more thought than a women casting bones into the street. The man never stirred.
‘Come in,’ Hiresh said. ‘I’m sorry for laughing, but when you sat down on the floor …’
Stopmouth tried to smile, and followed the boy into the tiny space beyond. It was little more than a featureless bone-coloured box with enough room for two people to lie down in. He was grateful for the plainness of it, though. He had an urge to rest his face against the wall and weep.
‘It used to be bigger before the Crisis,’ Hiresh said. He rubbed idly at the top part of his left arm. And then he too stopped
speaking and drew in a deep breath. Perhaps he’d only just now realized he was alone with a … a racehorse.
Stopmouth looked at his hand and saw that it was shaking, the skin so much paler than that of anybody else he had seen here. He was in a nightmare so terrible that a tiny metal room had come as a great relief. ‘Is it … Is it all like this? The Roof, I mean? Corridors and boxes?’
The question seemed to steady Hiresh’s nerves and his smile came back. His teeth were crooked and discoloured, but he couldn’t stop flashing them all the same, and Stopmouth felt himself relax, his own lips responding helplessly.
‘Oh gods, no!’ said the boy. ‘We’re in Joy Sector here, my friend – it’s all residential, sure, but pick any direction, right, and in less than an hour you can walk to a park or a sea or a … well, there are no forests left, I don’t think, but—’
‘Why not?’
‘Oh, with the Crisis it was harder for people to live there. It’s the same reason my apartment keeps shrinking. Ever since we lost the Upstairs we need more space for the refugees. They had to come down and live at this level …’
This talk was very confusing and reminded Stopmouth of the conversations he used to have with Indrani about the Roof. There was too much going on. Too much of everything. But it didn’t stop there. Now his host raised a finger on each hand and pointed at opposing corners of the room. ‘Chairs,’ he said.
Stopmouth jumped as furniture appeared out of the wall. Hiresh didn’t laugh this time. Instead he showed his visitor how to sit down on one as if it were a step or a ledge, only soft and comfortable. Another wave of the hands brought pictures to every surface until Stopmouth begged Hiresh to take them away again. Magic. Everything was magic here.
‘What was that Crisis you were talking about? The one that made your … your home smaller. Is it anything to do with the Rebellion?’
Hiresh shifted in his seat. ‘Well … the Religious – the Rebels – they used the shortages as an excuse. They always claimed we were oppressing them, just because they had to obey the same laws as everybody else. And then they said we were keeping them from their fair share of accommodation and food when they’d have been fine if they’d just been good citizens!’ He shrugged and Stopmouth nodded. Here at last was something he understood.
‘Shortages always get people fighting, don’t they?’
‘Yeah,’ said Hiresh. ‘I suppose. Bits of the Roof have been breaking for years now. Tiny little machines – you know what a machine is?’
‘Like a Talker or a Globe.’
‘Yeah, like those. Only these ones are too tiny to see, and they run everything and fix everything. Even us, and that’s what Medicine is. But these tiny machines – we call them nanos – they’re not allowed to build more of themselves in case they ever got out of control. Only the goddess … I mean, only the Roof.’ He grinned. ‘There are no goddesses of course! Only the Roof is allowed to make them, and since the start of the Crisis … well, she … it … can’t any more.’
‘So everything breaks and doesn’t get fixed?’ asked Stopmouth. Already he was thinking of the buildings back in the Ways where he’d grown up. Crumbling over generations.
Hiresh looked a little sick for a moment, but he brightened quickly. ‘It’s only temporary, though! The Crisis, I mean. The High Commissioner himself appeared on the walls a few months ago to say they’d got a Cure for the thing. We’ve a bad year ahead of us while they roll it out, but after that there’ll be food for everybody again and the refugees will all be able to go back to the Upstairs.’ His face grew animated with excitement. ‘Just think about it! Paradise. Paradise again. Everybody happy. No more bullying by the Religious.’
‘I thought it was the other ones, the non-believers, the … the Seculars who were in charge?’
Hiresh waved that away, his thin face suddenly bitter. ‘The Religious persecute their own. And that can’t be right, can it? Can it?’ He paused, and slowly his expression relaxed. ‘But there’ll be other stuff too when things get fixed. Games. Concerts. We’ll even have Cosmetics!’
‘Cosmetics?’
‘They’re like Medicine. The little machines – except they can change the way you …’ He shook his head and looked away from the hunter. ‘I’m sorry. It’s a stupid thing. I’m not very popular with the girls, that’s all.’
Stopmouth smiled. ‘I wasn’t either. Before Indrani.’
‘I know.’ The smile returned to light up Hiresh’s whole face.
They sat in silence for a few moments, but then Hiresh seemed to snap back to himself.
‘So,’ he said, ‘is Indrani coming here? Now that you have a place to stay, I mean.’
‘How would she know to come here?’
‘You will tell her, of course.’
‘I will? Of course?’
They looked at each other in puzzlement. Then Hiresh gave a nervous laugh. ‘You’re like a baby, up here! No offence, Chief. No offence! I’m your biggest fan, you know – it’s why I helped you back there. I mean, everybody was saying you were dead when the Yellowmaws got you, but I knew it wasn’t true. I knew it …’
‘I’m not offended,’ said Stopmouth. ‘I don’t understand the hunting in this place.’
‘Well then,’ Hiresh replied, ‘let me help you learn the … hunting, as you say. Why don’t you close your eyes? And keep them closed, no matter what. All right?’
Stopmouth obeyed.
Suddenly Hiresh was standing in front of him wearing different-coloured skins from before. Bulging muscles had formed all over his body. ‘Can you see me? Can you hear me?’
The change panicked the hunter, and he opened his eyes to find his vision filled now with two copies of Hiresh, the new and the old. The old grinned, his mouth closed. The new one, however, floating in the air before him, said: ‘I told you to keep your eyes shut. Now you’re even more confused!’
‘Make the spirit go away!’ cried Stopmouth.
The new Hiresh disappeared.
‘I don’t want that to happen any more!’ said the hunter. ‘Tell the Roof I don’t want it!’
Hiresh sighed. ‘Tell it yourself. I mean it. Just think clearly in your mind that you don’t want anybody to be able to contact you, that you don’t even want to know if they’re trying, and I promise you, it will stop.’
Stopmouth took a deep breath and obeyed. A part of him knew he was being stupid, but he couldn’t help himself. It was too much like the visitation of a hungry ghost.
‘It’s all right,’ said the boy. ‘It wasn’t real. Just a picture, like that tattoo you have on your arm. If you asked to talk to me and we weren’t in the same room, you could, you know. I’d see an image of you – any image you wanted me to see – and we’d talk all we wanted.’
‘I don’t want it,’ said Stopmouth. And then he froze as an idea came to him. ‘Wait. Can you call anybody you want? Could you call Indrani?’
Hiresh sat forward in his seat and his eyes narrowed. ‘Of course. That’s what I was trying to teach you for. Why don’t you call her? Indrani doesn’t know me at all.’
But when Stopmouth closed his eyes and thought of her, nothing happened.
‘She can’t be contacted,’ he said. His heart sped up as he said it and he surged to his feet, his eyes wide. ‘How do I know that? How can I know that she doesn’t want to be contacted? It’s like … it’s like an ancestor slipped the words into my head!’
‘Don’t worry,’ said Hiresh. ‘It’s just the Roof. The Roof. You were logged on for a second. It’s what happens when you try to call somebody, it’s—’ His jaw dropped open and he stopped talking. His eyes bulged and he stared beyond the hunter. ‘Who are you? How – how did you get in?’
Stopmouth whirled round. Behind them, the door stood open.
6. JAGADAMBA
THE SAME OLD Dreamer had fallen backwards into the apartment. A stooped figure occupied the rest of the doorway, its face hidden in orange robes.
‘Skinny boy, stop your broadc
asting!’ said a rough man’s voice. ‘Stop it now. I can still detect it.’ The figure pushed the Dreamer aside and the door slid shut. The room, with three people, had become very cramped indeed.
Stopmouth tried to peer through the robes to the person underneath. Whoever this was, he couldn’t belong to the rulers of this place – otherwise, what need had he to hide his identity?
‘But why no broadcasts?’ asked Hiresh. ‘Surely—’
‘Let’s hear him out,’ said Stopmouth.
Hiresh nodded reluctantly, and their visitor, who must have had some way of knowing Hiresh was telling the truth, immediately disrobed.
It wasn’t a man who appeared after all, but a feeble old lady, her words emerging as though each had to fight through the constriction of her scrawny neck. To Stopmouth, she looked older than any of those who’d accompanied his new tribe into exile. Her hair was purest white, jutting up in clumps all over her head. Her teeth looked no better: one of them stayed on the outside when she closed her mouth, all yellow and black.
‘You see,’ she wheezed, ‘they’d have identified me quick enough, yes they would.’ She turned to the hunter. ‘You think they don’t know you’re here in this big apartment, savage?’
So intense was her gaze, Stopmouth forgot to take offence. ‘Who do you mean by “they”? The ones who kept me in the white room?’
She nodded.
‘There was a man,’ said Stopmouth. ‘I don’t know who he was or what side he was on. I’m not even sure what the sides are up here. Religious rebels, Secular rulers – it’s all too confusing. But …’ He shook his head and imagined the thousands of people who’d seen him come out of the white room and how each of these witnesses had the ability to call whomever they wanted with just a thought. ‘This Dharam must know where I am,’ he said, ‘mustn’t he?’
‘Good then, monster. You’re not so stupid. The Roof won’t interfere in human affairs, but every Commission lackey that saw you can report back on your movements.’ She seemed to become aware that Hiresh was staring at her, a look of horror on his face. ‘What’s wrong, little hairy lip? Never seen a Religious before? Ha! I bet you haven’t, have you? Not around here, anyway. Well, that’s all about to change.’ She cleared her throat and spat a blob of phlegm, which was quickly absorbed into the floor. ‘We’ll be drinking that later!’ Her laughter rattled, as though her throat already needed another clearing.
The Deserter Page 7
